It’s time for The Governor’s Ball and you were not ready for what took place.
Word Count: 3.7k
Pairing: IdolHusband!Chris x Influencer!WifeReader
Warnings: Explicit sex (warnings under the cut). SKZ and the Gov Ball, yes that is a warning.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 21+ ONLY BECAUSE THIS IS NASTY STUFF - Don't like, don't read - Only you can control your media consumption - This is a work of fiction, nothing is true. I am delulu as a solulu to this world.
Divider Credit
Smut Warnings: Kissing, a lot and it is messy. Chris uses his big hands. Manhandling (male and female). Dry humping/Grinding. Nipple/breast play. Fingering. Handjob. Teasing. Unprotected sex (do what your want, but deal with the consequence). Cowgirl. Subby!Chris. Begging. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Reverse cowgirl. Hair pulling. Doggy. Rough sex. Creampie.
"Why not take it all off?"
You roll your eyes dramatically and shake your head, knowing your reactions will be caught but you smile widely. The seven men stage are in their element. Missing the devious little puppy that is Seungmin but still enjoying themselves the best they can.
Chris has been teasing the younger Australian but your eyes are locked on your husband. The white tank, spiked blonde hair that has grown out enough to show his dark roots. He's a walking 90s boyband member and daydream. It's driving you insane. Leather pants and the band around that bicep that you know accidentally has nail marks in it.
When he starts beatboxing, you groan and tilt your head back, looking up at the gray skies in disbelief. The bass comes in with a growl of his voice. Soon he sings the riff for the guitar and you have to peak, your head tilting to the side trying to decide what he is cooking up.
When it hits, the camera pans on him with his back to the crowd and his arms out stretched. The crowd goes wild and so do you. The alt rock version of Chk Chk Boom is something you had been begging for since he joked about it months ago. When prep for the stage started, you began bothering Chris about it. For weeks he just shrugged and said he didn't have time to do it properly but he would do it eventually.
He had made it happen. As you're vibing along down in the pit with some Stay, he catches your eye and gives you a wink.
Mother fucker knew what he was doing.
"Fuck! Goddammit, Chris!” You groan and toss your phone to the end of the hotel bed. "He's an actual fucking problem."
The beeping of the lock is the alert you need. Throwing your the blankets off, you’re up and across the room in record time. He’s walking in after sliding off his shoes.
You stop where the carpet meets the tile of the hotel room. You've had a chance to change but your makeup is still intact but your hair all over the place from the amount of times you've ran your fingers through it. Your bottom lip is red and swollen from biting it and your face is flushed.
Chris know this look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The little things he did on stage to tease you worked. He stirred you up enough that you are now in his favorite Fangirl mode. He also has been checking your cycle tracker. You're feral. You're ovulating, today.
Mother fucker knew what he did.
The pair of you stare at each other for a couple of moments before you snap and you're on him before his bag hits the floor. Arms around his neck, fingers in his still stage damp hair, and your lips pressed to his. He stumbles slightly, his back hitting the hotel room door but he quickly rights himself and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly against him with a groan.
"Christopher," your voice is gasped as your lips move from his over his jaw. "You're so fucking amazing."
"Guess what else I am," you hear his soft tease as his hands slide down your back and over the curve of your ass . His spreads his fingers wide and grabs a hold of you, pulling you closer just to hear that satisfied sound that leaves you. He feels your smirk against his skin and he grips your harder before lifting you off your feet.
"You're mine." Your fingers tighten in his hair and you tilt his head so he looks up at you, smiling in the way that makes his cock throb for you.
"I'm all yours, baby girl." He whispers against your lips before releasing another groan when you kiss him.
This is something you have been playing with recently, not the reversal of your rolls but the way he will put you in the positions of control without you asking or taking. He has willing been giving in to you and allowing you to take the reigns. Chris does love to submit to you when he needs his mind to shut off but when he feels the thrill of you being above him roll through the dynamic, he's usually lost.
The confidence that you feel as you watch him come undone under your hands, your mouth, under your body is what drives him and allows him to give in to you. Years in the making and his newest addiction.
With your hand in in his hair you can control the depth of the kiss and how you tease him with your tongue, the sweetness of your blue raspberry slurpee lingering. It's when you nip at his lower lip and move like you're pulling away does his hand come up and pull you back into the kiss, taking full control and ravishing your mouth like you haven't kissed in weeks.
Which is not true.
Chris feels moment you melt back into the kiss, releasing the small bit of control you held and that is when he allows the kiss to end. After a few sweet lingering pecks on your lips, one final long kiss of passion does he fully allow you to part. You're both panting but smiling widely.
"Did you have a good time, baby girl?" His voice is rough and you feel it shoot down your spine and settle between your thighs.
"Chris, it was amazing. I was blown away. I missed Seungmin so much and I know you guys did too. He's really proud of that show and Stay are super happy."
There is the softest, dreamiest smile on Chris' kiss swollen lips. He pushes off the door and continues into the hotel room but stops at the foot of the bed, waiting to see what you'll do. He lets out a low chuckle when you suddenly cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck.
As he starts to lay you down on the bed, you quickly throw your weight and push off the bed with the arm you released him with. The audible "oof" that leaves your husband makes you grin.
Flipping your hair up and out of your face, you smirk down at him, your hands on his abdomen as you settle back on him. You bite the corner of your lip and shift slowly as you feel him already hard under you.
"All that working out and your wife still bested you."
He arches as your hips circle over his slowly, the ghost of friction against him already making him pant softly. "You caught me off guard."
"Never let let guard down, Bahng," you giggle before your eyes widen and you squeal trying to cling to him as Chris tosses you over and onto the pillows at the top of the bed.
"You were saying?" He has one knee on the bed, his arm behind him to grip his shirt and pull it over his head before tossing it to the ground.
"I love that you can toss me around." You state plainly, still a little dazed that he did it with such easy.
"My love, you can toss me around just as easily." He tries to counter but you just shake your head. "I work out to keep up with you, wife."
You flush and stretch your leg out, letting it catch on his shoulder, halting his movements, "still not too much?"
His eyes stay locked on yours as he slides a hand down your calf before cupping the heel of your foot. He leans in and places a soft kiss to the top as his fingers gently squeeze and massage your heel and arch. Your eyes close as relief shoots up your leg, the pain of being on your feel for so long immediately.
"Eyes on me, baby girl." His lips find your ankle and your eyes open once more before he speaks again, his voice full of sin and sincerity.
"It's never enough. I always want more of you," he says your name against your skin as his trails kisses from your ankle, up your calf, the inside of your thigh but before he gets to the aching burn of your core, he moves to nuzzle his nose with yours.
"Give me more. Never less."
With a bright smile you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, one that he lets you control. Your fingers move through his hair, scratching over his scalp softly and he makes a pleased sound in his throat as his hands move to press deep and massage the flesh of your thighs.
"Where did you find these shorts?" His voice gravelly as he kisses over your cheek and along your jaw.
"A store." You smile before moaning and pressing up against your husband as his hands grip your ass where the material of your black shorts clung to the curve. "Do you like them?"
He groans and grinds against you, his own shorts slipping over the fabric of yours. "Fuck yes, the best shorts every made." He leans back over you, capturing your lips as his hips continue to grind into yours, teasing you both.
Wanting to be comfortable you opted for breathable yet stylish. You matched the alt rock look the boys had on stage in the black shorts and your slashed SKZ shirt. Chris had only seen you from above and then from your feed as he was on the ride back.
The way your clothing clung to you and the way you were branded with his ring and his band's merch always made him a little feral. It was something that would happen even before the marriage and before you were dating. He loved seeing you in his things.
Chris's hand slips up your side, pushing the distressed shirt up with it before his fingers meet your breasts, your nipple hard enough to press against the fabric of your bra. When his thumb slides over it and adds to the friction, you whimper and arch away from the kiss.
"Christopher, please." Your hands slide down and you're pulling your up before unhooking your bra from the front.
"Please what?" His eyes meet yours as his head leans down and he softly sucks your nipple into his mouth. You both let out sounds of pleasure as his tongue circles the swollen peak.
Your fingers curl into his hair to keep him in place as you arch up into his mouth. "Oh fuck, Chris touch me. Hands too."
Within seconds your shorts are at an ankle and his fingers are teasing over your heated, swollen skin. He groans against your skin and sucks hard as he thirsts one finger deeply into your soaked core.
Your cries echo off the walls of the hotel room along with the sounds his soon to be two fingers are pulling from your pussy. Within moments he has you leaking down his wrist as his fingers curl to rub against your gspot. When he pulls away from your breast he looks down to see your thighs shaking, not just from the movement of his fingers but also from the pleasure he is putting you through.
"That's it baby girl," he smirks as his eyes turn to your face; flushed with your lips swollow as you pant heavily through the moans and cries of his name.
A soft whisper of your name grabs your attention so you swallow through your dry mouth and look down at your husband who has a devious smirk on his lips. You can feel the wetness coating your thighs and seeping into the bedding below you as he continues to apply pressure to that one spot.
"Fuck you are beautiful. Always but right now, baby girl?" His voice is low but you can hear the deparation in it and that is what makes you clench around his fingers, your climax just within arms reach. "Touch me, baby girl, please."
Chris begging for you to touch him makes your walls flutter around his fingers once again but as his fingers slow to allow you to sit up, it changes the pressure and depth of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Christopher." Your head falls forward onto his arm as you grind yourself against his hand, the heel pressing into your clit.
Reaching out your fingers graze over the throbbing length of his cock, barely hidden behind his shorts. He chokes on a groan of his own as he chases the feeling of your hand. "Please,"
Slipping the front of his shorts down, your hand curls around him and strokes.
Once, twice, three times before he groans and grinds into your hand. His shaft pulses against your palm and as you slip your fingers up, along the veins to tease him, a whimper leaves his lips.
"Lay back for me?" You kiss over his jaw, your pleasure forgotten. The desire to make your husband fall apart becoming the most important focus.
He shakes his head but as your thumb caresses around the ridge at the head of his cock, making it twitch and throb in your hand. He groans and thrusts against you as precum drips from the deep red tip. Gently, you manage to lay him back, his fingers withdrawing from your pulsing core and that earn him a gasp that almost ruins your plans.
You have to place both of your hands on his broad shoulders and quickly move to straddle him to keep him below you. After he settles and you've gotten situated above him, your hands start to wander, tracing his pectorals, his abdominals, over his biceps. When your hands return his chest, you use it as leverage to lift your hips, angling just right so when you lower back down, you're slowly taking him into your wet heat.
As soon as he feels your walls starting to surround him, Chris groans and grips your hips, not to push or pull but just because he needs to touch you. The whine that leans him as you take his wrists and pin them to the mattress beside his head makes you clench around him.
"Barely inside and you already can't keep your hands to yourself," you tease as you lean down and nuzzle your nose to his.
He whines, Christopher actually lets out a whine, from below you and flexes his hands. You feel the strength in the body under you but knowing that he would never use it to take what he wanted unless you asked always skyrocketed your self esteem.
"My big strong husband unable to do anything but lay here and take it like the good-" the groan that earns you is enough for your walls to clench around him. "Good boy that he is."
"Baby girl, please just fucking sit all the way on it." He shifts his hands so your palms are touching and he can curl his fingers over yours. "Please."
You smile and rotate your hips as you finally lower yourself, taking him to the hilt. "Oh fuck," you both moan together as you wiggle on his lap, giving yourself the chance to adjust for just a moment before you're moving.
"Holy-y shit, shit-t" Chris groans below you already lost in the feel of your pussy wrapped around his cock. "Feels so fucking good," the grip he has on your hands allows you to use him as leverage as you move harder.
His groans and you're soft cries are echoing off the walls with the sounds of your bodies colliding. "Use me, baby girl," his next groan is deep and you clench hard as your hips circle over him, feeling how his shaft massages your fluttering silken walls.
"Christopher," your gasp has his eyes opening to look up at you. "Fuck feels so good," your head drops back and after shifting so he is holding both of your wrists in his hand, Chris groans as you instantly grip him tightener.
With your head tipped a far back as it is, the ends of your hair tickle the tops of Chris's thighs and he growls, at the image of your hair curled around his fist as he fucks into you. He needed it, now. "Holy shit, turn around. Let me see that ass bounce," he smirked as you slowed and looked down at him. "I've been a good boy, fuck, haven't I?" His hand releases both of yours. "Please?"
"Holy shit," you whimper as your nails digs into his forearms, neither of you stopping the nasty, slow grind you've started on his cock. The begging making you move on your own, only causing his begging to increase in frequency and volume.
"Please, I've been good, please!" Your walls are fluttering consistently as you're nearing your release, the way the head of his cock teases that spot inside you making you drip down his shaft.
"Oh god, Chris, I'm so close," you're panting loudly as your hips jerk wildly the closer you get to your orgasm.
"Cum all over my cock, baby girl. Use me to make yourself cum, do it baby," his words are as nasty as the sounds coming from you as your climax hits.
A soft scream of his name leaves you as you release over his groin and lower abdomen. A low whine from the man below you as he takes over loving you on him to help you ride it out. Whispered praises and gentle hands hold you as you come to a stop. Your break is short before you slowly pull off Chris, his cock still angry red and throbbing against his lower abdomen.
Slowly, you turn so your straddling his hips reverse, giving him the view he begged for. Gripping his cock tightly with one hand, his other goes to get a handful of your ass, squeezing and spreading to watch your swollen sex clench around nothing. "Fuck, thank you, baby girl," he breaks off into a shout as you lower yourself back onto his cock, instantly taking him wholly inside.
The whimpers and jumbled mess of words that leave your husband as his hands grip and caress your hips or ass turn into groans as you start moving on him once again, the pace punishing as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm. His eyes trained on your ass as you move, one of his hands fist your hair, tugging softly.
As your back arches, you clench around him and that is when Chris loses it. It's nothing for him to sit up and roll so you're on your knees under him, spread just how he likes. The grip on your hair tightens and his other hand presses down on your back to arch you more for him. "There you go, fucking perfect, my little wife."
The pace he sets is brutal and all you can do is moan, loudly, and let your husband have his way while he pounds himself deeper into you than you thought possible. The way his hips slam against yours shoves the bed, supposedly immovable, into the wall.
"Chris!" Your nails drag down the fabric of the bedding as his grip on your hair tugs you back more. He knows that if you had enough you would safeword but with the way your pussy is clenching and soaking him, he knows you needed this as much as he did.
"This what you wanted? Tease me until I break and fucking shove my cock as deep as possible? Fuck, you love this shit, I can feel your pussy sucking me in deeper, baby girl."
When his hips start to snap in shallow, quick thrusts against your gspot, Chris shoves your head into the blankets. "Scream all you want, baby girl," he groans as your walls flutter against him. "Cum on my cock."
Your arms flail behind you until you grip his forearms, dragging your nails down his skin. The growl that leaves Chris is what shoves you over the edge. You cum as he does, slamming home, releasing deep inside of you while your walls flutter and milk him. Your name leaves him in a chocked off groan as he grinds harder, shoving his cock as deep as possible.
"Fucking take it all," he snarls as his climax burns through his veins once again, his eyes glued to the way you fuck yourself slowly on him. "You're fucking perfect."
The aftermath is nothing but gentle hands, warm kisses, and soft giggles. You're both cleaned and tucked into the hotel bed, pressed close but enough space left to watch each other as you talk about anything and everything.
"Chris?"
"Yeah baby girl?"
"Why does it feel like-" quickly his arms tighten around you as the front legs of the bed snap and you've both slid down the slick sheets.
His back hits the wall, a sharp hiss leaving him as your elbow finds his ribcage and the palm of your other arm pressing into his hip. It takes you a moment to realize what has happened before you try and fail to get yourself up and off of him, giggles starting already.
"Hold on, hold on - ow fuck my bladder," he groans when your elbow lands on him again but you're laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. "Baby, stop moving." He's quick to get his arms around you but your laughter is so contagious he can't fight it anymore and you're both laughing from the awkward position you have been put in.
"We'll have to add this hotel to the list."
"This number seven, by the way."
"Holy shit."
"Thrust game on point."
"Oh shut up!"
The hotel phone sends a shrill ring that slices through the laughter of the room. You look down at your husband and giggle. "Not it."
He sighs and nods, "fine, you menace."
"You love me!"
"Very much so." You both share a kiss that is more laughter than kissing before he gets himself up and heads towards the phone. "Yeah? Oh, that? Yeah, we broke the bed, sorry about that."
HOLY SHIT?!?! 2000 sluts?! Thank you so much I’m actually sobbing ㅠㅠ
I wrote this when I saw I was getting close to 2k and if you see this it means I’ve made it!
Thank you so much to all my lovely sluts who came this far and watched me grow. You have no idea how truly grateful I am for each and every one of you. You guys (most) stuck around through my writers blocks, through my hiatuses due to mental health, and were always so encouraging when I’d post in between those periods. I love you all.
Now get ready to read this, panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)
Content warning:angst, tension, fluff, fingering, edging, sexting, phone sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), masturbation (f), Harassment (not by Chan DW), teasing, making out
The romance section always smelled like paper, ink, and quiet desperation.
You were crouched low on the scuffed bookstore carpet, knees aching, fingers trailing over the spines of the books that lived on the bottom shelf—the ones the algorithm loved and the ones that left you a little restless at night. Thick paperbacks with soft matte covers and titles that promised everything: possessive heroes, filthy mouths, the kind of tension that made your stomach tighten just reading the blurb. BookTok’s dream men lived here. The ones with leather jackets and gravel voices and hands that knew exactly what they were doing. The ones readers whispered about in the comments like shared secrets.
You pulled one free, the pages already falling open to a scene you’d read three times before. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snagged on the words. You shifted your weight, biting the inside of your cheek, completely absorbed—
Until boots stopped in front of you.
You looked up.
And the air left your lungs.
He was tall enough that the fluorescent lights caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the glint of metal at his lip and brow. Black leather jacket, scuffed at the elbows, hung open over a dark tee. A motorcycle helmet dangled from one hand like it weighed nothing. Dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and when his eyes—warm, sharp, amused—locked onto yours, something in your chest stalled completely.
He looked like he’d stepped straight out of the pages in your hands. The exact fantasy every girl in the comments section had been tagging.
You froze. Book still open. Mouth slightly parted. The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in real life was standing in the romance aisle staring down at you like he’d found something interesting on the floor.
He moved closer. Then he crouched—no, squatted—right in front of you, forearms resting on his knees, the helmet set carefully aside. The leather of his jacket creaked softly. Up close he smelled like cold air, motor oil, and something clean underneath.
A slow, cocky smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Any recommendations?”
His voice was low. A little rough. The kind that would sound even better saying filthier things.
Your brain short-circuited.
Every coherent thought scattered. The only books you actually read were the ones filled with the exact kind of scenes currently open in your lap. The steamy, dirty, raunchy ones. The ones you reread with the lights off. Heat flooded your face so fast it almost hurt. You tried to speak and only managed a soft, strangled sound.
He chuckled under his breath. The sound was warm and quiet, like it was just for you.
“Cute,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Before you could recover, he reached out and gently tugged the book from your hands. You made a weak protesting noise, but he was already scanning the page. His eyes moved quickly. Then slower. The smirk deepened into something sharper, darker. He glanced up at you through his lashes, still holding the open book between you like evidence.
“Dirty girl…”
The words were soft. Almost fond. Completely devastating.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard you were sure he could hear it. You lunged half-heartedly for the book, but he closed it with a quiet snap and stood in one smooth motion, towering over you again. He set the paperback carefully back on the shelf—right where you’d pulled it from—then picked up his helmet.
Without another word he turned and walked away down the aisle, leather jacket shifting with every step, the low thump of his boots fading toward the front of the store.
You stayed frozen on the carpet, cheeks burning, pulse racing, the ghost of his voice still curling in your ears.
Dirty girl.
⸻
You didn’t even remember standing up.
One second you were still crouched on the carpet with your pulse in your throat, and the next your feet were carrying you down the aisle, past the registers, and straight through the automatic doors into the late-afternoon air. The parking lot stretched out behind the bookstore, half-empty, sunlight glancing off windshields. And there he was—already at a sleek black motorcycle near the far end, helmet in hand, swinging one long leg over the seat like he belonged to the machine.
Your body moved before your brain caught up.
You stopped a few feet away, suddenly aware of how ridiculous you must look. Chest rising too fast. Zero plan. Zero words.
He looked up.
That same slow smirk curved his mouth the second he saw you standing there. Like he’d been expecting it. Like he’d known you’d follow.
He set the helmet on the seat, swung his leg back off the bike, and walked toward you with easy, unhurried steps. The leather jacket shifted with the movement. When he stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tip your chin up, he simply held out his hand.
Palm up. Waiting.
You stared at it, confused.
“Phone,” he said, voice low and amused.
Your brows furrowed. He just kept his hand there, patient, that cocky little curve still on his lips. Heat crawled up your neck again. You hesitated—long enough for him to tilt his head slightly, eyes glinting—then fumbled your phone out of your pocket and placed it in his palm.
His fingers brushed yours. Warm. Calloused. Gone too fast.
He opened it without asking (you didn’t even remember leaving it unlocked), thumbs moving quickly across the screen. A few seconds later he handed it back. You looked down.
Chan
A new contact. A number already saved.
You whispered it before you could stop yourself.
“Chan…”
The name felt soft in your mouth. Dangerous.
He watched you the whole time, something darker flickering behind the smirk. You swallowed, opened a new text, and typed your name with slightly shaking fingers before hitting send. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket a second later. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, then looked back at you.
“Y/N.”
The way he said it—low, deliberate, tasting every syllable—sent a sharp flip through your stomach. Like he’d just claimed the word.
He stepped in a fraction closer, close enough that the edge of his jacket almost brushed your arm. His voice dropped even quieter.
“Text me later, pretty girl.”
Then he turned, swung back onto the bike in one smooth motion, pulled the helmet on, and kicked the engine to life. The low, throaty growl of it vibrated through the asphalt under your feet. He glanced at you one last time—smirk still visible even behind the dark visor—before the bike rolled forward, accelerated, and disappeared out of the lot in a clean arc of black leather and chrome.
You stood there long after the sound faded, phone warm in your hand, the contact name still glowing on the screen.
Chan.
Your heart hadn’t slowed down once.
By the time you made it back to your car your cheeks still felt hot. You sat in the driver’s seat for a full minute just staring at the new message thread—empty except for the text you’d sent with your name. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. What the hell were you even supposed to say?
Hey, sorry for staring at you like a weirdo while holding open smut? Please come ruin my life?
You locked the phone instead, dropped it into the cupholder, and started the engine with a shaky exhale.
The entire drive home the only thing you could hear was his voice saying your name like it already belonged to him.
And the quiet, cocky promise that still echoed in your bones:
Text me later, pretty girl.
⸻
You lasted exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes.
One hour and forty-seven minutes of pacing the length of your apartment in socked feet, phone clutched in one hand like it might explode. One hour and forty-seven minutes of talking yourself in and out of the same decision on a loop.
Just text him.
Absolutely not.
He told you to.
That doesn’t mean you have to.
He called you pretty girl.
He also called you a dirty girl while reading smut over your shoulder. That is not normal. That is not safe. That is—
You spun on your heel and marched back toward the couch, only to reverse course halfway there.
You were not this girl.
You did not make big leaps of faith. You did not make rash decisions. You were the girl who canceled plans because the idea of small talk made your stomach hurt. The girl who spent Friday nights in bed with a weighted blanket, doom-scrolling until her eyes burned or rereading the same worn romance novel for the comfort of knowing exactly how it ended. You liked predictable. You liked controlled. You liked the version of desire that lived safely between pages—where the only risk was a paper cut.
You did not text sexy strangers named Chan who looked like every book boyfriend you’d ever fantasized about and somehow made “dirty girl” sound like a compliment.
Your thumb hovered over the empty message thread anyway.
The contact name stared up at you.
Chan.
Your pulse jumped. You could still hear the way he’d said your name in the parking lot—low, deliberate, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. Your stomach did that stupid flip again just thinking about it.
Text me later, pretty girl.
You exhaled hard through your nose and locked the screen. Unlocked it. Locked it again. Opened the thread one more time. Your thumb trembled just above the keyboard.
A notification banner slid down from the top of the screen—some random app update, something dumb and irrelevant—and you reacted on instinct, swiping it away.
Except the banner vanished a fraction of a second too soon.
And your thumb landed dead-center on the call button.
The phone connected before your brain even registered what you’d done.
One ring.
Your eyes went wide. “No—no no no—”
Two rings.
You scrambled to end it, heart slamming so hard it hurt, but your fingers were suddenly useless.
Three—
The line clicked.
A low, familiar voice answered on the other end, rough around the edges like he’d just been doing something with his hands.
“…Pretty girl?”
You froze in the middle of your living room, phone pressed to your ear, every coherent thought evaporating into pure static.
Silence stretched.
Then a soft, knowing chuckle rolled through the speaker—warm and far too pleased.
“Didn’t think you’d actually call,” Chan said, voice dropping into something quieter. Almost intimate. “But I’m not complaining.”
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
On the other end of the line, you heard the faint shift of leather, the quiet clink of something metal. Maybe keys. Maybe the zipper of that jacket. His next words came slower, like he was smiling.
“You still there… or did I already scare you off?”
Your free hand curled into a fist against your thigh. Your face felt like it was on fire. Every introverted, careful, risk-averse bone in your body was screaming at you to hang up immediately and change your number.
Instead, your voice came out small and mortified and completely traitorous.
“…Hi.”
Another soft laugh. Lower this time. Like he’d just won something.
“Hi, Y/N.”
The way he said your name again—soft, deliberate, a little rough around the edges—made your knees feel unreliable.
You sank down onto the edge of the couch because standing suddenly felt like a bad idea.
And just like that, the careful, controlled version of yourself you’d spent years perfecting started slipping through your fingers… one quiet breath at a time.
⸻
You sank deeper into the couch cushions like they might swallow you whole and spare you from this moment.
The line was quiet for a beat too long. You could hear the faint ambient noise on his end—maybe wind, maybe the low hum of a garage or open window. Your own breathing sounded embarrassingly loud in the silence.
“Hi,” you repeated, weaker this time, because your brain had apparently decided one syllable was the best it could do.
Chan’s voice came warm and rough, like he was smiling. “You sound surprised to hear from me. You’re the one who called, pretty girl.”
Heat flooded your face. “I—I didn’t mean to. There was a notification and I tried to swipe it and—” You stopped yourself, mortified. “It was an accident.”
“Mm.” The sound was low, thoughtful. “Accident. Right.” A soft rustle on his end, like he was shifting position. “You gonna hang up on me then?”
Your thumb hovered over the red button. Every careful, introverted instinct screamed yes. Instead you whispered, “…No.”
“Good.” The word landed soft and pleased. “I’ve been thinking about you since I left the lot.”
Your stomach flipped hard. “You have?”
“Hard not to.” His voice dropped a little. “Girl on her knees in the romance section, holding open a book full of filth, looking up at me like I’d walked straight out of the pages. Then she follows me outside like she can’t help herself. Yeah. Stuck with me.”
You pressed your thighs together without meaning to. “I wasn’t—on my knees. I was just looking at the bottom shelf.”
“Uh-huh.” Amusement curled through the words. “And the book?”
Silence.
He chuckled, quiet and knowing. “Still thinking about what page it was open to. That scene was… detailed. You like that kind of thing, Y/N?”
Your name in that tone did something illegal to your pulse. You swallowed. “I read a lot of different things.”
“Sure.” Another soft shift on his end. You imagined him leaning back, long legs stretched out, that leather jacket still on. “But that one had you flushed pink before I even said a word. Cute.”
You exhaled shakily. The sound must have traveled clearly because his next words came slower.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That little breath.” His voice had gone lower, rougher around the edges. “You’re nervous. Or something else.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m not—”
“You followed me out to my bike,” he continued, almost gently. “Gave me your phone when I asked. Text, it was an accident that you called… but you’re still on the line. Still talking to me. Still breathing like that.”
Your free hand curled into the fabric of your sweatpants. You hated how accurate he was. Hated how the low timbre of his voice seemed to travel straight down your spine and settle warm between your legs.
“I don’t usually… do this,” you admitted, voice small. “Talk to strangers. Especially not ones who look like—” You cut yourself off.
“Like what?”
“…Like they stepped out of one of those books.”
A quiet, pleased hum. “Yeah? Which parts?”
You closed your eyes. Your face felt scorching. “The… obvious ones.”
“Leather? Bike? Piercings?” He paused. “Or the part where I called you a dirty girl and you looked like you wanted the floor to open up and take you?”
A tiny, involuntary sound escaped your throat—half breath, half something weaker.
The line went very quiet for a second.
Then Chan’s voice came softer. Darker. “That little noise you just made. Do it again.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” No judgment. Just heat. “You like when I say things like that. When I’m direct.”
Your thighs pressed tighter. The shift of fabric felt too loud. You were getting wet faster than you ever had in your life—embarrassingly, ridiculously fast—just from his voice and the memory of how he’d looked crouched in front of you.
He must have heard the change in your breathing because his next words were almost gentle.
“You’re getting worked up, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Liar.” The word was fond. “Your breath keeps catching. And you’re trying so hard to stay quiet.” A low chuckle. “Cute. Tell me what you’re wearing.”
Your brain short-circuited. “What?”
“Right now. At home. What are you wearing while you’re on the phone with the stranger who called you a dirty girl in public?”
You looked down at yourself—old soft sweatpants, a loose tank top with no bra because you hadn’t expected to leave the couch, hair in a messy knot. “Just… clothes. Nothing special.”
“Describe them.”
The command in his tone made your stomach clench. You hesitated, then quietly obeyed. “Sweatpants. Tank top.”
“Bra?”
“…No.”
Another soft, rough sound from him—almost a hum of approval. “Good girl.”
The words hit you like a physical thing. A tiny whimper slipped out before you could stop it.
Chan’s breath caught audibly. When he spoke again his voice had gone gravel-rough.
“Fuck. That sound.” He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to stay controlled. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now. Sitting there all shy and flustered, making little noises like that because I called you good.”
Your hand had drifted to your thigh without permission. You forced it still. “Chan—”
“Yeah, baby?” The endearment landed soft and filthy at the same time. “You wet for me already? Be honest.”
The question punched the air out of your lungs. You should hang up. You should laugh it off. You should do anything except answer.
Instead your voice came out barely above a whisper. “…Yes.”
A low, satisfied groan rumbled through the speaker. “Jesus. You’re something else.” You heard the faint sound of movement on his end—maybe him adjusting himself. “I’ve been hard since the bookstore, you know that? Watching you blush and stutter and try to snatch that book back. Then you followed me out like a good little thing. Now you’re on the phone admitting you’re wet just from talking to me.”
Your breathing had gone noticeably shaky. Every word seemed to sink lower, heat pulsing between your legs in time with your heartbeat. You could feel how slick you’d become, the soft fabric of your sweatpants suddenly too much and not enough.
“I—I don’t do this,” you tried again, weaker.
“I know.” His voice gentled for a second, almost tender underneath the heat. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot. Careful girl like you, all worked up over a stranger on a bike. Bet you’d let me talk you through it if I asked nicely.”
A broken little sound left you. Your hips shifted restlessly against the couch.
Chan swore softly under his breath. “Listen to you. Getting wetter by the second and trying so hard not to make noise. You touching yourself, Y/N?”
“No,” you gasped, and it was still true—but your hand was trembling against your thigh, inches away from where you needed it.
“But you want to.”
Silence. Then a tiny, traitorous, “Yes.”
“Good.” The word was pure sin. “I want you to wait. Can you do that for me? Keep your hands to yourself until I say. Just listen to my voice and stay wet and aching.”
The command sent a full-body shiver through you. You nodded even though he couldn’t see it, then whispered, “Okay.”
“That’s my girl.” Pride and heat tangled in his tone. “Tell me how it feels. Are you throbbing? Sensitive?”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yes—god, yes.”
“Bet that pretty clit is swollen already. Bet if I was there I’d find you soaked through those sweatpants. I’d make you sit on my face until you forgot how to be shy.”
A full whimper tore out of you this time—high and helpless. Your hips jerked.
Chan’s breath went rough. “Fucking hell. That sound is going to live in my head. You have no idea how badly I want to hear what you sound like when you cum.”
Your entire body felt feverish. The ache between your legs had become sharp, insistent, almost painful. You were dripping, thighs slick, every shift of your body reminding you how empty you felt.
“Chan—” Your voice cracked. “I can’t—this is—”
“Too much?” he asked, softer now, but still dark. “Or not enough?”
Both. It was both. You were trembling, chest rising fast, completely undone by nothing but a voice and filthy words and the memory of leather and smirk and “dirty girl.”
You managed a shaky, “I need to go.”
A pause. Then a low, understanding chuckle that still sounded wrecked. “Yeah. Okay, pretty girl. Go ahead and hang up.” His voice dropped into something intimate and wicked. “But the second this call ends, I want you to put your hand between your legs and think about me while you take care of that ache. Think about my mouth. My hands. How I’d sound telling you what a good dirty girl you are while you cum for me. Can you do that?”
Your answer was barely air. “Yes, Chan.”
“That’s it.” Soft. Possessive. “Text me when you’re done. I want to know how hard you came thinking about me.”
Your face burned. Your whole body burned.
“Okay,” you whispered.
“Talk soon, Y/N.”
The line went dead.
You sat frozen for three full seconds.
Then the phone slipped from your hand onto the cushion beside you, and your palm was already sliding under the waistband of your sweatpants like it had a will of its own.
You were soaked—embarrassingly, shamelessly wet, the soft cotton of your underwear clinging. Your fingers slipped through the slick heat and a broken moan punched out of you at the first direct touch. You were so swollen, so oversensitive already that the lightest circle over your clit made your thighs jump.
You dropped your head back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut, and let every filthy second of the call replay.
His voice saying dirty girl.
The way he’d called you good girl like it was both praise and claim.
Bet if I was there I’d find you soaked through those sweatpants.
I’d make you sit on my face until you forgot how to be shy.
Your fingers moved faster, circling, dipping lower to gather more wetness and drag it up over the aching bud. Two fingers slid inside easily—you were that far gone—and the stretch pulled a high, needy sound from your throat. Your other hand shoved the tank top up so you could palm your breast, thumbing over a tight nipple, imagining it was his mouth, his piercing dragging, his teeth.
You fucked yourself on your fingers with increasing desperation, palm grinding against your clit on every stroke, hips lifting to meet the motion. The wet sounds filled the quiet apartment. Your orgasm built terrifyingly fast, coiled tight and mean at the base of your spine.
When it hit, it wrecked you.
You cried out—raw and unrestrained—thighs clamping around your hand as wave after wave pulsed through you. Your walls fluttered and clenched around your fingers; slick coated your palm. You kept rubbing through it, oversensitive and shaking, until the pleasure edged into too-much and you finally stilled, gasping.
For a long moment the only sound was your ragged breathing.
Eventually you slipped your hand free, staring at the evidence glistening on your fingers. Your whole body felt loose and hot and a little stunned.
You reached for your phone with the clean hand.
Opened the thread.
Typed with still-trembling thumbs.
Y/N: I did what you said.
You hit send before you could overthink it, then immediately dropped the phone like it burned and covered your burning face with both hands.
What the hell had you just done?
And why did part of you already want to do it again?
⸻
Your phone buzzed against your thigh while you were still trying to convince yourself that the last hour had been a temporary lapse in sanity.
You’d cleaned up, changed into fresh underwear like that could erase what you’d done, and were currently lying in bed staring at the ceiling with a pillow half-smothering your face. Your body still felt loose and oversensitive. Every time you closed your eyes you heard his voice again and the ache between your legs pulsed like it hadn’t just been thoroughly taken care of.
The buzz came again. Then a third time.
You peeked out from under the pillow, heart already climbing into your throat, and unlocked the screen.
The message thread was open.
Chan: good girl
Chan: now look what you did to me
And then the photo loaded.
You stopped breathing.
It was a mirror selfie. Dim lighting, probably his bedroom or bathroom. Chan stood shirtless in front of a full-length mirror, phone in one hand, the other shoved down the front of light-grey sweatpants. His fingers were wrapped firmly around the thick, obvious outline of his hard cock, gripping it through the fabric like he needed the pressure. The sweats hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the deep cut of his V-line and the trail of skin leading down. His abs were tight, defined, flexing slightly with the way he stood. And the tattoos—God, the tattoos. Full sleeves you hadn’t been able to see under the leather jacket earlier. Intricate black ink wrapping both arms from shoulder to wrist, shifting with the tension in his muscles.
His head was tilted just enough that his dark hair fell into his eyes. The lip piercing caught the light. His expression was pure heat—lids low, mouth parted slightly, like he’d taken the photo right after stroking himself to the memory of your little sounds.
You stared so long the screen almost dimmed.
A new message popped up while you were still frozen.
Chan: been hard since you whimpered for me
Chan: keep thinking about how wet you sounded
Chan: you still dripping, pretty girl?
Your face went nuclear. You pressed your thighs together under the blankets and typed with unsteady fingers.
Y/N: you’re not playing fair
Chan: never said i would
Chan: answer the question
You hesitated, then honesty (and residual boldness from the orgasm) won.
Y/N: …yes
Chan: fuck
Chan: show me
Your stomach dropped.
Y/N: show you what
Chan: how wet you still are
Chan: or how red your face is from staring at my cock
Chan: dealer’s choice
You actually laughed under your breath—high, nervous, disbelieving. This man was unreal. You rolled onto your side, phone clutched close, and typed.
Y/N: you’re insane
Chan: and you’re still not denying you were staring
Chan: it’s okay. i wanted you to look
Chan: wanted you to see what that little “yes, chan” did to me
The memory of saying those words made fresh heat pool low in your belly. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, then opened them and stared at the photo again. The way his hand gripped himself. The strain of the fabric. The tattoos shifting over muscle. You wanted to trace every line of ink with your tongue. You wanted him to push those sweats down and show you everything.
Y/N: the tattoos are new information
Chan: yeah? you like them
Y/N: a dangerous amount
Chan: good
Chan: you can touch them next time
Chan: if you’re good for me
Next time.
The casual certainty in those two words made your pulse stumble.
Y/N: you’re very confident there’s going to be a next time
Chan: you texted me after making yourself cum to my voice
Chan: you stayed on the phone when you “accidentally” called
Chan: you followed me to my bike
Chan: pretty sure the only person still pretending this isn’t happening is you
You bit your lip hard. He wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part.
Y/N: i don’t do things like this
Chan: i know
Chan: careful little book girl getting all messy for the guy in the leather jacket
Chan: bet you’re aching again just from the picture
You were. God, you were. The dull throb had returned with a vengeance the second the photo loaded. You shifted restlessly against the sheets.
Y/N: maybe
Chan: no maybe
Chan: tell me
A beat. Then:
Y/N: i’m aching
Chan: where
Y/N: you know where
Chan: use your words, y/n
Chan: i like when you get shy but still obey
The command in the text shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. You typed slowly, face burning.
Y/N: between my legs
Chan: more
Y/N: i’m wet again
Y/N: and sensitive
Chan: jesus
Chan: you have no idea how badly i want to put my mouth on you right now
Chan: spread you open and lick up every drop until you’re crying
Chan: then slide in slow just to feel how tight you’d squeeze me after already cumming once
A soft, helpless sound left you in the dark of your room. Your free hand had drifted under the waistband of your underwear again without full permission, fingers resting against slick heat but not moving yet. You were soaked. Again. Ridiculous.
Chan: are you touching yourself
Y/N: …not yet
Chan: but you want to
Y/N: yes
Chan: ask me
Your breath shuddered.
Y/N: can i
Chan: can you what
Y/N: can i touch myself
Chan: while you look at my cock and think about me fucking you?
Y/N: yes
Chan: then do it
Chan: slow
Chan: i want you to take your time
Chan: and i want you to tell me when you’re close
You pushed your underwear down your thighs with shaking hands and let your knees fall open. The cool air of the room against your wet skin made you shiver. You stared at the photo—at the thick outline under grey fabric, at the way his fingers dug in, at those tattoos flexing—and circled your clit with two fingers the way you’d done earlier. Softer this time. Slower. Like he told you.
Your breathing picked up almost immediately.
Y/N: it feels good
Chan: yeah?
Chan: imagine it’s my hand
Chan: i’d be rougher than you
Chan: two fingers deep while my thumb works that pretty clit
Chan: i’d make you look me in the eyes the whole time
Your hips lifted. A quiet moan slipped out. You typed one-handed, messy.
Y/N: chan-
Chan: i know baby
Chan: keep going
Chan: tell me how wet you are
Y/N: soaked
Y/N: it’s dripping
Chan: fuck
Chan: i’m stroking my cock right now looking at your messages
Chan: thinking about how you’d look with your mouth open for me
Chan: or bent over my bike with those little sounds pouring out of you
The mental image punched the air from your lungs. You pushed two fingers inside yourself and moaned louder this time, the wet sound audible even to your own ears. Your thumb kept pressure on your clit, circling, chasing.
Y/N: i’m close
Chan: already?
Chan: needy thing
Chan: hold it
Y/N: i can’t—
Chan: yes you can
Chan: not until i say
Chan: breathe
Chan: think about how full you’d feel with me inside you
Chan: how i’d talk you through it
Chan: how i’d tell you what a good dirty girl you are for cumming on my cock after only knowing me one day
Your walls fluttered hard around your fingers. You were shaking, thighs tense, right on the razor edge. Tears of frustrated pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes.
Y/N: please
Chan: please what
Y/N: please let me cum
Chan: beg properly
Y/N: please chan
Y/N: i need it
Y/N: please please please-
Chan: cum for me
The orgasm tore through you viciously. You cried out into the quiet room, body arching, fingers grinding deep as wave after wave crashed over you. It lasted longer than the first one—sharper, meaner—until you were left twitching and oversensitive, hand still pressed between your legs like you were holding yourself together.
It took almost a full minute before you could type again.
Y/N: oh my god
Chan: yeah?
Chan: that sounded like a good one from over here
Y/N: you can’t hear me
Chan: don’t need to
Chan: i can picture it perfectly
Chan: pretty girl all fucked out in her bed because of some dirty texts and a picture of my cock
Chan: you’re dangerous for my self control
You lay there boneless, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling with a dazed little smile you couldn’t quite wipe off.
Y/N: says the man who started it
Chan: and i’ll finish it too
Chan: when you’re ready
Chan: until then…
Chan: sleep tight, dirty girl
Chan: dream about me
You locked your phone, set it on the nightstand, and immediately unlocked it again just to stare at the photo one more time.
Full tattoo sleeves.
Grey sweatpants.
That hand.
That smirk you could practically feel through the screen.
You were so completely, utterly screwed.
⸻
Morning light filtered through the kitchen window in soft gold streaks.
You moved on autopilot—grabbing your favorite mug, spooning coffee grounds, yawning so hard your eyes watered. Your body still felt loose and heavy from the night before, like the orgasms had rearranged something fundamental inside you. Every time your mind drifted back to grey sweatpants and low commands and come for me, your stomach flipped and your cheeks heated all over again.
You were mid-reach for the oat milk when your phone started buzzing against the counter.
FaceTime.
Chan.
Your hand froze. The phone kept vibrating, his name glowing on the screen like an accusation. Memories from last night slammed into you in a messy rush—your own desperate typing, the way you’d begged, the shameless sounds you’d made alone in the dark. He had seen none of it and somehow still witnessed everything.
You almost let it ring out.
Almost.
On the fourth buzz you answered, immediately shifting the camera so it faced the ceiling, and propped the phone against the fruit bowl like it might bite you.
A second later his voice came through, rough with sleep and warm with amusement.
“There she is. Was starting to think you were gonna leave me hanging, pretty girl.”
You cleared your throat, still not looking directly at the screen. “I… wasn’t sure if we were doing phone calls in daylight.”
His soft chuckle rolled through the speaker. “After last night? We’re doing whatever I can get.” A pause. You heard the shift of sheets on his end. “Move the camera. I wanna see you.”
You hesitated, fingers hovering, then slowly rotated the phone so the front camera faced you. You kept your eyes on the coffee pot like it required intense concentration.
Chan went quiet for a beat.
Then, lower: “Fuck.”
You glanced at the screen despite yourself.
He was propped up against a headboard, shirtless again, dark hair messy, one arm tucked behind his head. The tattoos you’d only seen in the mirror selfie last night wrapped both arms in full, intricate sleeves. Morning light cut across his collarbones and the defined lines of his chest. His eyes were heavy-lidded and already locked on you with zero shame.
“Morning,” he said, voice still gravel-rough. His gaze dipped, openly taking in the low cut of your tank top, the way the thin fabric clung, the clear lack of a bra. “You always look this soft first thing, or is this just for me?”
Heat crawled up your neck. You turned back to the counter and poured hot water into your mug, very aware of how the movement made the tank top shift. “I just woke up. Don’t really have a ‘for you’ morning routine.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” You heard the smile in his voice. “Those shorts are doing the most, Y/N.”
You looked down. The tiny black booty shorts you lived in around the house had ridden up a little from moving around. You tugged at the hem self-consciously, which only made him hum in amusement.
“Don’t pull them down on my account.”
“Chan.”
“What? I’m just observing. You’re the one who answered a FaceTime looking like that after cumming twice for me last night.”
Your entire face went hot. You spun toward the fridge to hide it, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. “We are not talking about that.”
“Oh we definitely are.” His tone was pure delight. “You’re still shy. That’s cute. Really cute. Especially after all those pretty little messages you sent me.”
You grabbed the oat milk, closed the fridge with your hip, and kept your back to the phone as long as possible. “It was late. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Mm. Sounded like you were thinking pretty clear when you were begging.”
You made a mortified sound and finally turned, mug in both hands like a shield. “Can you not?”
Chan’s grin was slow and wicked on the screen. He looked unfairly good for whatever early hour it was—sleepy eyes, lip piercing catching the light, the sheets pooled low around his waist. “I’m just saying good morning to the girl who told me she was soaked and then asked permission to touch herself. Feels rude not to acknowledge her.”
You set the mug down harder than intended. Coffee sloshed. “I’m hanging up.”
“No you’re not.” He sounded completely certain. “You’re gonna keep making your coffee while I look at you, and you’re gonna pretend you’re not already thinking about last night every time you shift your weight.”
Traitorously, you did shift your weight. The seam of the shorts pressed against you in a way that felt too noticeable all of a sudden. You turned away again, needing something—anything—to do with your hands, and bent to open the lower cabinet for the sugar.
The second you folded forward, the already-short shorts rode up high. Cool air hit the lower curve of one cheek. You heard Chan’s breath catch through the speaker.
You straightened so fast you nearly knocked your head on the counter edge, yanking the fabric down with one hand while clutching the sugar with the other. Your face felt like it was on fire.
On the screen, Chan had sat up a little straighter. His eyes were darker now. He dragged his lower lip between his teeth for a second, then exhaled a quiet laugh that sounded strained.
“You did that on purpose.”
“I did not.”
“Uh-huh.” He ran a hand through his hair, the tattoos flexing with the motion. “You bend over in those tiny shorts right in front of the camera and expect me to believe it was an accident? After last night?” His voice dropped. “You’re lucky I’m not there. I’d have my hands full already.”
You focused very hard on stirring sugar into your coffee. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still blushing.” He tilted his head, studying you. “I like it. Like that you’re all shy and flushed pink in the morning even after you let me talk you through cumming. It’s a good look on you.”
You finally risked another glance at the screen. He was watching you with that same focused intensity from the bookstore—like you were something interesting he’d found and planned on keeping. The playfulness was still there, but underneath it sat something heavier. Hungrier.
You took a sip of coffee to buy yourself a second. “Do you always FaceTime girls the morning after dirty texting them, or am I special?”
His expression softened just a fraction. “You’re special.” The words landed simply, no teasing for once. Then the smirk crept back. “Also I’ve been hard since I woke up thinking about the sounds you probably made, so this is an act of self-control. Be proud of me.”
You nearly choked on your coffee. “Chan—”
“Too much?” He looked completely unrepentant. “I’ll behave. Mostly. Tell me about your day. What does careful little book girl do on a regular morning besides torture men through FaceTime in booty shorts?”
You leaned against the counter, nursing your mug, and somehow—slowly—the conversation shifted. He asked real questions. Where you usually got coffee if not at home. What you were currently reading (you refused to tell him the title after the bookstore incident). Whether you preferred rainy days or sunny ones for staying in bed. He listened like the answers mattered, occasionally tossing in a soft tease that made your stomach flip, but never pushing all the way back into last night’s territory.
At some point you realized you’d stopped hiding from the camera. You were just… talking to him. Smiling a little. Rolling your eyes when he said something cocky. Letting yourself look at the tattoos and the sleepy mess of his hair and the way his mouth moved around your name.
Eventually he glanced off-screen and sighed. “I gotta get going soon. Ride in a bit.”
Disappointment flickered through you before you could stop it. You covered it by taking another sip. “Okay.”
He watched your face carefully. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re already missing me.” His voice gentled. “Text me later. Or call. Or FaceTime me in those shorts again. I’m not picky.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too obviously. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.” His eyes flicked over you one more time—slow, appreciative, lingering on the neckline of your tank top and the stretch of bare legs below the shorts. “Have a good day, Y/N.”
“You too, Chan.”
The call ended.
You stood in the quiet kitchen, coffee cooling in your hands, the ghost of his voice still curling around you. Your skin felt too warm. Your pulse hadn’t fully settled. And the worst (best) part was that you were already counting the hours until you could justify messaging him again.
You glanced down at your ridiculous pajama shorts and low tank top and let out a shaky little laugh.
⸻
The park had felt like a good idea at the time.
You’d lasted maybe two hours at home after the FaceTime before the walls started closing in. Every quiet second left too much room for replaying Chan’s voice, the way he’d looked sleep-rumpled and shirtless on your screen, the casual way he’d called you special. So you’d pulled on jeans, a soft long-sleeve top, and sneakers, grabbed the current romance novel you were only half-focused on, and walked the fifteen minutes to the only park in the city that wasn’t just a playground and wood chips. The one with the wide open grassy stretch and a few old trees that actually gave shade.
You’d claimed the base of the biggest one, back against the rough trunk, knees drawn up, book open in your lap. For a while it worked. The breeze moved through the leaves. Kids’ distant laughter floated from the other side of the park. You even managed to lose yourself in a few pages.
Then a shadow fell across the grass in front of you.
You looked up.
The man was older, clothes layered and dirty, eyes too sharp for someone who’d just been wandering. He stopped a few feet away and smiled in a way that didn’t reach those eyes.
“Nice day to be alone,” he said.
You offered a tight, polite smile and looked back down at your book, angling your body slightly away. “Mm.”
He didn’t take the hint. He stepped closer. “What’re you reading? Something dirty?” His laugh was wet and unpleasant. “Girls who sit out here by themselves usually are looking for something.”
Your stomach tightened. You closed the book around your finger. “I’m just reading. Have a good day.”
He didn’t move. “Don’t gotta be rude. I’m just being friendly.” His gaze dragged over you in a slow, obvious way that made your skin crawl. “Pretty thing like you. Sitting under this tree all by yourself. Bet you thought the open air would keep you safe, huh?”
The words landed wrong—too knowing, too deliberate. Your pulse kicked hard. You shifted, starting to stand. “I need to go—”
“Nah.” He moved faster than you expected, blocking the easiest path out from under the tree. “Stay. Talk to me. Or don’t talk. I don’t mind quiet.”
Your phone was in your back pocket. You reached for it on instinct, thumb swiping across the screen without looking as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Please leave me alone.”
“Or what?” He took another step. You could smell alcohol and unwashed clothes. “You gonna scream? Nobody’s close enough to care. Just you and me and all this nice empty grass.”
Your fingers must have landed on a recent contact. You didn’t realize the call had connected until much later. At the time all you knew was that your heart was slamming against your ribs and the man’s eyes had gone flatter, hungrier.
“I said leave.” Your voice came out thinner than you wanted.
He smiled wider. “You’re at the park sitting under this tree all by yourself… and you really thought nothing would find you?”
⸻
Chan was three streets over when the accidental call came through his helmet Bluetooth.
He almost ignored it—he was already doing fifteen over, enjoying the pull of the bike and the rare stretch of open road—but the name on his display made him tap the side of the helmet immediately.
Y/N.
The line opened to chaos.
Her voice first, tight and trying to stay calm: “Please leave me alone.”
Then a man’s voice, closer to the mic than it should have been, oily and amused. “Or what? You gonna scream? Nobody’s close enough to care. Just you and me and all this nice empty grass.”
Chan’s entire body went cold.
He heard her again, smaller: “I said leave.”
And the man, voice dropping into something truly ugly: “You’re at the park sitting under this tree all by yourself… and you really thought nothing would find you?”
Chan already knew which park. There was only one in the city with real trees and open grass instead of plastic playground equipment. He was less than four minutes out if he ignored every traffic law that existed.
He ignored them.
The bike snarled underneath him as he opened the throttle all the way, lane splitting through gaps that shouldn’t have been big enough, heart jackhammering against his ribs hard enough to hurt. Her breathing had gone audible on the line—short, scared pulls of air. The man’s voice kept going, low and continuous, saying things that made Chan’s vision tunnel. He heard fabric shift. Heard her try to move. Heard the exact second the man’s tone changed into something that meant hands were about to follow words.
Chan took the final corner so fast the bike nearly dragged metal.
He saw them the second he cleared the tree line.
You, back against the trunk, phone still clutched in one hand like you’d forgotten it was there, face pale. The man was right in your space, one grimy hand already reaching for your wrist.
He was off the bike in a single violent motion, helmet ripped off and dropped, closing the distance in long, furious strides. The man only had time to turn his head before Chan’s hand fisted in the front of his layered jackets and slammed him backward hard enough that the guy’s boots left the grass for a second.
“Back the fuck up.”
Chan’s voice was unrecognizable—low, lethal, stripped of every ounce of the teasing warmth you’d heard on the phone. He didn’t wait for a response. He shoved the man again, harder, sending him sprawling into the open grass, then stepped fully between you and him like a wall.
The guy scrambled up, mouth opening, but whatever he saw in Chan’s face made the words die. Chan took one step forward. Just one. The man flinched, turned, and stumbled away toward the far end of the park without looking back, muttering under his breath until distance swallowed the sound.
Silence rushed in to fill the space he left.
Chan stood there for a second longer, chest heaving, hands flexed open and closed like he was resisting the urge to go after the guy and finish it. Then he turned.
The second his eyes landed on you the entire lethal posture cracked.
“Hey—hey, look at me.” He was in front of you instantly, hands hovering near your shoulders like he wanted to touch but wasn’t sure if he should. His voice had dropped into something rough and urgent. “Y/N. You okay? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you before I got here?”
You were still pressed against the tree, phone hanging limply at your side, the call still connected until Chan gently took it from your hand and ended it without looking. Your whole body felt floaty and too sharp at the same time. The adrenaline had nowhere to go. Your knees were unreliable.
“I—” Your voice came out cracked. You tried again. “I’m okay. He didn’t—he didn’t get that far.”
Chan’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over you like he needed visual proof, lingering on your wrists, your face, the way you were still half-braced against the bark. Then he let out a long, shaky breath and dragged a hand through his hair.
“Christ,” he muttered. “I heard all of it. The second that call connected I just—” He stopped, shook his head once, hard. When he looked at you again his eyes were still too bright, too intense. “I didn’t think. I just drove.”
You realized distantly that his bike was still running a few yards away, abandoned at an angle, helmet on the grass beside it. He’d come in that fast.
Your hands were trembling. You noticed it the same moment he did. Chan’s expression twisted into something pained, and this time he didn’t hesitate—he reached out and carefully, slowly, folded you into his chest.
The leather of his jacket was sun-warm and solid. He smelled like wind and metal and the faintest trace of cologne. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, the other spanned wide and protective across your upper back. You could feel how hard his heart was still beating under your cheek.
“I’ve got you,” he said against your hair, voice low and rough. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
You didn’t mean to fist your hands in the back of his jacket. You didn’t mean to press closer like the tree behind you had disappeared. But the alternative was standing on your own while the leftover fear still buzzed under your skin, and right now his body was the only thing that felt steady.
Chan held on tighter, like he’d reached the same conclusion.
For a long minute neither of you spoke. The park noises slowly filtered back in—birds, distant traffic, the rustle of leaves overhead. His thumb moved in small, absent strokes at the base of your skull.
Eventually he eased back just enough to look at your face, hands still bracketing your shoulders.
“I’m taking you home,” he said. Not a question. “Or to my place. Or wherever you want. But you’re not walking anywhere alone right now, and you’re not staying here.” His eyes searched yours. “Okay?”
The protectiveness in his voice wrapped around the leftover fear like a blanket. You managed a small nod.
Chan’s shoulders dropped a fraction, relief bleeding through the lingering anger. He bent to grab his helmet, then reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers were warm and sure around yours.
“Come on, pretty girl,” he said, quieter now. “Let’s get you out of here.”
And for the first time since the man’s shadow had fallen across your book, your lungs filled all the way.
⸻
Chan’s hand stayed wrapped around yours as he guided you toward the still-running bike. He finally killed the engine, silence rushing in, then turned to face you fully. His eyes searched your face like he was still checking for damage.
“Whose place are we going to?” he asked. Voice low. Careful. “Yours or mine. Your call.”
You hesitated. Home meant familiarity—your couch, your blankets, the safety of four walls you controlled. But it also meant being alone the second he eventually left, replaying the man’s voice under that tree. The alternative sat in front of you wearing open concern and a leather jacket, waiting patiently for an answer he wouldn’t push.
“…Yours,” you said quietly. “If that’s okay.”
Something in Chan’s expression eased. He gave your hand a small squeeze. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
He let go only long enough to pick up his helmet and hold it out to you. When you just stared at it, he stepped closer.
“Ever been on a bike before?”
You shook your head.
“Alright. I’ll go easy.” He helped you with the helmet first—gentle fingers brushing your jaw as he adjusted the strap—then swung onto the seat and steadied the bike. One gloved hand extended toward you. “Put your foot there. Swing your leg over. I’ve got it.”
You followed his instructions, heart still beating too fast for entirely new reasons as you settled behind him. The second you were seated he reached back, found your wrists, and guided your arms around his waist.
“Hold on to me. Tight is good.”
You locked your fingers together against the soft fabric of his shirt under the open jacket. He was solid and warm and very real.
Before he started the engine again, Chan glanced over his shoulder. The teasing glint that had been missing since the park flickered back into his eyes, softer than usual but still there.
“So,” he said, voice low enough that it stayed between the two of you, “this remind you of any of the scenes in those dirty books of yours?”
Your face went hot inside the helmet. You tightened your arms around him in retaliation and felt the rumble of his quiet laugh more than you heard it.
“That’s what I thought.”
The bike came alive underneath you with a deep, rolling growl. Chan pulled away from the curb smoothly, one of your hands instinctively pressing flatter against his stomach as the momentum shifted. Wind slid over your arms. The city blurred at the edges. You kept your cheek hovered near the back of his shoulder, not quite resting it there, and focused on the steady expansion of his breathing under your hold.
He drove like he’d promised—controlled, no more reckless speeding—but every turn still pressed you closer into his back. By the time he turned into a quieter neighborhood and rolled into the driveway of a low, modern house with dark siding and a detached garage, your nerves had settled into something quieter. Not gone. Just… held.
Chan killed the engine, toed the kickstand down, and reached back to help you dismount before swinging off himself. He took the helmet from you, set both of theirs on the seat, and immediately laced his fingers through yours again like the contact was non-negotiable.
“Come on.”
His place was clean but lived-in. Shoes by the door, a leather jacket thrown over the arm of a dark couch, the faint smell of coffee and something woodsy. He didn’t give you a tour. He just led you straight to the couch, gently pushed you to sit, and disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets, the fridge, the clink of glass.
He came back with a bottle of water and a soft grey hoodie that clearly belonged to him.
“Drink.” He handed you the water, then held the hoodie out. “And put this on if you want. Adrenaline crash is gonna hit soon if it hasn’t already. You’ll get cold.”
You took both without arguing. The hoodie was huge on you, still carrying the faintest trace of whatever cologne he wore. You pulled it over your head and immediately felt a fraction safer, like the fabric itself was an extension of the way he’d put himself between you and danger earlier.
Chan sat down on the coffee table directly in front of you, elbows on his knees, close enough that his legs bracketed yours. He watched you drink like it was important.
“Talk to me,” he said after a minute. Soft. No teasing. “You don’t have to rehash the whole thing if you don’t want to. But I need to know where your head is at.”
You stared at the water bottle. The man’s voice still echoed faintly—you really thought nothing would find you?—but it was quieter now, competing with the memory of Chan’s body slamming into him and the way he’d said I’ve got you against your hair.
“I freeze,” you admitted. The words came out small. “When things get bad like that. I freeze and my brain just… static. I couldn’t even remember I had a phone in my hand until you took it.” You swallowed. “If you hadn’t answered—”
“But I did.” Chan’s voice was firm without being hard. He leaned in a little, eyes locked on yours. “I answered. I got there. He’s gone. You’re here. That’s the only version that matters right now.”
Your throat tightened. You nodded, not trusting your voice.
Chan’s gaze flicked over your face again, lingering on your eyes like he was still cataloguing every micro-expression. Then he exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
“I’m not gonna hover all night if you need space,” he said. “But I’d… really rather you didn’t go home alone yet. Guest room’s made up. Or you can take my bed and I’ll stay out here. Whatever feels least weird.” A beat. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. “I’ll even try not to bring up the dirty-book thing again for at least an hour.”
A tiny, unexpected huff of almost-laughter escaped you. The sound seemed to loosen something in his shoulders.
You looked down at the oversized sleeves of his hoodie covering your hands, then back up at him. The intensity from the park was still there under the surface, but it had reshaped itself into something quieter. Protective. Steady.
“I’ll stay,” you said. “Guest room is fine.”
Chan nodded once, like that settled it. He didn’t move from the coffee table right away, though. He just stayed there in your space, close enough that you could have reached out and touched the fresh scuff on his jacket from where he’d grabbed the guy, and let the silence sit comfortably between you.
For the first time since the shadow had fallen across your book, the static in your head started to fade.
And the person who’d made it fade kept watching you like leaving you alone again was the furthest thing from his mind.
⸻
You’d both say there in the quiet living room after the guest room decision was made, the weight of the afternoon still lingering like a third person on the couch. Chan had looked at you for a long moment, then tipped his head toward the kitchen.
“Stay. I’m getting us something stronger than water.”
He disappeared again. You heard the soft clink of glass, the opening of a cabinet, the quiet pour of liquid. When he came back he had two tumblers with a finger of amber liquid each. He handed one to you and finally—finally—shrugged out of the leather jacket.
The air left your lungs in a slow, traitorous leak.
The mirror selfie hadn’t done him justice. Not even close. The tattoos wrapped both arms in dense, intricate blackwork from the curve of his shoulders all the way down to his wrists, shifting every time the muscles underneath flexed. His arms were thicker than you’d realized, veins faintly visible along his forearms, the kind of strength that looked earned rather than decorative. The dark T-shirt he wore clung to the broad line of his chest and the flat plane of his stomach. He tossed the jacket over the arm of the couch like it weighed nothing and dropped into the seat beside you—close, but not quite touching—before taking a sip of his drink.
You stared a second too long.
Chan caught you. Of course he did. The corner of his mouth curved, soft and knowing, but he didn’t call it out. He just rested his free arm along the back of the couch, the movement making the ink ripple, and nodded at your glass.
“Drink. Not enough to get you drunk. Just enough to take the edge off.”
You obeyed. The alcohol was smooth and warm going down, settling in your stomach like a quiet promise of looseness. You took another small sip. Then a third. The residual tremor in your hands slowly eased.
For a while you simply sat there in the low light of his living room. Evening had fully arrived outside the windows. Somewhere deeper in the house a clock ticked. Chan’s presence beside you was solid and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of rushing whatever this was.
“I froze,” you said eventually. The words came easier with the drink warming your blood. “I told you that earlier. But it’s… more than that. I always freeze. Even when it’s not dangerous. I overthink everything until the moment passes and then I hate myself for not doing something.” You stared into the glass. “Today I kept thinking, if I just stay quiet and polite maybe he’ll get bored and leave. Like being nice would protect me.”
Chan was silent for a beat. When he spoke his voice was low and careful.
“Being nice doesn’t stop people who’ve already decided to be ugly. That’s not on you.”
You glanced at him. He was watching you with that same focused intensity from the park, but softer now. The tattoos on the arm draped behind you looked almost alive in the dim light.
“I heard your voice change on the phone,” he continued. “The second I realized what was happening I felt like I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I’ve never driven like that in my life.” A humorless huff of breath. “Probably broke about twelve laws. Worth it.”
Your chest tightened. You took another sip to hide whatever expression was trying to form on your face. The alcohol had started to loosen the usual knots in your tongue. Desire—quiet, heavy, inevitable—had begun low in your belly the second the jacket came off and only grown with every minute spent this close to him. It mixed with the leftover fear and the relief until everything felt heightened.
“You’re really strong,” you said without meaning to. Your eyes had drifted back to his arms. “I mean—obviously. But when you stopped him it looked… effortless.”
Chan’s gaze dropped briefly to his own forearm, then back to you. Something hotter flickered behind the softness.
“Adrenaline,” he said. “And the fact that he put his hands near you.” He shifted a little closer on the couch, the cushion dipping under his weight. His knee now rested lightly against yours. “You keep looking at the tattoos.”
Heat crawled up your neck. The drink made it harder to look away. “They’re… a lot. In a good way. The picture last night didn’t—” You stopped, bit the inside of your cheek. “Never mind.”
“Didn’t what?”
You exhaled, resigned to the honesty the alcohol was dragging out of you. “Didn’t do them justice. Or the rest of it.”
Chan’s eyes darkened a shade. He set his glass on the coffee table without looking away from you, then leaned back again, the movement casual and deliberate at the same time. The shift made the fabric of his T-shirt pull across his chest and shoulders.
“You can look,” he said quietly. “I don’t mind.”
The permission settled warm and dangerous between you. You let yourself take him in properly this time—the dense ink, the clear strength in his arms, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. Desire curled tighter. You were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were still wearing his hoodie, that it smelled like him, that your legs were tucked under you on his couch after one of the scariest afternoons of your life and all you could think about was how close his mouth was.
Chan’s voice dropped even lower.
“How’s your head now?”
“Louder,” you admitted. “But in a different way.”
His eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second. The air in the room seemed to thicken. He reached out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the backs of his fingers. The simple touch sent a shiver straight down your spine.
“You can stay out here as long as you want,” he said. His hand lingered near your jaw before dropping. “Watch something. Talk. Sit in silence. I’m not going anywhere.” A beat. The faintest smirk. “And if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to start taking it personally.”
You felt the flush rise all the way to your ears. The drink had made you braver, but not brave enough to close the remaining distance. Not yet. Instead you curled deeper into his hoodie, pulled your knees up, and let your shoulder rest lightly against the arm he still had stretched along the back of the couch.
Chan didn’t move away. After a moment his fingers began tracing absent, gentle patterns against the fabric near your shoulder—nothing demanding, just quiet contact. Proof of presence.
The evening stretched soft and slow around you both. You talked in fragments—about the book you’d been trying to read under the tree, about how long he’d been riding motorcycles, about nothing important at all. Every so often the conversation lulled and the awareness of him would rush back in: the heat of his leg against yours, the flex of inked muscle when he lifted his glass, the way his voice sounded deeper in the intimate quiet of his living room.
Desire never left. It simply sat between you like a third heartbeat—acknowledged, restrained, waiting.
At some point your head tilted fully against his shoulder. Chan shifted just enough to make it more comfortable, his cheek briefly resting against your hair. Neither of you commented on it.
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside, the edge of the day finally, carefully, began to dull—replaced by the steady warmth of a man who had dropped everything to reach you, and the quiet, growing certainty that you were no longer interested in keeping him at a safe distance.
⸻
The second drink settled warmer than the first.
You weren’t drunk—nowhere close—but the careful walls you usually kept so high had lowered just enough for impulse to slip through. Chan noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything. Every time you shifted a fraction closer on the couch, every time your eyes lingered on the ink wrapping his arms, the corner of his mouth would tilt like he was filing it away.
At some point your knee had fully pressed against his. Then your shoulder. Then, without fully deciding to, you turned more toward him, one leg tucked under you, the oversized sleeve of his hoodie slipping down to expose your wrist.
You stared at his bicep for a long second.
The muscle sat thick and rounded even at rest, the tattoos stretching over it every time he so much as breathed. The memory of how easily he’d thrown that man off you earlier flashed behind your eyes. Strength like that shouldn’t have been comforting. It was.
Your voice came out quieter than you intended.
“Can I…?”
Chan followed your gaze. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something hotter. He didn’t make you finish the sentence. He simply shifted, angling his upper body toward you, and rested his arm along the back of the couch again—closer this time, giving you easier access.
“Yeah,” he said. Soft. Rough around the edges. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated only a second longer before reaching out. Your fingers brushed the warm skin just above his elbow first, testing, before carefully wrapping around the fullest part of his bicep. The muscle was even firmer than it looked. Dense. Solid. When he flexed once under your hand—just a little, controlled—you felt the power of it all the way up your arm.
A tiny, involuntary sound escaped you.
Chan’s eyes darkened. He stayed perfectly still otherwise, letting you explore, but his voice dropped lower.
“Like what you feel?”
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak right away. Your thumb traced the edge of one of the larger tattoo designs almost without permission. “You’re… really strong.”
“You mentioned that earlier.” There was a smile in his voice, but it sounded strained now. “Keep touching me like that and I’m gonna start having trouble being a gentleman.”
The warning sent a slow pulse of heat through you. Still, you didn’t pull your hand away. If anything you shifted closer, close enough that your thigh pressed fully along his, close enough to catch the faint scent of his skin beneath the lingering trace of wind and leather. The alcohol made the boldness feel almost reasonable.
“I don’t think you’re very good at being a gentleman,” you murmured.
Chan let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “Careful, pretty girl.”
But he didn’t stop you when your fingers trailed higher, following the line of ink toward his shoulder. He didn’t stop you when you leaned in another inch. The air between you had gone thick, charged, every small movement suddenly meaningful. His free hand rested on his own thigh like he was deliberately not reaching for you yet.
Time blurred. The clock somewhere in the house kept ticking but neither of you acknowledged it. You talked in lower voices now—about nothing and everything. How long the tattoos had taken. How you’d never done anything this impulsive in your life. How the fear from the park still sat under your skin but felt manageable with him this close. Every so often your hand would drift back to his arm, or his knee would press a little more firmly against yours, or your eyes would catch and hold for too long.
The tension never eased. It only wound tighter, slow and deliberate, until the space between your mouths felt like the only thing left in the room.
It was late—properly late—when Chan’s voice cut through the quiet.
He had turned more fully toward you at some point. One arm still along the back of the couch, the other resting near your knee without quite touching. His eyes moved over your face like he was memorizing it.
“Y/N.”
The way he said your name made your stomach flip.
“Yeah?”
He lifted his hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him, and brushed his knuckles along your jaw. The touch was feather-light. Reverent. His thumb rested just beneath your lower lip.
“I want to kiss you,” he said. Simple. Honest. A little rough. “Been wanting to since the bookstore, if I’m being real. But I need you to tell me it’s okay. Especially after today.”
Your heart slammed so hard you were sure he could feel it. The alcohol, the residual adrenaline, the hours of building tension, the solid warmth of his body so close—all of it narrowed into this single point of contact where his thumb rested against your skin.
You didn’t look away.
“It’s okay,” you whispered.
Chan’s eyes flashed. He leaned in with agonizing care, closing the last of the distance like he was afraid of startling you. The first brush of his mouth against yours was soft—almost questioning. A test. When you didn’t pull back, when your fingers instead curled into the front of his T-shirt, he made a low sound in his throat and kissed you properly.
It was slow. Deep. Controlled in a way that somehow felt more intense than if he’d been rough. His lips were warm and sure, the faint press of his lip piercing a tiny delicious contrast. One of his hands slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other settled at your waist over the hoodie, gripping just enough to anchor you.
You kissed him back with more hunger than you expected from yourself. The soft, needy sound you made into his mouth made his fingers tighten in your hair. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss another degree, tongue brushing yours in a way that sent heat flooding south so fast it almost left you dizzy. Still, he kept it reined in—no rushing, no pushing you down into the cushions, just the thorough, devastating attention of someone who had been thinking about this exact moment for days.
When he finally pulled back it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing harder. His hand was still in your hair. Yours was still fisted in his shirt.
“Jesus,” he murmured against your mouth. “You have no idea how hard it is not to take that further right now.”
Chan sat at the kitchen island long after he’d insisted you take the guest room, laptop open, screen light washing over the tattoos on his forearms. Sleep had refused to come. Every time he closed his eyes he heard that bastard’s voice through the phone again, or felt the exact weight of your body shaking against his after he’d gotten to you. The kiss on the couch had only made the restlessness worse—now he knew the soft sound you made when you were kissed properly, the way your fingers curled into his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear.
You felt the truth of the statement in the tension running through his body, in the way his thumb kept stroking absently behind your ear like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
“But I won’t,” he added, quieter. “Not tonight. Not after everything. I just—” He kissed you once more, softer this time, lingering. “Needed to know what you tasted like.”
Your pulse was still racing. Desire sat heavy and unmet low in your belly, but underneath it was something warmer. Safer. You leaned in and brushed your mouth against his again, smaller, shyer, but deliberate.
Chan exhaled shakily and pulled you fully against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. His arms wrapped around you, strong and careful. You could hear the rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear.
“Stay right here for a while,” he said into your hair. “Just like this.”
You nodded, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt again, and let yourself melt into the solid heat of him.
The tension didn’t disappear. It simply settled around you both like a living thing—present, patient, and nowhere near finished with either of you.
Outside, the night kept its silence.
On the couch, Chan held you like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.
⸻
The house had gone completely still.
He tried to focus on the work in front of him. Failed. Rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. Past two.
That was when he heard it.
A small, broken sound from down the hall. Then another. Soft whimpering, the kind that punched straight through the quiet.
Chan was on his feet before he’d fully processed the decision. He moved down the hallway on silent feet and stopped outside the guest room door. Another distressed noise filtered through the wood—higher this time, laced with fear.
He knocked once, lightly.
No answer.
He knocked again, then carefully pushed the door open.
Moonlight cut across the bed through the half-open blinds. You were tangled in the sheets, brows furrowed deep, cheeks wet with tears that kept slipping from the corners of your closed eyes. Your hands were fisted in the blanket like you were still trying to push someone away. Another soft, wounded sound left you.
Chan’s chest went tight.
“Y/N,” he called gently, stepping inside. “Hey. Pretty girl. Wake up.”
You didn’t stir. A tear tracked down into your hair.
He crossed to the side of the bed and lowered himself to one knee, keeping his voice low and steady. “Y/N. It’s me. You’re safe. Come on, baby, open your eyes for me.”
Your lashes fluttered. For a second you only stared at him in pure, disoriented panic—chest heaving, body still half-trapped in whatever the dream had shown you. Then recognition hit, and the fear cracked into something rawer.
“Chan—” Your voice was wrecked. You tried to sit up too fast and only succeeded in getting more tangled. Fresh tears spilled over. “I—he was—I couldn’t move again—”
“I know. I know.” He reached out slowly, giving you time to reject the contact, and brushed the wetness from one cheek with his thumb. “It was a dream. You’re in my house. He’s not here. You’re safe.”
The words seemed to reach you in pieces. Your breathing stayed ragged. You looked so small in the middle of the guest bed, still wearing his hoodie from earlier, eyes glassy and lost. Something in Chan’s expression shuttered and then softened all at once.
“Come here,” he murmured.
He didn’t wait for you to try standing on unsteady legs. Instead he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you clear of the mattress in one smooth, careful motion. You made a quiet sound of surprise and instinctive protest, arms looping around his neck on reflex as he straightened.
“Chan—put me down, I’m fine, you don’t have to—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice left no room for argument, but it stayed gentle. “Just for a minute. Let me.”
You subsided, cheek ending up against the side of his neck, and felt the steady strength in the arms holding you. He carried you out of the guest room and down the short hall like you weighed nothing, shouldered his own bedroom door open, and crossed to the large bed that still looked barely slept in. The sheets were dark and cool when he lowered you onto them.
The second your back touched the mattress you tensed, guilt flickering across your face even through the leftover fear.
“I can go back to the other room,” you whispered. “You need sleep too. I don’t want to take your bed after you already—”
Chan braced one knee on the mattress and looked down at you, hair falling into his eyes. The moonlight caught the edge of a tattoo on his arm as he reached out and smoothed your hair away from your damp cheek.
“You’re not taking anything,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway. And I’d rather have you right here where I can see you than down the hall having another nightmare I might not hear in time.” His thumb stroked once beneath your eye, erasing the last trace of tears. “Stay. Please.”
The soft plea undercut every argument you had left. You searched his face for any sign that he was only offering out of obligation, but all you found was open, stubborn concern and the same quiet intensity from the couch earlier.
“…Okay,” you breathed.
Some of the tension left his shoulders. Chan straightened just long enough to pull the blankets back properly, then hesitated.
“I’ll sleep on top of the covers if that makes you more comfortable,” he offered. “Or the floor. Whatever you need.”
You shook your head against the pillow. The idea of him on the floor after everything felt wrong. “You can—under is fine. Just sleep.”
He studied you for another second, then nodded. The mattress dipped as he rounded to the other side and slipped under the blankets, keeping a careful stretch of space between your bodies at first. The heat of him still reached you immediately. In the dark he turned onto his side to face you.
“I’m right here,” he said into the quiet. “If the dream comes back, you wake me. No guilt. No apologizing. Just wake me.”
Your throat felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. You nodded, curling one hand into the front of the hoodie you still wore like an anchor.
For a while the only sound was the two of you breathing. The leftover images from the nightmare slowly lost their sharp edges, replaced by the solid reality of Chan’s presence a foot away—his steady inhale, the faint scent of his skin, the knowledge that the same arms that had carried you in here had already proven they would put themselves between you and anything that tried to hurt you.
Eventually you shifted a little closer without fully deciding to. Chan didn’t comment. He simply extended one arm in silent invitation.
You took it.
Your head settled against his chest, ear over the strong, even beat of his heart. His arm curved around your back, heavy and warm and protective. The last of the adrenaline and fear drained out of you in a slow, inevitable wave.
Sleep came softer this time.
And when a faint echo of the park tried to surface again near dawn, all it took was the unconscious tightening of Chan’s arm around you and the low, half-asleep rumble of his voice against your hair—
“I’ve got you. Sleep, pretty girl.”
—for it to fade completely.
⸻
Three weeks blurred by in a haze of routine neither of you questioned.
Somehow your car started ending up in Chan’s driveway every evening after work like it had a mind of its own. You’d text when you were leaving the office. He’d reply with a simple door’s unlocked or just got back, come in. Some nights you cooked together in his kitchen while he leaned against the counter and watched you with that quiet, hungry focus. Some nights he ordered food and the two of you ate on the couch with your legs tangled. Occasionally you went home. More often you didn’t. The guest room stopped being used entirely after the third night you fell asleep against his chest and woke up in his bed with his arm locked around your waist.
The kissing had grown dangerous.
What started soft and careful on the couch became open-mouthed and desperate against his front door the second it closed behind you. Hands started wandering—yours under his shirt to map the ridges of his abs and the warm ink on his back, his sliding up your thighs until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear and stopped there like a silent promise. He would bite your lower lip and murmur filthy observations about how wet you already were, how good you smelled, how he could feel you throbbing through your jeans. You would whimper and roll your hips and still, somehow, it never crossed the final line. The tension became a living thing that followed you both through the day. By the time the week was almost over you were wound so tight that even the brush of his fingers against yours felt like foreplay.
Which was how you ended up exactly where you were now.
Chan had gone out for a late ride to clear his head. You’d let yourself in with the key he’d pressed into your palm two days ago, showered, stolen the soft black hoodie that smelled the most like him, and settled on his couch with the book you’d been too embarrassed to read in front of him all week. It was one of the filthier ones. The kind that didn’t fade to black. You’d only meant to reread a little. Just enough to take the edge off the constant ache he’d left you with that morning when he’d pinned you to the mattress and kissed you until you were shaking, only to pull away with a wicked smile and the soft command to be patient.
You were so absorbed that you didn’t hear the motorcycle until the front door opened.
Chan stepped inside, helmet in one hand, leather jacket still on, hair wind-tossed and cheeks faintly flushed from the ride. He took one look at you—curled up in the corner of his couch, bare legs tucked under you, wearing nothing but his hoodie and a pair of simple black panties—and stopped dead.
His eyes darkened instantly.
“Well,” he said, voice already rough. “That’s a fucking sight.”
You jumped, slamming the book shut on instinct, cheeks flaming. “You’re back early.”
“Traffic was light.” He set the helmet down, shrugged out of the jacket, and walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps. The black T-shirt underneath clung to him from residual heat. “What’re you reading, pretty girl?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He reached down and plucked the book from your hands before you could stop him. You made a grab for it; he simply lifted it higher, eyes scanning the page you’d been on. The smirk that curved his mouth was pure sin. “Oh. One of those.”
“Chan—give it back—”
He ignored you, turning a little so the light hit the page better. His eyebrows rose. Then he let out a low, appreciative whistle.
“Look at this. She’s on her knees with her hands tied. He’s got her hair wrapped around his fist. Telling her she’s going to take every inch like a good girl or he’s going to keep her on the edge all night.” Chan’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, molten. “This what you’ve been sitting here getting wet to while I was gone?”
Your face felt nuclear. You pressed your thighs together under the hoodie, already embarrassingly slick just from the way he was looking at you and the knowledge of exactly which scene he’d landed on. “I was just—”
“Just reading,” he finished for you, voice dropping. He stepped closer until he stood between your knees, still holding the book open. “Let’s see what happens next then.”
And then he started reading out loud.
His voice was low, rough, perfect for the words. He didn’t rush. He let every filthy line land as he reached down with his free hand, curled his fingers around your ankle, and slowly tugged you forward until your ass was at the edge of the couch cushion. You gasped; he kept reading, calm as anything, while he set the book down on the cushion beside you just long enough to grip the hem of the hoodie and drag it up your thighs.
“‘He spread her legs wider,’” Chan read, eyes flicking between the page and your face, “‘and dragged his knuckles over the soaked center of her panties, just light enough to make her hips jerk.’”
His own knuckles followed the words exactly—slow, barely-there pressure right over where you were already wet and aching. A helpless whimper punched out of you. Chan’s jaw flexed, but he kept going.
“‘She was dripping for him. Ruined already and he hadn’t even taken her underwear off yet.’” His knuckles pressed a little firmer, rubbing a deliberate circle that made your head fall back. “Sound familiar, Y/N?”
“Chan—”
“Keep listening.” He picked the book up again with his free hand, the other still tormenting you through the thin cotton. “‘He hooked his fingers in the waistband and peeled them down her legs, telling her to lift if she wanted him to touch her properly.’”
You lifted without thinking. Chan’s eyes flashed with dark approval as he dragged your panties down and off, tossing them aside. The cool air of the room hit your soaked cunt and you shivered. He groaned under his breath at the sight, but still—still—kept reading.
“‘He dragged two fingers through her folds, gathering the wetness, and spread it over her clit in slow, filthy circles.’”
His fingers mirrored the line. Hot. Calloused. Perfect. You cried out softly as he rubbed tight, slick circles over the swollen bud, your hips already trying to chase the pressure. Chan’s breathing had gone heavier. He set his knee on the couch beside you for a better angle and kept his voice devastatingly steady even as his fingers worked you.
“‘She was so sensitive she tried to close her thighs. He simply shoved them back open and told her to take it.’”
Chan’s free hand pressed firmly against your inner thigh, pinning it open. The next circle of his fingers was firmer. Meaner. Your back arched.
“Oh my god—”
“‘He slid two fingers inside her without warning, curling them until he found the spot that made her see stars, and started fucking her with them in deep, steady strokes while his thumb kept working her clit.’”
Chan did exactly that.
The stretch of his fingers punching inside you punched a broken moan from your throat. He was rougher than the teasing touches of the past week—deeper, more certain, like he’d been holding this exact thing back for days and was done waiting. His thumb rubbed relentless circles while his fingers curled and thrust, the wet sound of it obscenely loud in the quiet living room. You clutched at his forearm, nails digging into the tattoos, thighs trembling.
He leaned down until his mouth was right beside your ear, the book dangling forgotten from his other hand now.
“You’re soaking my hand already,” he rasped, dropping the pretense of reading. “All that tension this week and you were sitting here in my hoodie reading about getting finger-fucked like a desperate little thing. Should’ve just asked me, pretty girl. I would’ve taken care of you the second I walked in the door.”
Your only answer was a high, needy whimper as he curled his fingers harder. The coil in your belly wound terrifyingly tight, terrifyingly fast. Weeks of denied release had left you right on the edge already.
Chan kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot beneath your ear, still working you open with those devastating fingers.
“You gonna cum for me like this?” he murmured against your skin. “All over my hand while I do exactly what that dirty book of yours described? Use your words.”
“Yes—please—Chan, please—”
“That’s my girl.”
He fucked his fingers into you deeper, thumb pressing firm, relentless circles, and the orgasm crashed through you so hard your vision whited out. You cried out his name, thighs clamping around his hand, walls fluttering and clenching as wave after wave wrecked you. Chan worked you through every pulse, murmuring soft, filthy praise against your cheek the whole time—that’s it, just like that, fuck you look so pretty cumming for me—until you were shaking and oversensitive and trying to squirm away.
Only then did he ease his fingers out.
You watched through dazed eyes as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them clean with a low, appreciative sound that made your spent body clench all over again. When he looked back down at you—flushed, spread open on his couch, wearing nothing but his hoodie and a wrecked expression—the heat in his eyes had turned feral.
He braced both hands on the cushion beside your head and leaned in until his lips brushed yours.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly. Rough. Certain. “I’ve been patient for a week. I’m done being patient. Tell me right now if you want me to stop.”
Your hands were already fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Your voice came out wrecked and honest.
“Don’t stop.”
Chan’s control snapped with a low, hungry sound.
He kissed you like he was starving for it—deep and open and filthy—while his hands shoved the hoodie up and over your head, leaving you completely bare beneath him. Then he stood just long enough to rip his own shirt off, kick his boots away, and shove his jeans and underwear down in one impatient motion. His cock sprang free thick and hard and already leaking, and the sight of it made your mouth go dry.
He didn’t give you time to stare.
Chan hooked his hands under your thighs, dragged you even closer to the edge of the couch, and notched the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. He held your eyes as he pushed in—slow, relentless, stretching you open around every inch until he was buried to the hilt and both of you were shaking.
“Fuck—Y/N—” His forehead dropped to yours. “You feel unreal.”
You could only whimper and wrap your legs around his waist, already clenching around the thick intrusion. Chan gave you three careful breaths to adjust. Then he drew back and snapped his hips forward hard enough to punch a cry from your throat.
After that there was no more restraint.
He fucked you deep and steady on his couch, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise as he kept you open for every thrust. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You clung to his tattooed shoulders, nails dragging, moaning brokenly every time he bottomed out. Chan watched your face like he was addicted to every expression, occasionally dropping down to kiss you filthy and deep or to rasp praise against your mouth—so tight, taking me so well, look at you, my perfect dirty girl—until you were right on the edge again.
When he slipped a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight circles over your swollen clit you shattered with a sob, cumming so hard around his cock that he cursed and buried his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it. The clench of your cunt dragged him over right after—he drove in deep one last time and came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing hot inside you while his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.
For a long time the only sound was the two of you trying to remember how to breathe.
Chan eventually lifted his head, brushed damp hair off your forehead, and kissed you—slow and deep and lingering. When he pulled back his eyes were softer, but the heat hadn’t left.
“Next time,” he murmured against your lips, “we’re trying the part where her hands are tied.”
You laughed, breathless and wrecked and happier than you’d been in years, and pulled him back down into another kiss.
The tension that had been building for weeks finally, thoroughly, broke.
And neither of you had any intention of putting it back together.
⸻
Epilogue:
Months later, the leather jacket still lived on the hook by Chan’s front door.
So did your shoes. Your books had slowly colonized the coffee table and the nightstand on “your” side of the bed. The guest room had officially been converted into a reading nook with a ridiculously comfortable armchair he’d assembled one Sunday while muttering about how you needed better light for your dirty novels. You still blushed every time he said it. He still smirked like it was his favorite hobby.
The nightmares about the park had faded. On the rare nights something dark tried to creep back in, you only had to shift closer and Chan’s arm would tighten around you on instinct, voice rough with sleep as he pressed a kiss to your hair and murmured, “I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.”
You never froze the same way again.
Not when he looked at you across a room like he was already imagining peeling your clothes off. Not when he crowded you against the kitchen counter and kissed you stupid. Not when he picked you up from work and dragged you onto the back of his bike on warm evenings and took the long way home just so your arms would stay wrapped around him a little longer.
The tension never really disappeared. It simply changed shape—settled into something deeper, steadier, and somehow even hungrier. Some nights he still made you read the filthiest scenes out loud while his hands recreated every word until you were shaking and begging. Other nights were quieter: you draped across his chest on the couch, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your bare thigh while some documentary neither of you were watching played in the background.
One evening in early fall, you came home—because it was home now, even if the lease still had only his name—to find Chan in the kitchen, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos on full display as he stirred something that smelled incredible. He glanced over his shoulder when the door opened, and that slow, private smile curved his mouth.
“There she is.”
You dropped your bag and walked straight into his chest. His arms closed around you immediately, wooden spoon still in one hand, chin resting on top of your head.
“Missed you,” he said simply.
You smiled into his shirt. “I was gone for six hours.”
“Yeah. And I still missed you.” He tipped your chin up and kissed you—slow, lingering, the kind that still made your knees unreliable even after all this time. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. Soft. A little wicked around the edges. “Also I may have bought you another book. The one with the motorcycle club and the ridiculously possessive guy. Figured we could workshop a few scenes later.”
You laughed, shoving lightly at his chest, and he only grinned wider and pulled you closer.
Later that night, after dinner and a shared shower and the kind of unhurried, devastating sex that left you both wrecked and smiling, you lay tangled in his sheets with your head on his chest. Chan’s fingers combed lazily through your hair. The city hummed quietly beyond the window. His heartbeat was steady under your ear.
“Hey,” he said after a long, comfortable silence.
“Mm?”
“I’m really fucking glad you were crouched in the romance section that day.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. The moonlight caught the edge of his lip piercing, the faint scar on his eyebrow, the open affection in his eyes that still sometimes stole your breath.
“Yeah?” you whispered.
Chan nodded, thumb brushing your cheek. “Best decision I ever made was asking a shy girl for a book recommendation.” His voice dropped, warm and rough and full of everything the months had built. “I love you, pretty girl.”
The words settled over you like the softest blanket.
You stretched up and kissed him—slow and sure and smiling against his mouth.
“I love you too, Chan.”
Outside, the night kept moving.
Inside, the biker with the filthy mouth and the softest heart held you tighter, and the girl who used to freeze had never felt more certain of exactly where she belonged.
TYSM for reading!!
Feel free to check out my Master list part 1 and Master list part 2 to see more of my works! (Part 2 has my newer and better ones)
The bed creaks, the legs scraping against the wooden floorboards as you ride your boyfriend’s face. The bed frame is hanging on by a hair as that's the only thing nearby for you to grab onto.
“Oh- f-fuck, yes-!” You pant out. The weight of you on Jeongin’s face makes his cock rut into the air, his tongue switching from tactics of licking over your clit to fucking it deep into your hole. Jeongin’s hands are found locked on your thighs, after telling him you were scared he wouldn't be able to breathe– he made sure you’d be completely comfortable.
Grinding onto his mouth and nose with no shame but needing to cum on his perfectly sculptured face. “Keep going jagi, take what you need.” Your back arches forward you feel like you could just cum from the sight below you. Pure hunger in that man's eyes, the way he looks at you with those fox-like eyes makes you feel the coil in your stomach feel like it's impossibly tight “M’gonna- fucking cum!”
The feeling of being lightheaded from the pleasure and feeling him speed up the pace makes everything in the room feel like it's all going to collapse in on you. Your fingers find Jeongin’s white locks and grasp them ever so tightly as your hips help you fuck yourself on his tongue. “Use me, love. Give it all to me.”
He's letting you use him to get off and he still continues his soft praises to encourage you to keep going. Seriously, what a man. What’s even better is when he invited you over purposely knowing his roommate wouldn't be home. “You can be as loud as you want. Please, I want to hear everything.” He's right where he wants to be.
Jeongin’s hand trails from your thigh and up to your hip, his thumb reaches down to rub circles on your folds. The mixture of tongue being fucked into and then his finger now toying with you makes your pussy throb in desperation.
“Ha- je-jeon, oh, fuck!” Throwing your head back at the pleasure being given to you. “Gorgeous girl, give it to me.” This time, his voice doesn't sound rough; it's more of a whimper. The bulge in his pants is huge and uncomfortable, but all he wants is to make you feel good.
Like a command your release is ripped from you like an intense shock and squirt all over his tongue. You shout out his name like a prayer and melt into his touch that's now gentle against you. Jeongin reaches up to hold your back and rubs gentle hearts on your stomach. “You okay darling?” That's when you snap out of your orgasm and realize that you were still sitting on him.
“Yeah, I just— that was incredible,” you say, as if you've done this countless times before. Now, lying next to him on your back, you pant softly as your legs tremble. Jeongin takes your hand, kisses your wrist, then leans over you, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His tongue circles yours; he tastes just like you.
The passion in the kiss makes you moan softly, which makes him pull away from you. “Fuck, do-don’t do that.” His eyes trail down to his pants that already appear to have a big wet patch on them.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
≔ ⋆⟢ pairing : (husband) yang jeongin x (wife) female reader
◟ ⌕ genre: married au, fluff
◟ word count: 712
⬩➤ 【 warning 】 ᝰ. not proofread
Today was honestly the best day ever! Throughout this entire week, you’ve been stressed, like really stressed. It was nonstop. There was always something that was going on or had to be handled at the moment. No breaks at all. It wasn’t just terrible for you but Jeongin too. He felt extremely bad, deeming himself a horrible husband when word comes to him about how much you're struggling. He tries to help, anyway he can, by sending you resources or asking loved ones to check up on you. Still, his efforts don’t go unnoticed nor underappreciated.
But finally! It’s Saturday! Which means the kids are home, getting a break themselves from school. It also means, you don’t need to handle anything, not right away, unless absolutely needed.
Your morning started off great, sleeping in, waking up feeling fully energized, making breakfast for you, your son, and daughter who greatly appreciated your cooking with each joyful hum they let out. Afterwards, you brought them outside to play at the local park. As the three of you were there, in the mostly empty park, a pair of swans can be seen swimming by. Although beautiful creatures, you know better than to get closer and make these birds feel threatened, and so, you guys just watched in admiration.
It was right after the swans swam by did you hear a very loud, “AUNTIE Y/N!” A little taken back, you turn around to see your lovely niece, Changbin’s daughter, ecstatically running towards you. Of course, she wasn’t alone. Falling behind were her mom and her other aunt, Changbin’s sister. In the meantime, while the three of you enjoyed a light conversation at the bench, the three of them, your son, daughter, and Changbin’s daughter played energetically by running around or playing by the swings.
About half an hour later, the six of you split up. You, your son and daughter going one way and Changbin’s wife, sister, and daughter going another. Either way, there was a lot of shouting goodbyes and waving chaotically. On your way back home, you suddenly remembered you needed to buy some ingredients to make dinner. Both your kids were excited, knowing fully well they’ll be rewarded with their favorite snacks if they behave which they always do. The shopping trip didn’t last long, only needed to get a couple of things, with both your hands full carrying the bags and your son and daughter getting a bag of their favorite chips.
Settling back home, you put the ingredients away to use for later. Your kids quickly got to finishing their chips and opening the tv to their favorite cartoons. All was well. Seemingly well. But something in you didn’t feel right. Not like an immediate pang of worry. Just curious about what you're leaving out. Then, your phone rang out. You quickly answered seeing Jeongin’s contact.
“Hey Innie?”
“Don’t Innie me!” He dramatically exclaimed on the other end with his members clearly being heard chuckling somewhere around him.
“Eh? What’s wrong?”
“Oh something is very wrong! Did you forget something?”
“... Huh? Did I? Wait… what did I forget?”
“Oof, that’s got to hurt.” You heard Jisung say right after.
“Wow! ME! You forgot about me! Remember? Your loving husband Yang Jeongin?! Who you were supposed to pick up from the airport two hours ago?!”
“You should’ve been here Y/N!” Felix laughed out. “He was sulking like a baby! He was like “No, I’m going to wait here because I know my wife is going to get me!”
“Do I even matter to you anymore?!” Jeongin playfully questions.
“Oh my god! Innie! I’m so sorry! And yes, you do matter to me!”
“Now please pick your husband up before he drowns the entire airport with his tears.” Minho teased.
“I’m coming! Just hang tight!” You said, scrambling with some of your things and telling the kids to follow you to the car.
“I’ve been hanging tight! All I wanted was my wife and my kids!” Jeongin announced.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you Innie”!
“You better! I demand cuddles, kisses, and everything you can offer! It’s been a whole month since I last saw you guys!”
pairing: ot8!skz, bf!skz x fem!reader
tags: swearing, hurtful messages, mentions of eating + drinking, heavy angst, no comfort, established relationship, all of them are kind of cruel
part 1 | part 2
skz masterlist
⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 author's note - this one is worse than the hyung line so be warned
Summary: Felix would give Chan his whole world, as long as he gets to watch.
A/N: Just a little something to give you all a sign that i‘m alive. Got caught up with the studying. Ily and miss u all. Stream This&That on Friday <3
Felix didn’t think that it would be weird. No, not at all. Chan was their Leader. The man who did it all for them. So the least he could do was share with him. Share what was his most precious thing… right? Yeah, right, his mind whispered while the cushions of the chair felt itchy against his pants. His hand felt exhausted, but he couldn’t stop… no… not yet… not when it wasn’t over.
His eyes wandered over Chan’s muscles, glistening with sweat while he kneeled. Beads of perspiration dripped from Chan's brows, sliding down his face as his moans and groans filled the room, heavy and primal. Those huge biceps were locked tight around her waist, anchoring her in place. Felix’s mouth hung open, his breath hitching as his gaze traveled from her bouncing tits down to her soaking pussy, where he could clearly see Chan’s thick dick sliding in and out of her, stretching her open with every wet thud.
Her nails—the ones Felix had paid for—dug deep into Chan’s biceps, scratching the skin as she begged him to go harder. Her backside was pressed firmly against Chan’s front, creating the perfect view of the friction and the heat. Felix couldn’t last any longer; his own cock was throbbing, leaking pre-cum into his hand.
Her moans grew higher and faster, turning into desperate whimpers. Felix knew the signs; after three years of dating her, he knew them by heart. She was about to orgasm. His hand moved faster, jerking himself frantically, while Chan’s thrusts became deeper and more violent, slamming into her womb. She almost screamed, her back arching as her pussy clamped down tight around him, pulsing in a violent orgasm. Her hair clung to her sweat-soaked forehead.
Chan let out a loud, guttural groan as he surged forward one last time, pumping his hot cum deep inside her. At that exact moment, Felix whimpered, his body shaking as he felt himself come, spilling his seed across his own stomach.
"Thank you for your girl," Chan mumbled, his voice husky as he tried to catch his breath.
Felix smiled weakly, his eyes glazed with submission. "Anything for our leader..."
WE ARE SO BACK (for now)… listen, I was just brainstorming random ideas with my friend then boom.. it came to me. What if Felix is like- a sensual dom… Teasing reader with his sexy deep ass voice and shit ya know?. Reader tied up in shibari while he hits it from the back. Oooo yep. Then my friend told me to shut up bc apparently she can read it but can’t listen to it XD
ANYWAYSSSSSS please lock in for this panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)
Content warning: bondage, praise, multiple orgasms, edging, oral (f!receiving), sensory deprivation (ball gag and blindfold), unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it folks!!), overstimulation, no plot, implied aftercare.
The silk blindfold is the first thing he settles over your eyes.
Soft red fabric, cool against your skin, tied carefully at the back of your head so that the world disappears into warm darkness. You can still hear everything—the quiet shift of his weight on the mattress, the soft rustle of rope, the low hum of approval in his throat when he steps back to look at you.
Then the ropes began.
Felix works in silence at first, only the occasional quiet murmur when he needs you to shift. Soft red rope slides against your skin in long, deliberate passes. He builds the harness slowly: diamond patterns framing your breasts, a neat cinch at your waist, then the careful binding of your thighs that forces your knees wide. Wrists drawn behind your back into a tidy box tie. Ankles linked and pulled up so your hips are lifted high, ass presented, completely open.
Face down. Ass up. Blind and bound.
⸻
A black ball gag is pressed gently against your lips.
“Open,” he says, voice low and warm.
You do. The rubber settles heavy against your tongue, straps buckling snug behind your head. Saliva starts to gather almost immediately.
Felix’s hand strokes once down the length of your spine, following the lines of the rope.
“There,” he murmurs. “Perfect. Look at you… all mine and so quiet already.”
He doesn’t touch you between your legs yet. He just lets the silence stretch while he undresses. You hear the soft click of buttons, the whisper of fabric sliding off skin, the quiet thud of jeans hitting the floor. Then the mattress dips as he kneels behind you.
Warm palms settle on the backs of your thighs, thumbs stroking the places where rope meets soft flesh.
His voice is pure velvet—deep, a little rough, dripping with lazy amusement and something darker underneath.
“I’m going to take my time with you tonight. You’re going to feel every second of it.”
Finally, finally, two long fingers drag through your cunt.
Slow. Thorough. Gathering slick and spreading it. He circles your clit with the lightest pressure, just enough to make your hips twitch against the ropes. Every time you try to push back for more, his free hand presses firmly on the small of your back, holding you still.
“Ah-ah. Stay.”
He dips those fingers inside—just the tips, curling once, then pulling free with a soft, wet sound. You hear him suck them clean.
“Sweet,” he hums. “Always so fucking sweet for me.”
Then his mouth replaces his hand.
Felix licks you open like he’s got all night. Long, broad strokes from clit to hole and back again. Soft sucks. The occasional gentle scrape of teeth that makes your thighs shake. He doesn’t rush a single moment. Every time the coil in your belly starts to tighten, he eases off—kisses the inside of your thigh, murmurs praise against your skin, waits until the edge fades before starting again.
“That’s it… just like that. Let me hear those pretty little noises around the gag.”
Your muffled moans fill the room. Slick drips down your thighs. The ropes creak softly every time you tremble. Time stretches until you’re aching, empty, desperate, tears of pure frustration prickling behind the blindfold.
Only then does he pull away.
You feel the thick, hot weight of his cock rest against the cleft of your ass. He doesn’t push in. Just drags the head through your folds, coating himself, teasing your entrance with shallow presses that never quite give you what you need.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re soaked. Dripping down my cock already and I haven’t even been inside you yet.”
⸻
One hand reaches up. The buckles of the gag loosen. The ball slips free with a wet sound, a string of saliva breaking as it leaves your mouth. You gasp, jaw aching, tongue thick.
Felix leans over you, chest warm against the ropes along your back, and presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you need.”
Your voice comes out wrecked. “Please… Felix, please—”
“Please what?” He rolls his hips once, the head of his cock catching and sliding past without sinking in. “Use your words for me.”
“Fuck me,” you whisper. “I need you inside me—please—”
“Mm. Good girl.”
He pushes in.
Slow. So fucking slow. Inch by thick inch, stretching you open around him until he’s buried to the hilt. You feel every vein, every pulse. Your mouth falls open on a broken, shaky moan.
Felix stays still for a long moment, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing hard.
“Christ… you feel perfect. Always do.” One hand slides under you to cup your breast through the ropes, thumb brushing your nipple. “So tight… so warm… taking every inch like you were made for it.”
He starts to move.
Deep, rolling thrusts at first. The kind that grind against every sensitive place inside you. The ropes hold you open and still, forcing you to take whatever pace he sets. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging into soft flesh.
“That’s it… just like that. Let me feel you.”
His voice never rises. It stays low, velvet-rough, pouring praise and filthy little observations straight into your ear as he fucks you deeper.
“Listen to how wet you are for me… trying to fuck yourself back on my cock even when you can’t move… such a good girl… taking it so well…”
The pace builds gradually. Harder. Deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. Every thrust punches soft, broken sounds out of you. Your cunt clenches around him helplessly. The blindfold is damp with tears you didn’t even notice falling.
Felix reaches around and finds your clit with two fingers, rubbing slow, firm circles in time with his thrusts.
“Come on, baby. Let go for me. I want to feel you cum on my cock before I really fuck you.”
The orgasm hits like a wave—long, shuddering, intense. You cry out, body seizing in the ropes, walls fluttering and squeezing around him. Felix groans low and deep, fucking you through it, never stopping.
And then he really starts.
⸻
He grips both your hips, pulls almost all the way out, and slams back in. The pace turns relentless—hard, deep, punishing thrusts that rock your entire body forward against the mattress. The ropes dig in just enough to burn. His cock drags over every sensitive spot inside you on every stroke.
“Fuck—yes—just like that,” he growls, voice still low but rougher now, almost reverent. “Taking me so deep… look at you, making a mess of the sheets… crying for it already…”
You’re sobbing openly now, cock-drunk and oversensitive, every thrust sending sparks up your spine. The blindfold keeps you floating in darkness, nothing exists except the stretch of him, the burn of the ropes, the deep velvet of his voice praising and teasing you through it all.
“That’s my girl… so fucking pretty when you’re falling apart on my cock… gonna fill you up, baby… you want that? Want me to come deep inside this pretty little cunt while you’re still shaking?”
You can only nod, broken moans spilling out of you.
Felix’s rhythm stutters. He drives in hard one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a low, guttural groan, pulsing hot and deep inside you. He keeps moving through it—slow, deep rolls of his hips that milk every last drop, grinding against your clit until another, weaker orgasm rips through you and leaves you limp and trembling in the ropes.
He stays inside you for a long moment after, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice soft again, full of quiet praise. “You did so well for me… so perfect…”
Only then does he carefully ease out, already reaching for the ropes with gentle hands, ready to untie you and pull you into his arms.
TYSM for reading!!
Feel free to check out my Master list part 1 and Masterlist part 2 to see more of my works! (Part 2 has my newer and better ones)
hmo… part 2 of the chan perv fic but we’re wearing a bra this time 👀👀
HELL YEA
what color is the blanket?
friend!chan x reader
synopsis ⋆˚꩜｡ chan is a little perv STILL
genre ⋆˚࿔ crack, smut
cw: boobs, licking them touching them etc, mention of soft biting, suggestive type shit. he just praises ur breasts.
Ever since that day he was being a little perv, you haven’t really brought it up to your roommate.
You try to avoid wearing similar clothing, just to save him the embarrassment.
Except from today. You kind of spaced that truce. You were so focused on finding a certain silk shirt, and may or may not have messed up Bang Chans pervy brain.
You had just left the shower, and you are wearing baggy jeans, and just a white lace bra. You’re trying to find your red silky top, cause it pairs so well in your mind. But you can’t fucking see it anywhere in your room.
So you check in the basket outside of your room, in the living room.
Bang Chan is sitting on the couch, face stuffed in his phone. Or atleast it was.
You quickly move past him to immediately start digging in the pile of clothes, groaning with each movement when you still don’t see your shirt.
Then you lift your head and turn to Chan, “Have you seen my red,
silky top?” You question with a sigh.
He doesn’t answer you.
He doesn’t answer you because his eyes are stuck on your breasts that are almost spilling out of your lace bra.
You quickly lift your hand to meet it with your exposed chest, and once it’s covered, he lifts his head.
“I haven’t seen it.” He mumbles, glancing back down to your hand.
“Why are you such a fucking pervert?” You complain, not in the mood for his antics.
His throat catches, “Uh— I— No—“
Jesus christ.
Well… Hm.
Are you a hoe to say that you’re kind of debating on playing with him? Might as well. You’re really pissed off about your shirt, and this will probably make you laugh.
You grin a little, then raise a hand to tangle your fingers in his hair, lifting his head back. He stares up at your face now, plump lips parted, eyes meeting your gaze through his eyelashes.
“You’re pathetic.” You mutter, and you watch his lips close so he can swallow.
You sigh, your other hand that covers your chest falling. His eyes immediately are shooting across your chest, analyzing the cleavage and the top of your breasts that are perked up by the bra.
His tongue darts out to lick his top lip, then press his lips together tight.
“Why are you acting like you’ve never seen boobs before?” You laugh.
He blinks, and looks up at you. “I just— Not like yours.”
“You know, it’s not nice to stare.” You coo, gently guiding his face to be straight ahead now. You step in slowly, your breasts genuinely right in front of him.
You’re really getting a kick out of his beet red cheeks, neck, and ears.
You’re about to say something else, your head turned away as you hum. Then suddenly Chans face is in your fucking boobs, and his hands are kneading as he cups them simultaneously.
“Woah!” You yelp, not stepping back or anything, but just caught off guard. “I didn’t give you permission, man.” You laugh.
You don’t really mean it in a way where he made you uncomfortable, more so a put him in his place.
His palms cup you, and knead so precisely. It pisses you off cause it feels really good. Especially with his nose stuffed into your cleavage.
This is weird. It’s weird. You gotta pull away.
But your mind skips when a tongue darts out, and a white stripe is licked along the top part of your breast. You flinch, “Chan!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They look so good.. You look really good. How do you expect me to resist when you walk around like that?” He whines against your cleavage practically.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t kind of attracted to this.
Cause he’s so pathetic for it, acting like he’ll die if he doesn’t get to touch them.
Is this gonna ruin your friendship? Probably on your end. Knowing Chan, he’ll probably be crazy good at acting like the bullshit never happened. But your mind doesn’t work that way.
“Yours are just so perfect.. My face fits so well.”
You chuckle, “Dude—“ You’re interrupted but another lick, and you gasp.
Your other hand swings to also tangle in his hair. Both of your fingers running along his scalp, gently.
“I need to touch them,” He hums against your chest, a finger sliding under the wire of your bra sneakily.
“Jeez, patience. So greedy.” Yours laugh, rolling your eyes. You reach your hands to his own, and slowly guide them to the back of your bra.
His head lifts, and he looks up at you. “Are you sure?”
“Why else would I have put your hands there??”
His fingers tangle around with your bra strap, until it undoes. Your breasts spill out from underneath the cups as he slowly pulls them off, and he blinks. In awe.
“So perfect.” He hums, his fingers gently sending a trail up your torso, to your breasts. His index and thumb gently pinch your nipple, and you hiss.
He grins. He rolls them gently, then leans his head forward and wraps his lips around a nipple, the other dry breast being kneaded.
You hum, sighing as his tongue drags along your nipple slowly, and sucking. You bite your lip, a hand tangling in his hair.
He moves to the other breast, sucking intently. He presses a soft bite to your nipple, and you yelp, yanking his head back by his hair. “No.”
He genuinely whimpers. Oh my god.
He leans back in, and sucks on them so furiously, as if you yanking his head back turned him on more.
He’s a freak for boobs, ig.
had to wing this one and make it quick bc i haven’t posted in awhile!!!!!!!! maybe if this gets enough attention i can make 2nd part of how far it goes
currently thinking about hyunjin trying to handle that bad habit of yours.
you see, you love to wear his t-shirts, especially in the summer heat, where the a/c blows through the oversized fabric and cools your skin, warmed by the sweltering weather.
however, you also seem to be perpetually clad in shorts—dolphin shorts that just barely cover an inch of your thighs.
so, a pair of shorts that almost manages to cover your ass cheeks combined with your best friend’s oversized t-shirt?
oh. it’s a bad fucking habit alright.
cuz why is it that whenever he’s over and you’re wearing his damn shirt again, the hem reaches past those slutty ass shorts and you invariably look like you’re wearing absolutely nothing at all underneath?
why is it that you never seem to notice it’s ridden past your bottoms—and do you even care?
why is it that he always has to grab a throw pillow—even in this fucking heat—to cover his lap because he’s so turned on that he’s afraid it’s obvious?
why is it that he wants to grab the hem of your shirt and lift—just to check and see if you really are still clothed underneath all that fabric?
why is it that even though he, too, is sweating and sticky from the inferno of summer sun, he finds himself fantasizing about wrapping his veiny hands around your hips, then slipping them around the waistband of those fucking shorts and yanking them down?
why is it that he swears you don’t wear a bra either—especially when he’s around? i mean—where the hell is he supposed to look?
to be completely frank, he’s losing his mind. one of these days he’ll impulsively brush his hand underneath your (his) shirt and caress the bare small of your back. he’ll apologize quickly, his ears turning a bit red (and not because of this heat), but his eyes will look like the summer you’ve endured together—ablaze.
Synopsis: Your sister is convinced Seungmin deserves better than you—and that she should be the one to have him. But after spying on you, breaking into your flat and trying to expose your “affair” with Minho, she learns that Seungmin already knows everything—and still chooses you.
Cw: suggestive content
a/n: i deadass wrote this out like 5 times untill i was happy with it lmaoao, I’m actually wanting to do atleast another part so i’ll focus on some of the other boys as well, i just didn’t want it to feel to crowded and forcedd. Alsooo im so sorryy that it feels so smushed together tumblr block limit is the bane of my existence. AnywayyI hope you all enjoy <33
Wc: 18.5k
Part 1
౨ৎ
The cabinet had looked considerably less complicated in the woman’s hallway. She’d stood beside it with one hand resting on the top, talking about how her husband used to take it apart whenever they moved and put it back together in twenty minutes. Half an hour, maybe, if you hadn’t done it before. She’d said this while Changbin carried one of the glass doors out to the car and Jisung crouched beside a sandwich bag full of screws, nodding as though he’d already understood the entire construction from looking at it once. By the time she drove away, you were still feeling quite pleased with yourself. It was exactly the size you’d wanted. Dark wood, ribbed glass, brass handles. Your records had spent months in boxes against the wall, and the cabinet was supposed to be the thing that made that part of the flat finally look finished instead of somewhere you’d only recently moved into. An hour later, it was spread across the rug in twelve pieces and Jisung had stopped saying the woman’s husband was probably just good at DIY. “Don’t lift it yet, I haven’t—Changbin, wait, my hand’s still there.” “I’m not lifting it. I’m moving my knee because I’ve been sitting like this for twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, but the whole thing’s on your knee, so when you move—just, hang on.” Jisung lowered his face until his cheek was almost against the wood, trying to see beneath the rail he’d been holding in place. His hair fell into his eyes again. He blew at it, missed, and carried on feeling for the screw hole with one finger. “Move it back a little. No, your other way. That’s my way.” Changbin stared down at him. “You said back.” “I know, but from where I am—okay, don’t move. Just stay exactly like that for a second.”
Felix was kneeling beside the coffee table with the screws separated into careful rows, although the only instructions the seller had given you were six photographs printed from her phone. Four were too dark to see the fittings. One appeared to be upside down. The final picture showed the completed cabinet beside a vase of dried flowers and wasn’t helping anyone. You were holding a shelf across your lap because Jisung had handed it to you ten minutes earlier and hadn’t yet asked for it back. “Are you sure that’s the bottom?” you asked. Jisung didn’t look up. “Pretty sure.” “You were pretty sure the other one was the bottom.” “No, I said it could’ve been. That’s different.”
Felix glanced over at the panel beneath Changbin. “The other one has the holes for the feet.” Jisung’s hand stopped beneath the rail. Changbin looked down. “This one doesn’t?” Nobody answered immediately. Jisung slowly pulled his arm out, picked up one of the printed photographs and turned it towards the lamp. “No, because—wait. Is that a foot there, or is it just a mark on the rug?” You leaned towards him. “That’s absolutely a foot.” “Right. Okay.” He looked at what they’d already attached, then rubbed the back of his wrist across his forehead. “It’s fine. We can turn it over later.”
“You’ve screwed both sides into it.” “I know.” “You said it’d be obvious before we got this far.”
“It is obvious now.” You laughed despite yourself. Jisung looked up at the sound, his mouth twitching before he glanced back at the frame. One sleeve of his sweatshirt had fallen over his wrist. You reached across and pushed it up, folding it once above his elbow so it wouldn’t slip again. He went still while you fixed it, then caught your fingertips briefly when you passed the screwdriver back. “Thanks,” he murmured, already looking down again. Seungmin arrived carrying wine, a bag of cans and absolutely none of the practical things you’d asked him to bring. He let himself in, kicked off his shoes and stopped in the doorway. There was a long enough silence that you turned towards him. Seungmin looked at the cabinet pieces, then at you. “I thought you said it was assembled.”
“It was.” “So what happened?” “The woman took it apart.”
His eyes moved to Jisung, who was now removing a screw he’d only just put in. “Why?” Felix glanced up from the screws before answering. “So it would fit in the car,” Felix said. Seungmin stepped farther into the room. “Her car?” You answered before he could ask anything else. “She delivered it,” you told him. He looked at you properly then, waiting. You started laughing before he even said anything. “I know. We didn’t think about that.”
“No, because why would she take it apart before putting it into her own car if she already knew it fitted?” He set the wine on the coffee table, forcing Felix to drag two rows of screws out of the way. “Did she just not want it in one piece anymore?” “She said her husband always dismantled it when they moved.” “Maybe she hated him.”
Jisung lowered the screwdriver. “Can you help instead of making the situation feel worse?” “I’ve just got here. I’m still finding out what the situation is.” “The situation is that I need one of the middle-sized screws. Felix knows which one.”
Felix pointed to a row. Seungmin picked one up, examined it as though there might be a trick involved, then passed it over. For perhaps eight minutes, he genuinely tried. He held one end of the rail while Jisung fitted the bracket, found the small packet containing the feet and noticed that the glass doors had different hinges. Then he opened the wine, poured himself a glass and started reading the seller’s profile aloud instead. “She’s listed a dining table as ‘lightly used’, but there’s a burn through the middle of it.” You craned your neck to see his phone. “Maybe that’s why she photographed it with a tablecloth.” “She’s put ‘easy restoration project’.”
Felix was still sorting screws. “That usually means broken.” “The cabinet said ‘excellent condition’.” Everyone looked at the cabinet. One side was scratched. The base was upside down. Changbin still couldn’t take his hands off it. You took the glass Seungmin offered you. “Don’t show me anything else she’s selling. I don’t want to know.”
Minho came in from the kitchen when he heard the cork go back into the bottle. He had the tea towel over one shoulder and a small streak of flour or salt across the front of his shirt. “You started drinking?” “You were cooking,” Seungmin said, already reaching for another glass. “I’m still cooking.”
“That doesn’t stop you drinking.” Minho accepted the wine and came over to inspect the cabinet. He circled it once, crouched beside Jisung and pressed his fingers against the bracket. “This is backwards.” Jisung looked at him. “It isn’t.”
“It is.” “The photograph’s taken from this side.” Minho picked up the page and held it beside the panel. “No, it isn’t. Look at the door.” Jisung leaned closer. Felix shifted over to see. Changbin, still trapped behind the frame, tried to look upside down. “Oh,” Jisung said eventually.
Minho held his hand out for the screwdriver. Jisung gave it to him with less resistance than he’d given anyone else all evening. Minho removed the bracket, turned it and refitted it while drinking between screws. When he finished, he handed the tool back and sat on the floor beside your legs. “Both of them are backwards,” he added. Jisung stared at the matching bracket on the other side. “Could you have said that before you sat down?” “I thought you’d work it out.”
“I have been working it out for an hour.” “Mm.” You rested your fingers in Minho’s hair, lightly scratching near his scalp. He leaned into your knee without taking his eyes off the cabinet. A timer sounded from the kitchen. Minho didn’t move. It sounded again. You nudged his shoulder. “Is that important?”
“Probably.” He took another mouthful of wine, then caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it before getting up. “Don’t let them attach anything else, honey.” Jisung looked up as Minho started away. “We’re not waiting for you,” Jisung called after him. “You should.”
The cabinet was back on its side by the time Minho returned to the kitchen. You kept trying to help for a while. You held the rail, found a washer beneath the sofa and checked the listing photograph for any sign that the central shelf was supposed to tilt slightly. You were nearly certain it wasn’t, although by then you’d lost enough confidence that you didn’t insist. Seungmin had moved to the boxes of records. At first, he was only clearing them out of the way. Then he opened one and started going through it, sitting cross-legged with his drink balanced between his ankles. You noticed when he went back through the same stack a second time. “What are you looking for?” He held up one of the sleeves. “You don’t have any of our albums.”
“I do.” “Where?” “I have all your music on my phone.”
“That’s not what I said.” Seungmin looked back into the box, pushing several records aside. “You’ve got two copies of this, for some reason, but not one thing with any of us on it.” “That’s sooo not true. One of those was a present, and I literally do have one of yours.” His eyebrows lifted. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” “That’s Jisung’s.” “It’s been beside my bed for months.”
From the rug, Jisung looked over. “Which one?” “The one you left on the floor.” “I thought I’d lost that.”
“You’ve slept next to it, like, twenty times.” Jisung frowned as though trying to picture your bedroom from memory. “I don’t really look at the floor.” “That’s because your clothes are usually covering it.”
He started laughing and the screwdriver slipped out of the screw head. Felix reached over to steady the bracket before it moved. “Okay, wait, why am I involved now?” Jisung asked, still laughing. “Seungmin’s the one judging your record collection.” “I’m not judging it. I’m just finding out that she’ll spend actual money on everybody except us.” “Oh my God, you’re being sooo dramatic. I didn’t even buy both copies of that one.”
“You kept them.” “Because I like it.” “More than anything we’ve released, apparently.”
You put the shelf down and got up. “Move.” Seungmin shifted enough for you to sit beside him, although you still had to push one of his knees out of the way. He immediately rested it against your thigh again. “There,” you said, pulling a record from near the bottom of the box. “You bought me this.” “That doesn’t help you.” “It proves I own something you chose.”
“It proves I have better taste than you.” “You chose it because you liked the cover.” “I chose it because you’d like the music.”
“You said, and I remember this very clearly, ‘It’ll look pretty in your room.’” Seungmin took the sleeve from you and looked at it. “Both things can be true.” An old receipt slipped out and landed across your knee. He picked it up before you could. “Thirty-eight pounds?” You leaned in, trying to read the faded ink. “That says thirteen.”
“It does not.” “Thirteen pounds eighty.” “There’s no decimal.”
“It’s faded.” “The rest of the receipt isn’t faded.” “You’re making that up because you want me to feel guilty.”
“I don’t need to. You paid nearly forty pounds for an album and then stole Jisung’s instead of buying ours.” “I didn’t steal it. He abandoned it.” Jisung, now half under the cabinet again, said, “I didn’t abandon it. I forgot where it was.”
“That’s the same thing after three months.” Minho came out carrying a spoon. “What’s the same thing?” Seungmin answered before you could. “She’s trying to claim Jisung’s album because she doesn’t own any of ours,” Seungmin said. You looked over your shoulder. “No, because he’s leaving out the entire part where I have your music, I have things you’ve given me, and I’m not buying albums from people who bring boxes of them into my flat whenever they visit.” Jisung looked over from the cabinet. “That happened once,” Jisung said.
“You left twelve.” “They were different versions.” “They were blocking the wardrobe.”
Minho put the spoon against your mouth before you could continue. “Taste.” You took the bite, still looking at Seungmin. He was smiling into his glass now, obviously far too pleased with himself. “It needs something,” you said. Minho’s hand stayed beneath your chin. “What?” “I don’t know. It’s nice, but it’s—wait, let me try again.”
He fed you another bite. Seungmin leaned in with his mouth open. Minho moved the spoon away without even looking at him. “You always say it’s fine.” “It usually is. Why are you asking people if you’ve already decided something’s wrong?” “I’m not asking you.”
“You put the spoon near my face.” “I was reaching past you.” Seungmin caught Minho’s wrist and stole what was left anyway. Minho stared at the empty spoon. “That was hers.”
You laughed and leaned back against the sofa. Minho sat behind you, one leg stretched alongside your hip, and took your glass when you offered it over your shoulder. Seungmin found something to put on. The first song began quietly enough that Felix asked him to turn it up. Changbin stopped holding the frame long enough to stretch, only to catch it again when it tilted. Felix started singing under his breath while he worked. Minho stayed on the floor behind you, his palm warm against your side, until something hissed from the kitchen and he got up halfway through a sentence. You tried helping again after that. Jisung asked you to pass him the measuring tape. You stood, took two steps and stopped when Seungmin called your name. He had another sleeve in his hand. “You’ve got three copies of this.” “I absolutely don’t.”
“There are two in here and one by the player.” “The one by the player is Minho’s.” Minho called from the kitchen, “No, it isn’t.”
“You said it was.” “I said I liked it.” You turned towards the kitchen. “You literally brought it here.”
“I carried it from your bedroom.” “That doesn’t sound right.” “It was under your bed.”
“That could’ve been Jisung’s too.” Jisung made a muffled sound from beneath the cabinet. “Why am I suddenly responsible for everything on your floor?” “Because most of it is yours.”
The measuring tape remained forgotten until Felix asked where you were going with it. You looked down at your empty hands. “Oh. I haven’t got it.” Seungmin found it beneath the edge of the sofa and opened it across the rug. Instead of passing it over, he pressed the metal end against your wrist. “What’re you doing?” “I wanted to know how long your arm is.”
You stared at him. “Why?” He extended the tape towards your elbow, eyes narrowing at the numbers. “I don’t know. I thought it was longer.” “That doesn’t even—give it here.” You reached for it. Seungmin pulled his hand back, and you leaned over him farther than you meant to. He caught your wrist when your knee slipped from the rug. The tape snapped shut between you. You nearly landed on top of the record player, but Seungmin hooked an arm around your waist and dragged you sideways instead. You grabbed his shoulder, taking him down with you. His glass tipped, although Changbin somehow caught it with one hand while still holding the cabinet with the other. “Thank you,” Seungmin said, already trying to get one of your wrists beneath his arm. Changbin put the glass on the table. “I don’t know why I did that.”
You twisted onto your side, laughing too hard to get any leverage. Seungmin caught you around the middle and pulled you back against him. “You started this,” you said, trying to push his knee away with your foot. “No, you threw yourself at me because you couldn’t wait five seconds.” “You were holding it away on purpose, and now you’ve lost it anyway.”
“It’s under the sofa. We know where it is.” “That’s not the same as helping.” Seungmin had both your wrists by then, although his grip kept slipping because he was laughing. You could probably have got free if you’d put any real effort into it. Instead, you looked across the room. “Binnieee, help me.” He was holding the cabinet upright while Felix adjusted something near the back. “With what?”
You tried to point at Seungmin with the hand trapped against his chest. “This.” Changbin glanced at Jisung. Jisung was reaching into the cabinet with his entire arm. “Please,” you added as Seungmin started pulling you farther across the rug. Changbin let go. The cabinet dropped with a heavy crack. Jisung ripped his arm out. “Fuck—Changbin, are you serious?” “She called me.”
“She’s wrestling Seungmin. I had my hand inside this.” Changbin was already coming over. He bent, wrapped one arm around Seungmin’s middle and lifted him cleanly away from you. Seungmin’s laugh broke into a startled sound as he grabbed Changbin’s shoulders. “No, wait—put me back. We weren’t finished.” “That was too quick,” you said, sitting up. Changbin looked between you. “You asked me to help.”
“I know, but you didn’t even give me a chance.” “A chance to do what?” Seungmin was still half hanging against Changbin’s side, trying to straighten his shirt with one hand. “She was nearly getting out.”
“You had both her wrists.” “Yeah, but she’d started using her legs.” Changbin stared at him for a moment, then set him down and walked back towards the cabinet without answering. “He’s annoyed now,” you murmured. Seungmin watched him go. “He ruined it and somehow he’s annoyed.”
Jisung pointed towards the frame. “Can somebody hold this before it lands on Felix?” Changbin went back to the cabinet, Seungmin caught your ankle before you could stand, and you both ended up sitting against the sofa, still breathless. You looked at the cabinet from the floor. One side sat higher than the other. The first door was leaning against the wall beneath a tea towel because Minho had said somebody was going to kick the glass. “It looks awful,” you said. Seungmin followed your gaze. “It looks fine from here.” “No, it doesn’t.”
“You’re too close.” You pushed yourself up, walked into the hallway and looked back. It looked worse. Seungmin waited. “Well?” “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’ll like it when it’s done.” “Do you genuinely believe that’s happening?” He looked at Jisung and Felix, who were lying on opposite sides of the frame trying to reach the same hinge. “Not really.”
You came back and dropped onto the sofa. Seungmin stretched his legs over your lap before you were properly settled. The loose shelf beside you had become a table for the wine, Minho’s phone and two half-empty cans. You looked at it for several seconds, then put your glass down with the others. “At least this part’s useful.” “You could just keep it like that.” “I’ve paid for a very expensive plank.”
“It’s better than the cabinet.” You started laughing again, leaning back until your head rested against the sofa. Your phone lit beneath the edge of the cushion. You saw your sister’s name and enough of the message before you turned it over. I know you said I was reading too much into that picture from Mum’s, but Seungmin looked embarrassed. He’s probably too soft to tell you, and I just think— You pushed the phone farther beneath the cushion. Seungmin was complaining about the order of the records now and hadn’t noticed. He’d found one you’d apparently filed in the wrong box and was explaining why it didn’t belong there while you drank enough wine to stop caring where any of them lived.
Minho came back and stole his phone from beneath the bottle. He sat on the arm of the sofa for a while, one hand resting on the back of your neck as he listened to Seungmin talk. Then he got drawn into a conversation with Changbin about where the cabinet was supposed to stand, moved it fifteen centimetres to the left and decided you’d been right the first time. By then, nobody could remember where it had originally been. Jisung had one drink over the course of the evening, taking small mouthfuls whenever Felix stopped to check a fitting. The warmth showed more in his face than his behaviour. He was still focused enough to finish things, but each time he looked towards the sofa it took him longer to look away. He came over once to retrieve his glass and stopped beside your knee. There was pencil across his cheek again. You rubbed at it with your thumb. “You’re making it worse,” he murmured. “You’ve got it in your hair now.”
“Minho tried using a wet finger.” “What was wrong with that?” “He’d just touched the sauce.”
You laughed, still wiping at the mark. Jisung caught your wrist, kissed the centre of your palm and leaned down for your mouth. The kiss barely lasted before Felix said his name from the rug. Jisung stayed close for another second. “I really don’t want to go back.” “You’re nearly done.” “You’ve been saying that for ages.”
“I haven’t. Felix has.” “That’s worse because I trust him.” He kissed you again, quick and warm, then went back to the cabinet with his glass still in his hand. Seungmin watched him crouch beside Felix. “He’s going to give up.”
“He’s too stubborn.” “No, look at him. He’s not even listening.” Jisung was holding a hinge while Felix explained something, but his eyes had drifted towards the sofa again. You smiled when he caught you looking. He lowered his head, took another drink and made Felix repeat whatever he’d just said. Seungmin turned towards you. His arm had been stretched behind your shoulders for long enough that you were already tucked against his side. “You know, this still doesn’t make up for the albums.”
You groaned. “Oh my God, you’re still going.” “I’ve had time to think about it.” “That’s never good.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve got an entire box of records from people you’ve never met, and then ours is apparently too much commitment.” “That’s soo not what I said. I said I already have all the music, you lot leave things here anyway, and I’m not spending money just so you can come over and make fun of which photocard I got.” “I wouldn’t make fun of you.”
“You absolutely would.” “I’d just ask why you picked the version where my hair looked bad.” “You’d say that about every version.”
“No, there were two good ones.” You turned towards him. “Name them.” Seungmin opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider whatever he’d been about to say. You kissed him before he found an answer. His laugh caught against your lips, one hand sliding from the back of the sofa to your waist as you shifted closer. You’d meant it as a quick interruption, mostly because he’d been talking for too long and you knew it. Seungmin followed when you pulled away. Your leg slipped over his lap. His fingers moved beneath the back of your top, warm against your skin, and the next kiss settled more slowly.
You could still hear Felix and Jisung talking over the music. Something moved in the kitchen. Changbin walked past carrying one of the loose panels. None of it disappeared, but Seungmin’s mouth was soft from the wine and his thumb had started tracing the same small line against your side. You drew back enough to breathe. He came with you, lips brushing the corner of your mouth before finding it again. The forgotten conversation returned somewhere between kisses. “You still haven’t said which versions,” you murmured. “I’m not discussing that while you’re doing this.” “You started it.”
“I know. I’ve changed my mind.” You smiled into his mouth. The kissing stayed loose, interrupted by laughter and the record changing beneath the needle. Seungmin’s fingers slid into your hair when you leaned farther over him. You caught his jaw and kissed him again, slower this time, until his hand tightened beneath your shirt. Across the room, Felix asked Jisung for the screwdriver twice. Jisung didn’t answer until Changbin touched his shoulder. The first door finally closed without scraping. Felix opened it again, adjusted the hinge and closed it once more. Jisung fitted the second while Changbin held the frame. Minho came out of the kitchen and stood behind them with his glass, offering unasked-for advice until Jisung told him he’d lost the right to criticise after abandoning them for dinner. Minho kissed the back of Jisung’s head and kept talking. Eventually, both doors stayed shut. The handles weren’t quite level. The cabinet rocked faintly when Jisung took his hand away. You saw both things. You drank what was left in your glass and said nothing.
Jisung stayed crouched in front of it, opening one door, closing it, then trying the other as though it might behave differently if nobody watched. Felix looked underneath. “We still need to put the feet on.” Jisung sat back on his heels. “Tomorrow.” “It’s going to scratch the floor.” “Put something under it. I can’t—no, I’m actually done. I don’t even want to see the feet again tonight.”
Felix considered the small packet on the table, then tucked it safely beneath the instructions. Jisung got up. You were still half across Seungmin, one hand resting near the back of his neck. Jisung came over and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, his knee touching yours. He waited until you looked at him. “D’you wanna come to bed with me?” His voice was quiet enough that it sat beneath the music. There was nothing demanding in it. He just looked tired, warm from the drink and far too hopeful for someone trying to act casual. You smiled. “Yeah.” Seungmin kissed you once more before moving his hand from beneath your top. He shifted his legs out of the way, fingertips brushing yours as you sat up. Jisung didn’t take your hand until you were already standing. The kitchen smelled warm and spicy behind you. Minho was tasting the sauce again. Felix and Changbin were trying to move the cabinet without letting its unfinished base touch the floor. Jisung led you down the hallway. He waited until the bedroom door closed before kissing you.
His hands found your waist straight away, drawing you into him with all the impatience he’d spent the last hour swallowing. His mouth was warm from the drink, the kiss messy for the first second because he’d moved too quickly. You caught his hair and pulled him back just enough to look at him. Jisung’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “I’ve been waiting forever.” “I know baby.” You giggle You kissed him again and walked him backwards. He followed without looking, hands sliding beneath your top as the backs of his knees found the mattress. He sat when you pressed lightly against his chest, gazing up at you while you moved between his legs. You climbed onto his lap. Jisung breathed out sharply, hands closing around your hips as your weight settled over him. He was already hard beneath you, hips lifting before he seemed to realise he’d moved. You tightened your fingers in his hair. His head tipped back with a soft whine, throat opening beneath your mouth. “Again,” he breathed.
You pulled once more, then kissed beneath his jaw. Jisung’s hand started higher under your shirt. You caught his wrist and returned it to your waist without stopping the kiss. He left it there, fingers flexing against you. You moved slowly over him. His lips parted against your neck, breath catching as he pressed upwards to meet you. When he tried to hurry, your hand in his hair slowed him again. “Please,” he murmured, and you felt the word against your skin. You kissed lower, leaving the first mark beneath his jaw where his collar would nearly cover it. Jisung made another quiet sound and tilted his head farther for you. The second was darker, just visible above the neckline of his sweatshirt when he shifted. Someone knocked. Jisung went completely still beneath you. A second knock came before either of you moved. Minho spoke through the door. “Honey, your sister’s here. Something about a certificate.” Jisung dropped his forehead against your shoulder. “No.” You closed your eyes. “I know.”
“We’ve literally just—” “I know.” “Don’t answer.”
“She’ll stay there.” “Let her.” You started to move. His arms tightened around your waist for one last second before he let you stand. Jisung stayed on the bed while you fixed your top. His hair was a mess from your hands, his lips swollen and his breathing still uneven. He looked down at himself and groaned quietly. “I’m not going out there.”
“I wasn’t asking you to.” “Good.” You bent and kissed his forehead before leaving him to recover. Minho was waiting farther down the hallway. He’d turned the heat down in the kitchen and had your phone in one hand. “She messaged again.”
You looked at the screen. I’m nearby anyway. I’ll just come up. “She’s at the front door?” “I didn’t let her farther than the mat.” Minho tucked the phone into your hand, then smoothed the back of your top where it had caught underneath itself. “You okay?” “Annoyed.”
“Mm.” He kissed your temple. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Your sister was standing just inside the open doorway with her coat still fastened and a folder held against her chest. Her expression was pleasant in the careful way that meant she was already prepared to be offended. “Sorry, I know it’s late. Mum was asking about that old county music certificate and I said I’d collect it because I was nearby anyway. I did message.” “You told me you were coming after you’d already decided.”
“Oh, don’t make it into a thing. I’m not staying.” Her smile widened slightly as she glanced past you into the flat. “It sounds like you’ve got everybody here.” “They helped me build something.” “That’s nice.” Her eyes moved towards the living room, where Changbin and Felix were still shifting the cabinet while Seungmin sat on the sofa, turning over the record. “You do keep them busy.”
You looked at her. She adjusted the folder in her hands, smile still there. “I meant it’s sweet. They’re always doing things for you.” “Which certificate does Mum want?” “The cream one with the gold seal.”
“They’re nearly all cream and most of them have gold seals. What year?” “I don’t know. She said you’d know which one mattered.” “She can tell me tomorrow.”
Your sister sighed softly, as though you’d made an incredibly simple favour exhausting. “I was trying to save her having to come over. She’s already got enough to deal with, and I thought it would take two minutes, but it’s fine. I can tell her you didn’t know where it was.” “I know where the box is. I don’t know which one you’re asking for.” “Yes, I heard you.” Her voice stayed light. “You don’t need to get defensive.”
You stared at her for a second. She smiled again and looked over your shoulder. “Is Seungmin all right? He looks a little… I don’t know. Quiet”. “He’s listening to music.” “I know. I didn’t mean right now.” She tilted her head, lowering her voice as though she were sharing something kind. “He’s very understanding, isn’t he? Sometimes I wonder whether people take advantage of that because he doesn’t like making a fuss.”
“Stop deciding what he feels.” “I’m not deciding anything. God, you’re so sensitive whenever I mention him.” She gave a small laugh, almost affectionate. “I just think he’s lovely. You know that.” The bedroom door opened behind you. Your sister’s eyes shifted immediately. Jisung came out rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. He’d straightened his clothes, although not particularly well. His hair was still pushed up on one side, his lips visibly swollen, and the mark beneath his jaw had already begun to darken. Another showed above the loose collar of his sweatshirt when he turned towards the living room. He glanced at your sister, then at you. “I left my drink out here.”
“It’s by the sofa.” Jisung nodded and started past. The collar of his sweatshirt had folded underneath itself at the back. You caught his sleeve, pulling him to a stop, then freed the fabric and smoothed it down before letting him go. Jisung stood easily beneath your hands, attention already drifting towards the glass on the coffee table. Your sister lifted her phone. The movement was quick, half hidden behind the folder, but you saw the camera angled towards you. “Did you just take a picture?” She lowered the phone. “No.”
“You did.” “I was checking whether Mum had replied.” “With your camera open?”
Her expression shifted into mild disbelief. “Oh my God, I didn’t deliberately take a photograph of you. It opened when I picked it up.” “Show me.” “I’m not handing you my phone.” She laughed again, quieter this time, as though you were embarrassing yourself. “I don’t know why you’re acting like there’s something here worth photographing.”
Jisung had stopped a few steps away. He looked from her phone to you but didn’t come back. Your sister’s eyes moved over the marks on his neck again, then returned to your face. Her smile became almost tender. “Aw. You’re always fussing over them.” You heard exactly what sat beneath it. Jisung, already turning towards his drink, didn’t react. “I thought it was sweet,” she added when you didn’t answer. “You’ve got them all letting you look after them. Even the ones you wouldn’t expect.” Her eyes flicked briefly towards the sofa. Seungmin was still where he’d been, one knee tucked beneath him while he spoke to Felix about the record. He hadn’t noticed the phone or the comment. “Delete the picture,” you said.
“There isn’t one.” “I watched you take it.” Her pleasant expression tightened around the edges. “Fine. Maybe I took one accidentally. You were standing there together and I thought—actually, never mind. I don’t need to explain every little thing when I was only trying to help Mum.”
She unlocked the phone, tapped the screen and held it towards you for barely a second. “There. Gone. Happy?” You didn’t trust her, but the folder was still empty, dinner was cooling and you were done letting her stretch the evening any farther. “Ask Mum what year she wants. I’ll take it to her tomorrow.” “I can collect it.”
“I’ll take it.” Your sister looked at you for a moment, then gave another small sigh. “Okay. Whatever’s easiest for you.” She stepped backwards into the hallway. Before leaving, she glanced past you one more time—at Jisung picking up his glass, at Minho moving between the kitchen and the table, at Seungmin curled into the sofa as though none of this required his permission. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have a nice night,” she said sweetly. “Try not to keep them all too busy.”
You closed the door before she could soften it into another supposed joke. The lock clicked beneath your hand. For several seconds, you stayed there, listening to the lift doors open farther down the corridor. Minho appeared beside you without crowding, his fingers touching lightly between your shoulders. “She gone?” “Yeah.” “Good.”
He returned to the kitchen when you didn’t say more. Jisung was standing near the living-room doorway with his drink untouched in one hand. The marks on his neck looked darker beneath the light now. He waited until you looked at him. “Do you still wanna come back?” There was a little uncertainty beneath the question, the earlier urgency softened by the interruption. He didn’t move towards you or assume the answer. You crossed the space between you and took his free hand. “Yeah. Come on.” Jisung set the glass down without drinking from it. This time, you pulled him towards the hallway. The music followed you as far as the bedroom door. ౨ৎ The music reached you before the lift doors opened.
It stopped halfway through whatever section they were working on, somebody called something you couldn’t make out, and then the same bass line started again while you were still walking down the corridor. The practice-room door had been left open. You slowed when you reached it, partly because you didn’t want to walk straight through the middle of rehearsal and partly because it was easier to stand there for a second and work out what you were looking at. Six of them were in the room. Felix was sitting beside the speaker with one shoe off, rubbing at the back of his ankle while Jeongin drank water near the mirror. Hyunjin was still marking through something despite the music having stopped again, watching his own reflection while Changbin explained where he thought he was supposed to cross. Minho stood a little further back with his hands on his hips, listening. You understood enough of what they were saying to know it was about spacing. After that, they lost you. You’d picked up bits over the years because it was impossible not to when you were dating eight people who could turn a conversation about dinner into a discussion about breath support, timing or whether somebody had been half a beat late. You knew what a count was. You knew what they meant when they said they were marking something. You could usually tell when a formation looked crowded, although you couldn’t necessarily tell anyone why. You were much better at knowing when they were tired. That part was obvious. Seungmin noticed you while reaching for his water. His whole face lit up.
He sat up quickly enough that the bottle tipped against his knee, caught it before it fell and immediately waved at you with his other hand. Felix followed his gaze, smiled and lifted his hand too. You waved back at both of them, and then Seungmin pointed at the empty space beside him. You stayed where you were for another few seconds because somebody was crossing in front of the door. Seungmin patted the floor twice. You laughed and went over. “You came upstairs,” he said as soon as you were close enough, catching your wrist before you’d even put your bag somewhere sensible. “I thought you were going to wait downstairs.” “I was, and then I heard all this.” “That’s a terrible reason to come closer.”
“Hi, Seungminnie.” “Hi.” He smiled again, softer this time, and linked his arm through yours as you sat beside him. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve come down for a minute.” “You were working.”
“They’d survive.” You looked at him properly. His face was flushed from rehearsal, hair damp around his forehead and standing up slightly at the back. You reached over and pressed the worst piece down. Seungmin held completely still while you did it. The hair sprang up again as soon as you moved your hand. His eyes narrowed. “It didn’t work.” “It did for a second.”
“You’re smiling.” “That doesn’t mean anything.” “It means I look stupid.”
“You don’t look stupid.” He made a small dissatisfied sound but didn’t bother trying to check the mirror. Instead he settled back against the wall, his arm still linked with yours, and you rested your head against his shoulder while Changbin started explaining the crossing again. “What are they changing?” you asked after a minute. Seungmin tipped his bottle towards the middle of the room. “The bit after the second chorus. It looked cramped when we watched it back. We’ve moved Changbin slightly and changed where Hyunjin opens out.” You watched for a few seconds. “Is that why they keep doing the same bit?”
“Mhm.” “I thought the song might just be repetitive.” Seungmin looked down at you. You smiled into his shoulder. He laughed quietly, then went back to watching rehearsal. “You’d tell us if it was bad, right?”
“I always tell you when something’s bad.” “That’s true.” “And I’m very supportive about it.”
“That part is debatable.” You started lifting your head. Seungmin immediately tightened his linked arm and kept you where you were. You didn’t say anything about it. Neither did he. Minho called them back into place a moment later. Seungmin reluctantly untangled himself, squeezing your wrist once before standing. Jeongin passed close enough on his way back to say hi and briefly squeeze your shoulder, then they were moving again. This time you tried to watch the whole thing. Felix rejoined. Changbin crossed behind Hyunjin. Jeongin moved through the centre while Seungmin came forward on the left. He glanced towards you as he passed, and you gave him a small thumbs-up. His mouth twitched. Minho noticed you a few seconds later. His attention caught in the mirror. He didn’t stop or miss anything, but something in his face softened when your eyes met. You lifted your fingers in a little wave. He looked away before the next count.
You watched the section twice more. By the final run, you had a vague idea of what they’d been changing, although if anyone had asked you to explain it you would’ve been in trouble. When rehearsal finally stopped, the room loosened all at once. Hyunjin dropped down beside Felix. Changbin headed for the air-conditioning vent and stood beneath it with the front of his shirt pulled away from his chest. Jeongin disappeared in search of his phone. Seungmin collected his water and came straight back over to you. “I watched that one properly,” you told him as he sat down. “Did you?” “Yes.”
He waited. You knew exactly what he was waiting for. “You looked good.” “That wasn’t—” He stopped himself, smiled despite trying not to, then took a drink. “Fine. I’ll take it.” You linked your arm through his again. “You should. I don’t compliment just anyone.”
“You compliment Felix every time he changes his hair.” “Because he never changes it. I had to say something.” Seungmin gave you a look but let it go. Minho came over with a towel around his neck. Up close, he was somehow even sweatier than he had looked from across the room. His shirt was dark through the centre of his chest and at the back, his hair damp enough that a strand had stuck to his temple. You pinched the front of his shirt between two fingers and pulled it away from him. “Jesus. That’s disgusting.”
“I’ve been dancing for three hours.” “I know. I can see it.” Minho looked down at your hand still holding his shirt. “Then stop touching me.”
You let go of the fabric, caught him by the back of the neck instead and pulled him down for a kiss. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, one hand settling at your waist. It wasn’t long, but he stayed close when you pulled away. You wiped your cheek where his damp hair had touched it. “Still gross.” “You did that yourself.” “I was being supportive.”
“You could support me from over there.” Seungmin made a small amused noise beside you. Minho looked at you again. “How was it?” “Good. Really good, actually.” You glanced towards the middle of the room, where Hyunjin and Changbin were still discussing something while Felix lay flat on his back. “The last few looked better than when I first came in. It wasn’t as… bunched up.”
Minho nodded straight away. “That was the spacing. Changbin was coming across too early, so Hyunjin didn’t have enough room when he opened out. We moved him back half a count, but then Seungmin was having to compensate on the other side, so we changed where he was landing and—” You kept looking at him. You were listening. You just weren’t following anymore. Minho continued for another few seconds, apparently unaware that somewhere around half a count the words had stopped attaching themselves to anything in your head. Slowly, you turned your face towards Seungmin. He took one look at you and folded over laughing. “Don’t,” you muttered. That only made it worse. Minho stopped. “What?” You looked back at him. “I was with you until half a count.”
“That was almost the beginning.” “I know.” Seungmin was laughing into your shoulder now, which was deeply unhelpful. “I understood the bit about it looking less crowded,” you added.
“That was your bit.” “Exactly. We should’ve stayed there.” Minho’s mouth pulled into a smile. “You asked what we changed.”
“No, I said it looked good.” “You were interested.” “I am interested. I just don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
That made Seungmin laugh again, though quieter this time. Minho reached down and briefly squeezed the back of your neck. “It looked better.” “Thank you. That’s all I needed.” “You could’ve said that thirty seconds ago,” Seungmin said. You leaned more of your weight against him. “I was trying to be a good girlfriend.”
“You are. Just not a useful choreographer.” “I’ve never claimed to be.” Changbin called from across the room, “Why are you talking about choreography like anyone asked you?”
You looked over at him. “Aw, thanks, Binnie.” Changbin looked over, entirely unimpressed. “Anytime.” He shook his head and went back to his phone. Minho bent and kissed your forehead. “Give me fifteen minutes, honey.” “You told me ten.”
“We ran over.” “You were already done when I got here.” “We clearly weren’t.”
You looked towards the others, most of whom were now either sitting or lying on the floor. “They look pretty done.” Minho followed your gaze. “Fifteen.” You let him go. Seungmin stayed beside you for another few minutes while the room gradually emptied. The conversation wandered away from rehearsal completely. He asked what you’d done that afternoon, and you told him about losing twenty minutes of your life because you’d gone into a shop for one thing and then couldn’t remember what the one thing had been. “You still didn’t remember?” “No. I bought toothpaste because I was embarrassed to leave with nothing.”
Seungmin laughed. “You might’ve needed toothpaste.” “I bought three tubes last week.” “Why?”
“They were on offer.” He considered that. “So now you have four.” He shook his head, smiling, and leaned his temple briefly against yours. When Minho finally disappeared towards the changing rooms, Seungmin looked after him, then back at you. “He was in a bad mood before you came.” “You said.”
“No, I mean properly. Not angry. Just tired and annoyed because they’d been stuck on that part forever.” You looked towards the door Minho had gone through. “He seems okay.” “He is now.”
There wasn’t any teasing in the way Seungmin said it. You squeezed his arm. He glanced down at your joined hands and then changed the subject, telling you that Felix had tried to convince everyone to order food earlier and had somehow ended up with four different menus open before anyone agreed on anything. By the time Minho reappeared, the conversation had turned into Seungmin complaining that nobody ever wanted the same thing until somebody else had already ordered. “You’re still here,” Minho said. Seungmin looked at him. “She likes me.” “I know.” Minho had changed into a black button-up and dark trousers, his hair still damp at the ends but no longer plastered to his forehead. He looked tired now that he wasn’t working. You stood and kissed Seungmin’s cheek before letting go of his arm. “Bye, Minnie.”
His face brightened again. “Bye. Have fun.” On the way out, you ended up stopping outside Chan and Jisung’s studio because Jisung opened the door just as you were passing. “Oh.” His face brightened. “You’re still here.” “Leaving now.”
“Wait, come listen to something before you go.” You immediately shook your head. “It’ll take ten seconds.” “You said that last time.”
Jisung paused with one hand still on the door. “That did take longer than expected.” “Forty minutes, Hannie.” “You kept talking over the bit I needed you to hear.”
“I was asking whether I could leave.” Chan appeared behind him, looking amused and tired. “She’s on a date. Let her go.” “I just want to know if she hears it too.”
“Hears what?” you asked. “There’s something under the vocal. I can hear it every time the line starts, and he says it’s fine.” Chan leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “I said we can fix it tomorrow.”
“That’s not the same as fine.” You looked between them. “I’m probably the worst person in this building to ask.” “That’s why I’m asking you. If you hear it, then it’s definitely obvious.”
You stared at him. Jisung realised what he’d said. “Not because you’re stupid.” “Great recovery.” “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” Chan laughed and caught the back of Jisung’s sweatshirt before he could try dragging you inside. “Go. I’ll deal with him.” Jisung looked past you towards Minho. “Are you getting food?” You glanced towards Minho before answering. “Probably,” you said.
“Can you bring me something?” Chan started closing the door. “Goodnight.” You called before the door could close. “Hannie,” you called. Jisung’s head appeared through the narrowing gap. “I’ll see what there is.”
His smile arrived instantly. “Love you.” “Love you too.” The door shut. Minho’s hand settled at the small of your back as you headed towards the lift. The lift arrived. Once the doors closed, the noise from the corridor disappeared so quickly it felt strange. Minho leaned back against the mirrored wall. Without rehearsal around him, you could see the tiredness more clearly. He rolled his right shoulder once, small enough that you might not have noticed if you hadn’t been looking at him. You reached over and took his hand. His fingers threaded through yours automatically. “Long day?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb along the side of your hand. “We kept fixing one thing and then finding something else.” “You could’ve cancelled tonight.” Minho turned his head. “Did you want me to?”
“No. I would’ve understood.” “I know.” He looked down at your hands for a moment. The lift hummed beneath you. “I wanted to come home with you.”
There wasn’t anything to tease in that. You lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. Minho turned your wrist before you could lower it and pressed his mouth briefly to your palm. The doors opened. ౨ৎ You’d both said you would get something easy on the way home. You had meant food somebody else had made already. Minho had apparently meant food that required less effort than usual. You found him in the refrigerated aisle reading the back of a packet. “That says marinate.” “It says ten minutes.” “That’s how it starts.”
He glanced over. “You say ten minutes, then while that’s sitting there you decide we might as well make something else, and then I don’t see you again until there are five bowls in the sink.” Minho looked at the packet once more. “I want you sitting down tonight,” you added. “That’s literally the point.” He put it back. “Thank you.”
“We can still get noodles.” “Noodles are fine.” “And dumplings?”
“Obviously.” He took the basket from you and started walking again. The conversation moved on before either of you could turn dinner into an argument. You told him about a message you’d received earlier from your mother asking whether you still had a cardigan you were almost certain had disappeared three house moves ago. Minho listened while comparing two packets of noodles, occasionally making small noises to show he was still following. “She swears I left it at hers,” you said. “I haven’t even seen that cardigan since university.” “You probably did leave it there.”
“Why are you taking her side?” “I’ve seen your cupboards.” “That has nothing to do with it.”
“It has a lot to do with it.” You watched him put one packet back and choose the other. “My cupboards are organised.” Minho looked at you. “Mostly.”
He smiled and dropped the noodles into the basket. By the time you reached the next aisle, he had added yoghurt, strawberries and the juice you liked without asking. You noticed but didn’t comment immediately. It wasn’t until he picked up a cereal you actually liked instead of the one already sitting in your cupboard that you looked over. “You’re replacing my food now?” “I’m buying breakfast.” The answer was so matter-of-fact that you smiled. “So you are staying.”
Minho looked genuinely confused. “I thought I was.” “Good.” That was all there was to it. You carried on down the aisle. A few minutes later, you spotted a small cake tucked beneath the noodles. You lifted it out. “You don’t even like this one.”
“You do.” You looked at him. Minho was already comparing two bottles of sauce. You put the cake back. At the checkout, you took your phone out while he unloaded the basket. “I’m paying.” Minho glanced at you. “Okay.”
You should’ve known. You stood close to the card reader while the cashier scanned everything. When the total appeared, you moved your phone towards it. Minho’s watch reached it first. The machine beeped. You stared at his wrist. He started packing the bags. “You’re such an asshole.” “You were too slow.” “I was literally holding my phone over it.”
“You hesitated.” “I did not hesitate.” Minho put the strawberries on top of one bag, clearly more interested in not bruising them than in defending himself. Minho handed you the cake. “Keep that flat.”
“You’re ignoring me.” “I heard you.” He picked up the heavier bag and headed for the doors. ౨ৎ The cabinet was still standing when you got home. You checked before you even took your shoes off. One handle remained slightly higher than the other. A piece of folded cardboard was wedged beneath the left side, and the middle shelf had already developed a suspicious- looking dip beneath your records. Minho followed your gaze. “Don’t.”
Minho walked over and pressed it shut with one finger. The cabinet rocked. You pointed at him. “See?” He looked at the cabinet, then at you. “That’s not because I touched it.” “It was fine before.” “It’s held up with cardboard.”
“Exactly. Delicate. Leave it.” Minho opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was about to say and carried the shopping into the kitchen. You followed him. Dinner stayed simple. Actually simple, by Minho’s standards. You put music on from the living room while he started the noodles and you dealt with the vegetables. For a while you talked about nothing important: whether the strawberries would still be good tomorrow, somebody in the building who had apparently started leaving their shoes outside your door, a video Felix had sent the group chat earlier that you hadn’t watched yet. Then you remembered something you’d meant to ask Minho days ago. “Did you ever call your mom back about that thing with the cupboard?”
He glanced over from the stove. “What cupboard?” “The one she wanted moving.” “That was my aunt.”
“Oh.” You paused with the knife halfway through a mushroom. “Did you call your aunt?” “Yeah.” “And?”
“She moved it herself.” You looked up. “Why did she call you, then?” “She wanted me to tell her whether it would fit.”
“Did it?” “No.” You waited. Minho kept stirring the noodles. You started laughing. Minho looked over, already smiling because he knew exactly why. “Why are families like this?”
“She said she could make it work.” “Did she?” “She cut part of the shelf.”
That made you laugh harder. Somewhere in the middle of it, Minho drifted closer to inspect what you were cutting. You noticed his hand appear beside yours, quietly pulling one of the mushroom pieces towards himself. You stopped. Minho cut it in half. “Did you seriously just recut my mushroom?” “It was huge.” “It was fine.”
He gave you the sort of look that said it very obviously had not been fine and reached towards another one. “Nope.” You stole it first and ate it raw. Minho stared at you for a second. “You’re ridiculous.” You were still chewing when you bumped your hip into his and reached past him for the sauce. He moved over to let you in, laughing under his breath, and mercifully left the rest of your mushrooms alone. They ate on the floor because the coffee table was still covered with leftover cabinet screws and an instruction sheet somebody had drawn an angry face on. Minho sat with his back against the sofa, one knee bent. You settled beside him close enough that your shoulder stayed against his. The food was good.
You told him so, which resulted in him quietly pushing the last dumpling from his bowl into yours without comment. You looked down at it. “You wanted that.” “I’m full.” “You ate faster than me.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m still hungry.” You picked the dumpling up and held it towards him. Minho looked at it, then at you. “Half.” He leaned forward and bit half from your chopsticks. You ate the rest. For a while, the conversation wandered through whatever came to mind. Minho told you that Jeongin had almost walked into a camera stand earlier because he’d been looking at his phone. You told him about the dog in the shopping bag from work, the woman insisting with her entire face that she had no idea where the barking was coming from. “You didn’t say anything?” Minho asked.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Excuse me, your handbag has a respiratory system’?” He laughed, head dropping briefly. “There were six of us in the lift,” you continued. “Nobody looked at her. The dog barked twice, and we all stared at the numbers like our lives depended on getting to the eighth floor.” Minho shook his head. “You should’ve asked what breed the bag was.” You looked at him. He was already smiling into his bowl. “That was terrible.”
“I know.” You leaned into his shoulder anyway. After dinner, Minho retrieved his phone from the counter and pulled up the rehearsal video. You groaned when you saw it. “I’m not testing you.” “You say that now.”
“I want to see something.” You moved onto the sofa and put your legs over his lap while he found the right clip. He showed you the first version, then one from later in rehearsal. You watched both properly. “The second one looks better.” Minho scrubbed back. “Why?” You hesitated. “It just… doesn’t look as cramped. Everybody has more space.”
He nodded. “That’s what we were fixing.” “Great. I’ve learned something.” “You already said that at practice.”
“Yeah, but now I know why.” Minho played it again, then started explaining what they had changed. This time, he stopped himself halfway through the technical part and glanced at you. You smiled. “Thank you.” “I saw your face.”
“Good.” He laughed softly and put the phone down. As he did, his right shoulder rolled in a small, uncomfortable movement. You’d noticed it in the lift. You reached over and pressed your thumb into the muscle near his neck. Minho flinched. “Shit.” You frowned. “That bad?.” “You surprised me.”
“You’ve been doing that all night.” “Doing what?” “That.” You copied the little shoulder roll. “Every few minutes.”
Minho looked down at his own shoulder as though he hadn’t realised it was visible. “It’s been tight since yesterday.” “Yesterday?” “It’s fine.”
You pressed again, more gently. His entire shoulder tensed. “Yeah, that looks very fine.” Minho didn’t answer. You moved your legs away from his lap and shifted behind him. “Turn around.” He gave you a look. “Come on. I’m not doing anything weird. I’m trying to help.”
“I know.” “Then move.” Minho sighed, but he did. He sat on the floor between your knees, back against the sofa. You put your hands on his shoulders and immediately understood why he’d been moving strangely. “Jesus.”
“What?” “This is horrible.” “Very comforting.”
“You know what I mean.” You worked your thumbs slowly into the muscle above his shoulder blade. His head tipped forward, hands settling loosely around your ankles. For a few minutes, you barely spoke. Traffic moved somewhere below the windows. Each time you found the worst part of the knot, Minho’s fingers tightened briefly around your ankle. “Too hard?” “No.”
“You sure?” “Keep going.” His voice had gone quieter. You did. After another minute, you moved his hair out of the way so you could reach higher. His shirt kept bunching beneath your hands. “This is annoying me.”
“My shoulder?” “Your shirt.” Minho glanced back over one shoulder. “I can’t get to anything properly.”
He smiled slightly. “Convenient.” “Oh, shut up.” You tugged the collar. “Take it off or suffer.” Minho undid several buttons and slid the shirt away from his shoulders, leaving it hanging loosely around his arms. You went back to work. His skin was warm beneath your palms. You could feel the tension easing slowly, though the whole right side of his back still felt harder than it should. “You should’ve said something.”
“You noticed anyway.” “That isn’t really the point.” Minho’s thumbs moved absently over your ankles. You pressed lower along his shoulder blade. He exhaled and let his head rest back against your knee for a second. There was something very Minho about the fact that he would quietly carry an aching shoulder around for two days and then act vaguely surprised when somebody noticed. You bent slightly. “Better?”
“Yeah.” “Actually?” “Actually.”
You continued for another minute. Then realised you weren’t really massaging anymore. Your hands had slowed. One rested at the back of his neck, thumb moving idly over his skin while Minho’s fingers traced the side of your ankle. He noticed before you did. Minho turned. He shifted onto his knees between your legs, open shirt still hanging around his arms. You looked at him. Minho’s hand slid from your ankle to your calf. You caught the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. The first kiss was soft. He stayed against your mouth for a moment, then kissed you again, one hand moving to your waist as you shifted closer to the edge of the sofa. There was no hurry. You could still feel the heat of his skin beneath your palms. Minho kissed you slowly, then along the corner of your mouth, his thumb moving under the hem of your top. You smiled when he followed you as you pulled back for a breath. “Hi.” Minho looked at you. “Hi.”
“You’re very close.” “You did that.” “Did I?”
His answer was another kiss. The phone disappeared somewhere between the cushions when Minho moved up onto the sofa. One knee settled between yours, his weight careful even as the kiss deepened. You pushed his shirt farther from his shoulders. Minho’s hand moved beneath your top, warm across your back. “You still smell like rehearsal,” you murmured when his mouth moved to your jaw. “I showered.” “I know.”
“Then stop complaining.” “I’m not complaining.” Minho looked up. You tightened your legs around him. “That’s what I thought.”
You pulled him back down before he could get smug about it. His hand moved higher beneath your shirt, then stopped when his fingers reached the edge of your bra. He looked at you. You nodded. Minho caught the hem of your top and pulled it over your head. It landed somewhere beside the coffee table. For a moment, he simply looked. Heat crept over your chest. “Don’t.” “What?” “You’re making me self-conscious.”
His expression softened. Minho bent and kissed the skin just beneath your collarbone. “My pretty girl,” he murmured. It was quiet enough that it felt more like something that had slipped out than something he’d meant to say. You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him back up to your mouth. The lock turned. At first, your brain didn’t place the sound. Then the latch moved. The front door opened. Minho lifted his head. Your sister stepped into the apartment. She stopped. Her eyes went straight to the sofa: Minho’s shirt open, your top on the floor, your bare shoulders. For one second, she didn’t look embarrassed. She looked pleased. “I knew it.” The words slipped out before she seemed to realise she’d said them. Minho moved immediately. He reached behind him, caught the throw from the back of the sofa and pulled it around you. His own shirt stayed open, half hanging from one shoulder. He didn’t even look down. You sat upright, clutching the throw closed. “What the hell are you doing?” Your sister’s face rearranged itself. “I knocked.”
“No, you didn’t.” “I did. You obviously couldn’t hear me.” “You used a key.”
She was still holding it. Minho found your top on the floor and passed it beneath the throw. You pushed your arms into it, but the fabric caught awkwardly behind you. “Wait,” he said quietly. He freed it, pulled the back down properly and straightened the strap twisted near your shoulder. Your sister watched his hands. “I thought Seungmin was your boyfriend.” You stood, keeping the throw around your shoulders. “Where did you get the key?” The question wrong-footed her for a second. “Mom had it.”
“Mom keeps my spare. She didn’t give it to you.” “She asked me to bring your mail over.” “So you took it.”
“I borrowed it. Don’t make it sound like I broke in.” “You let yourself into my apartment.” “I knocked first.”
“No, you didn’t.” Your sister shifted the folder tucked beneath her arm. “You weren’t answering. I wasn’t going to stand in the hallway forever when I had a key.” “You didn’t have a key. Mom had a key.”
“Oh my God, you know what I mean.” “No, actually, I don’t.” Minho stepped beside you. He wasn’t in front of you, wasn’t trying to take the conversation from you. He just stood close, his anger obvious in the tightness around his mouth. “You don’t use someone’s spare because they don’t answer,” he said.
Your sister looked at him briefly. “This is between me and her.” “You walked in while we were half dressed.” “I said I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” you said. “You said you knew it.” She blinked. “I was shocked.” “No. You looked happy.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“I saw it,” Minho said. Your sister’s eyes moved to him. “Of course you’d say that.” Minho didn’t bother answering. You held your hand out. “Give me the key.” Her fingers closed around it. “It belongs to Mom.” “It opens my front door.”
“Are you seriously going to pretend that’s the important thing here?” “Yes.” She stared at you. Then the satisfaction came back. “What about Seungmin?”
“What about him?” “He deserves to know what you’re doing.” Your stomach turned, not because of what she thought she’d discovered, but because she sounded so pleased to be saying it. “What Seungmin knows about my life is none of your business.”
“You’re cheating on him.” Minho’s jaw tightened. You kept your hand out. “Give me the damn key.” “You’re not even going to deny it?”
“I’m not discussing my relationship with you.” “That’s convenient.” “No, convenient is stealing my spare and then standing in my living room acting like you’re doing somebody a favour.”
“I didn’t steal anything.” “You took it without asking me.” “I was bringing you something for Mom.”
“Then you could’ve left it outside.” Your sister laughed once, short and irritated. “You always do this. Someone says something you don’t like and suddenly the whole conversation becomes about what they did wrong.” You looked at the key. “This conversation is about what you did wrong.”
“I knocked.” “Stop saying that.” “I did.”
“You didn’t.” Minho shifted slightly beside you. His hand hovered near your back but didn’t touch. “She’s asked for the key,” he said. “Give it back.” Your sister looked at him and then, finally, seemed to register that his shirt was still hanging open. “You haven’t even bothered fixing your own clothes.”
Minho followed her gaze as though he’d forgotten. “I was more concerned about her.” Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Exactly.” You frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t even have to ask.” Your sister gestured between you and Minho, irritation making her less careful now. “You’re fixing her clothes, telling me what to do in my own sister’s apartment—” “It isn’t your apartment,” Minho said. “And he helped because you walked in while I was undressed,” you added. “Why is that somehow a problem?” “I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re clearly bothered by it.” “All of you just… do whatever she wants.” There was the smallest pause. Minho gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You used a key you weren’t supposed to have and somehow she’s the controlling one.”
“I didn’t say controlling.” “You didn’t have to.” Your sister looked at you again. “You have Seungmin wrapped around your finger. I’m not going to stand there and watch him get made an idiot of.”
That landed differently. You stared at her. “You want him embarrassed.” Her expression changed. “What?” “You do. That’s why you looked so fucking happy when you came in. You’ve been waiting for something you can run and tell him.”
“No. You’ve decided what he thinks without ever asking him.” Her mouth tightened. “I know he deserves better than this.” Minho went very still beside you. You held your hand out again. “Key.” Your sister didn’t move. “Now.”
For another second, she looked as though she might keep arguing. Then she slapped it into your palm. “Mom will want it back.” “Mom can ask me.” “You’re really going to change the locks because I came in once?”
“Yes.” “That’s insane.” “Then it won’t affect you.”
Your sister pulled her coat closed and gathered the folder against herself. The fake sweetness returned, though not as smoothly as before. “I genuinely didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” “You meant to come inside without permission.” “I knocked.”
“For fuck’s sake.” You crossed to the door and opened it. “Leave.” She stood there for another moment. Then her eyes flicked towards Minho again. That pleased look returned. “I’m going to tell Seungmin exactly what I saw.”
“Go ahead.” “You think he won’t care?” “I think you should make sure you tell him how you got in.”
Her face hardened. “I hope you’re this calm when he finds out.” You shut the door. The lock clicked. You put the chain across as well, harder than you meant to. For a few seconds, you stood there with the key pressed into your palm. The apartment felt strangely quiet. Minho stayed near the sofa. He didn’t come up behind you or put his hands on you without asking. He waited until you turned around. Your top was twisted slightly, one strap still sitting wrong. Minho lifted one hand. “Can I fix that?” You looked down and nodded. He came closer, freed the fabric at your back and pulled it down properly. His fingers straightened the strap at your shoulder, quick and careful. Then he stepped away. You looked at his chest. “Your shirt.”
Minho glanced down as if he’d only just remembered. “Right.” He pulled it back onto both shoulders and fastened a couple of buttons without much attention. “She looked happy.” “I know.”
“She didn’t even try to hide it at first.” Minho’s jaw shifted. You started pacing before you really meant to, the key still in your hand. “And now she’s going to message Seungmin with some dramatic shit about how sorry she is to be the one telling him. She’ll leave out the key. She’ll say she knocked. She’ll say I got aggressive when she tried to talk to me.” “She probably will.”
“She always does that.” You turned near the kitchen. “She does something completely out of line, then if I get angry, suddenly that’s the part everyone’s meant to focus on.” Minho let you talk. You stopped and looked at the door again. “I want the lock changed.” “Okay.”
“I know she gave the key back. She probably hasn’t copied it. I don’t think she’s going to start creeping in here every night or anything. She’s my sister, not some random psycho.” You rubbed your thumb over the edge of the key. “I just don’t want to hear something at the door and wonder if she can still get in.” “That’s enough reason.” “It feels dramatic.”
“She used it.” You looked at him. Minho picked up his phone. “Want me to find someone?” “Yeah. Please.”
He sat beside you while he searched, showed you the company before calling and explained the situation simply: a family member had used a spare key without permission, you had the key back, and you wanted the cylinder changed. There was a same-evening callout. The price made you pull a face. Minho covered the bottom of the phone. “They can come in about ninety minutes. Tomorrow between eight and ten is less than half.” You looked at the chain. “Tomorrow. We have the key.” “And I’m staying.”
He booked the morning appointment. Your phone was on the table. Four messages waited from your sister. You didn’t open them. “I should call Seungmin before she does.” Minho sat beside you. “Yeah.” You called. Seungmin answered quickly. “Hi. Did you eat? I was going to—” “Minnie.”
He stopped. You heard a rustle at his end, as though he’d sat up properly. “What happened?” “My sister came over.” “Again?”
“She let herself in.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, she let herself in?” “She took Mom’s spare key. Minho and I were on the sofa, and the door just opened.”
“She—what the hell?” His voice came closer to the phone. “Is she still there?” “No. I got the key back and made her leave. The chain’s on, and someone’s changing the lock tomorrow.” “Okay.” Seungmin breathed out, but the tension stayed in his voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m pissed off.” “Yeah. Obviously.” He was quiet for a second. “Did she scare you?” “No. Not like that. She’s still my sister.” You looked towards the locked door. “It just feels gross knowing she thought she could walk in because I hadn’t answered her.”
“I know.” His answer came more softly. “That would piss me off too. The key’s definitely back?” “It’s here.” “And Minho’s staying?”
“Yeah.” “Good.” He didn’t add anything about you needing somebody there. You both knew that wasn’t what he meant. You told him what happened in pieces: the excuse about bringing your mail, the way she’d kept insisting she knocked, and the pleased look she hadn’t managed to hide when she saw you and Minho together. “She said she knew it,” you told him.
“Knew what?” “That I was cheating on you.” Seungmin went quiet. “With Minho?”
“Apparently.” “The Minho you told me you were picking up for your date?” “She doesn’t know that.”
“I know, I just…” A short laugh escaped him, more disbelief than amusement. “She really thinks she’s caught you sneaking around with Minho.” “It would be funny if she hadn’t looked so happy.” The laugh disappeared. “She was that pleased?”
“Yeah.” You heard him shift again. When he spoke, his voice was lower. “That’s fucked up.” You heard a vibration against your cheek with another message. Almost immediately, Seungmin said, “She’s texting me.” “What did she say?”
He read silently for a few seconds. “She says she’s sorry to be the one telling me, but she found you with Minho and thinks there are things I deserve to know.” Another pause. “Nothing about the key.” “Of course not.” “She says you became aggressive when she tried to talk to you.” His voice sharpened. “And now she wants to know whether I’m alone.”
“She wants to tell you properly.” “Yeah, apparently I need to be sitting down for the devastating news that you kissed Minho.” You laughed despite yourself, though it didn’t last long. Seungmin exhaled. “I started replying.”
“What did you write?” “I haven’t sent it.” “That wasn’t what I asked.”
He hesitated. “It starts with ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’” “Seungminniee” “It gets worse.”
“Maybe save it for tomorrow.” “Probably.” You could hear him tapping his fingers against something. “She keeps talking to me like I’m stupid. Like she knows more about my own relationship than I do.” “I know.”
“And she used me to threaten you.” “That was the first thing she said after she walked in.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Minho moved quietly in the kitchen behind you, cupboard doors opening and closing without any attempt to listen in. Seungmin asked, “Do you want me to come over?”
“No. Minho’s staying.” “Okay. I wasn’t trying to make it into a whole thing. I just wanted to ask.” “I know, Minnie.”
He was quiet again, then said, “I hate that she looked happy.” That was the part underneath all his anger. You could hear it now. “I know.” “She didn’t care whether it would hurt me. She wanted it to.”
“Yeah.” “And she wanted you frightened of me finding out.” Seungmin let out a slow breath. “I’m not replying tonight. I’ll tell her tomorrow not to contact me about you again, when I can say it without calling her every name I know.” “That might take a while.”
You smiled, resting your head against the back of the sofa. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked. “A bit.” “Good. Don’t read whatever else she sends. She’ll only rewrite the whole night until she’s the victim.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” “And text me when the locksmith’s been.” “I will.”
Another pause settled between you, easier this time. “I love you,” Seungmin said. “I love you too.” “And tell Minho I love him as well.”
You looked towards the kitchen. Minho was putting the cake onto a plate, his shirt still only half buttoned. “I will.” “Okay. Call me if you need me.” “I know.”
You stayed on the line for another few seconds before hanging up. Minho looked over when you lowered the phone, but he didn’t ask what had been said. “Seungminnie says he loves you.” His expression softened. “I love him too.” Then he held out the plate of cake. You looked at it. “I thought that was for tomorrow.” “It was.”
You took the fork he held out. You ate the cake straight from the container, shoulders touching. It was a little too sweet. You ate more than Minho anyway. After a while, he lifted his hand towards your face and stopped before touching you. “Can I?” You nodded. Minho tucked your hair behind your ear and left his palm against the side of your neck. You leaned into it. Neither of you tried to restart what had been interrupted. When you were finished, Minho put the empty container on the coffee table and held one arm out without saying anything. You moved under it and settled against his side. ౨ৎ Minho had his eyes closed in three of the four pictures. Jisung took this as a personal insult. “You did that on purpose,” he said, holding the strip beneath the weak light outside the booth. His mask had slipped below his chin, and he was still pink from laughing through the last picture. “There’s no way you blinked three times.” Minho took the strip from him and looked at it. “The flash was bright.”
“It was the same flash every time.” “Exactly.” “That doesn’t explain anything.”
You leaned between them to see. Jisung looked delighted in the first photograph, even though only half his face had made it into frame. You were sitting partly across Minho’s lap because the booth had clearly been designed for two people with a much less complicated dating life. Minho looked asleep. In the second, Jisung had managed to fit properly and Minho’s eyes were still closed. The third was the only decent one. Minho’s arm was around your waist, Jisung’s cheek pressed against yours, and all three of you were looking at the camera. The last had been ruined by you. Jisung had kissed your cheek just as the countdown started. You’d clutched Minho’s sleeve, leaned closer to them both and whispered, with considerably more drama than the situation required, “What if Seungmin catches us?” Jisung had broken first. The picture had caught him folding forward against your shoulder, your mouth open because you were trying not to laugh and Minho looking directly into the camera with the beginning of a smile he hadn’t managed to hide. “That one’s the best,” you said. “I look stupid.”
“You always say that when you’re laughing.” “I don’t.” Minho held the strip just out of Jisung’s reach when he tried to take it back. “You do.”
Jisung looked between you. “Why are you both against me?” You looped your arm through his. “We’re not. We’re having an affair.” That made him laugh again, though he tried to bury it by pressing his mouth against the top of your head. It had been eleven days since your sister had used your mother’s spare key to let herself into your apartment. Eleven days had been long enough for the immediate fury to wear down into something flatter and less consuming. You were still angry when you thought about the door opening, and you still checked the new lock sometimes after you’d already turned it. Mostly, though, you had stopped giving your sister the amount of thought she clearly believed she deserved. She had spent those eleven days trying to reach Seungmin. He had spent them avoiding her with increasingly little subtlety. The first few messages had gone unanswered. When she started calling, he blocked her number. Then she turned up at JYP claiming she needed to speak to him about a private family emergency. Reception had called upstairs. Seungmin had told them there was no emergency and that he did not want to see her. She had returned two days later. The second time, security had already been given her name and labled her a sasaeng.
Jisung had told you over dinner that Seungmin stayed in one of the smaller recording rooms until somebody confirmed she had left the building. Seungmin had described this to you later as having some work to finish, but Jisung said the work had mostly involved refreshing the lobby camera and asking Chan whether a baseball cap would make him less recognisable if he used the side exit. You had laughed hard enough that Seungmin hung up on you. He called back thirty seconds later because he still wanted to know what you were doing that evening. Tonight, he was at your apartment while you were out with Minho and Jisung. He’d had a late schedule near your neighbourhood and gone there afterwards, letting himself in with the new key you’d given him two days after the lock was changed. The photo booth had been Jisung’s idea. The restaurant afterwards had been Minho’s, mostly because he knew somewhere nearby with private rooms and food until late. By the time you sat down, Jisung had already put the photograph into the clear back of his phone case. “You said you looked stupid,” you pointed out. “I do.”
“So why are you keeping it?” He placed his phone facedown on the table. “I paid for it.” Minho, who had paid the other half before either of you realised what he was doing, opened the menu and ignored both of you. The room was small enough that your knees kept touching beneath the table. Jisung sat beside you, one leg pressed along yours, while Minho sat opposite. He had taken his cap off but left his hair flattened around the edges, and when you reached across to fix one side, he caught your wrist and kissed your palm before letting you go. The date had nothing to do with your sister for most of the evening.
Jisung talked about a song he’d been working on and the part he kept changing even though nobody else thought there was anything wrong with it. You asked whether he actually disliked it or whether he had listened to it so many times that he could no longer tell. “That’s the problem,” he said, dragging one of the side dishes closer. “I liked it yesterday. This morning it sounded obvious.” “What does obvious sound like?” He paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Like I knew what was coming.”
“You wrote it.” “I know, but I don’t want it to feel like that.” You understood what he meant without understanding anything technical about what he might change. “Maybe stop listening to it tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to work.” Minho looked up from his bowl. Jisung noticed. “I wasn’t.” “You brought your laptop.”
“It’s in the car.” “You brought it on the date.” Jisung looked at you for support. You took a piece of food from his plate. “I think you should leave it in the car.” His hand came down over yours before you could get away. “That was mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.” “I was talking.” “You can’t reserve food by looking at it.”
Minho reached over and took the other half while Jisung was still holding your wrist. Jisung stared at the empty plate. Neither of you admitted anything. Conversation moved on. Minho showed you a video his mother had sent of one of the cats refusing to step around a paper bag. Jisung tried to argue that the cat was displaying excellent instincts. You told them about an elderly man in the convenience store earlier who had spent several minutes asking an employee whether a particular packet of sweets was too spicy, then bought three when she said no. “Maybe they were for someone else,” Minho said. “He opened one before he left.” “So?”
“He ate six while standing beside the till.” Jisung nodded as though this confirmed something. “He needed to be sure.” “For who?”
“The other two packets.” You looked at him. He smiled and leaned his shoulder into yours. Seungmin messaged halfway through the meal. Are you bringing food back or am I allowed to eat the ice cream? You picked up your phone and showed Jisung. “He can’t eat that,” Jisung said immediately. “I wanted some.” “You’re here.”
“I’ll want it later.” Minho took a drink, watching the argument without involving himself. You replied: Touch it and I’m changing the locks again. Seungmin’s answer came almost immediately. You gave me a key. Not immunity. The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back. Bring chips. You smiled and put the phone down. Your own phone buzzed again. You expected Seungmin. It was your sister. For a second, you considered leaving it unopened. She had sent several messages since the key incident, most of them variations on I was trying to help and you’ve completely overreacted. You hadn’t answered any of them. The preview showed Seungmin’s name. You opened it. I know he’s at your apartment. I’m telling him tonight. He deserves to know what you’ve been doing. You stared at the screen. Another message arrived before you could decide whether you were irritated or simply tired. Once I tell him, he’s going to be so angry with you he’ll come straight to me. I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Your mouth fell open. Jisung noticed first. “What?”
You read it again, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less deranged. They didn’t. “What the fuck?” Minho’s attention moved from Jisung’s hands to your face. “What happened?” You turned the phone towards them. Jisung leaned close enough that his hair brushed your cheek. His eyes moved over the first message, then the second. He went very still. Minho reached across and took the phone when Jisung failed to move. For several seconds, none of you spoke. The nerve of it hit first. Your sister was outside your home again, talking about your boyfriend as though he were something she could collect once she’d successfully disposed of you. Then the rest of the message caught up. You laughed. It came out once, sharp and completely involuntary.
Jisung looked at you, then back at the phone. “She thinks Seungmin’s going to fuck her?” “Apparently.” He read the message one more time. His brows drew together, not with amusement so much as genuine confusion. “He literally asked you to fuck him after me last week.”
You put a hand over your mouth. That made it worse. Jisung was not trying to be funny. He was simply supplying information your sister had failed to account for. Minho returned your phone to the table. “Is she outside the apartment now?” The laughter thinned. You looked at the first message again. “It sounds like it.” “She shouldn’t be there.” “No.”
Jisung’s hand settled on your thigh. “Seungmin won’t let her in.” “I know.” That wasn’t what bothered you. You could picture her in the corridor, speaking softly through the door while Seungmin stood on the other side trying to get her to leave. She had already turned up at his workplace twice. She had already taken a key. Being ignored had not embarrassed her into stopping. It had made her more determined. Minho was reaching for his jacket before you said anything. “I’ll drive you.”
You nodded. There was no argument about finishing dinner or waiting to see whether she went away. Jisung gathered your things while Minho dealt with the bill. You sent Seungmin a quick message as you followed them out. Are you okay? His name appeared on your screen before you reached the lift. He was calling. You answered with the phone against your ear. “Hi.” “She won’t leave.” Seungmin sounded more annoyed than frightened. There was a strange hollowness behind his voice, and it took you a moment to realise he was standing in the hallway on his side of the door. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Through the door. I told her you aren’t here and she needs to go.” You stepped into the lift with Minho and Jisung. “What did she say?” “That she knows you’re not there. Apparently that’s why she came.” His voice dropped slightly. “Now she keeps asking me to open the door so she can tell me something before you get back.”
“She messaged me.” “I guessed.” The lift doors closed. Minho pressed the button for the car park while Jisung stood close at your other side, his hand brushing yours. “She says you’ve been stopping me from talking to her,” Seungmin continued. “I told her I blocked her myself. She said you probably made me.” You shut your eyes briefly. “Of course she did.”
“I asked how you could make me block her when you didn’t know she’d messaged the first time.” “What did she say?” “Nothing. Then she started again about needing to tell me the truth.”
The lift reached the car park. Minho took the keys from his pocket and walked quickly without making the situation feel like an emergency. “We’re coming back now,” you said. “Maybe fifteen minutes.” “Okay.” “She sent me what she wants to tell you.”
There was a pause. “The Minho thing?” “Yeah, but there was another message after that.” “What did she say?”
You glanced at Jisung. He was already biting the inside of his cheek. You read the message aloud. By the time you reached the end, Seungmin had gone completely silent. Minho unlocked the car. You got into the passenger seat while Jisung climbed into the back. “Minnie?” “I’m here.” “You went quiet.”
“I don’t understand why she thinks that would happen.” You pressed your lips together. Seungmin continued before you could answer. “Even if I thought you’d cheated on me, why would I immediately sleep with your sister?” “I don’t know.”
“And why does she think I’d be that angry?” You looked through the windscreen as Minho started the engine. There was another knock faintly audible through his phone. The amusement dropped away. Your sister’s voice followed, blurred by the door but recognisable. “Seungmin? I know she’s probably told you not to answer me, but you need to hear this from someone who actually cares about you.” Seungmin exhaled through his nose. “She’s doing that every couple of minutes.”
“Don’t open it.” “I’m not going to.” Minho pulled out of the car park. “Are the neighbours out there?”
“Not yet.” “We’ll be there soon.” “Okay.” His voice softened slightly. “Drive carefully.”
“I’m not driving.” “I know. Tell Minho.” “I’m sure he heard.”
Minho’s hand came briefly from the wheel to squeeze your knee before returning. “I’ll stay on the phone,” you said. “You don’t have to.” “I know.”
He didn’t argue again. The rest of the journey passed with the phone against your ear. You and Seungmin spoke only occasionally. He told you when your sister knocked again. You told him when you were five minutes away. Jisung leaned forward once to pass you the bottle of water from the side pocket, then sat back without trying to join the conversation. When Minho pulled up outside your building, Seungmin said he could hear a car pulling up. “That might be us.” “Okay.” “I’m hanging up now.”
“Call back if it isn’t.” You smiled despite yourself. “I will.” Minho parked near the entrance. Jisung was already undoing his seat belt. “You don’t need to come up,” you told him. He stopped. “We can wait outside.”
“That’ll make it worse.” “I know.” He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the belt. “I just don’t like her being there.” “Neither do I.”
Minho switched off the engine and turned towards you. “Text when she leaves.” “I will.” “And if you want us back, call.”
You nodded. Jisung reached between the seats and caught the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to kiss your temple. “Don’t let her say anything stupid about you.” “That might be difficult.” “You know what I mean.”
You did. You reached back and squeezed his wrist, then leaned across the centre console to kiss Minho. His hand came briefly to your jaw. Minho waited until you were inside the lobby before starting the car again. The lift took too long. By the time the doors opened on your floor, you could hear your sister speaking. Her voice was low and patient, carrying just far enough along the corridor. “I’m not blaming you for any of this, Seungmin. I know what she’s like. I just think you should let me explain before she gets back and makes everything sound different.” You walked around the corner. She stood outside your apartment with her coat still on and her phone in one hand. Her expression changed when she saw you—not guilt, exactly. More like irritation at having been interrupted before she got what she wanted. Then the sweetness returned. “Thank God. He won’t open the door.” “I know.”
“I’ve been trying to tell him I’m not here to cause trouble.” “You’ve been told to leave.” “I only need five minutes.”
The door stayed closed behind her. Your sister glanced towards it, then lowered her voice as though the two of you were suddenly sharing something private. “I think he’s scared of how you’ll react if he speaks to me.” You stared at her. She genuinely seemed to believe it. The lift moved somewhere behind you. A door opened further along the corridor, and you heard somebody’s television before it closed again. You did not want the next part happening out here. You stepped past your sister and unlocked the door. Her face brightened with quiet triumph. “Inside,” you said. “You’re saying whatever you came to say, and then you’re leaving.” She followed before you could change your mind. Seungmin was standing near the end of the hallway. He had changed after work into grey sweatpants and a dark sweatshirt. His hair was soft around his forehead, and the television was paused behind him. He looked tired, irritated and entirely unlike the furious, sexually aggressive man your sister had constructed in her head. His eyes went to you first. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” You closed the door and turned the lock, then stayed beside it. Your sister looked between you. “Could I speak to him alone?” “No.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” Seungmin’s expression barely changed. “I already told you no.” She turned towards him fully. “You don’t know what she’s done.” “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.” She took a small step closer, not enough to invade his space but enough to make her intention obvious. “I saw her with Minho. They were half dressed. She’s been lying to you.” Seungmin glanced at you. Not for an explanation. It was closer to disbelief that this was the revelation she had spent nearly two weeks trying to deliver. “I know she was with Minho.” Your sister’s face changed. “She told you.”
“I knew before she went to get him.” “No.” She gave a short laugh, as though he had misunderstood his own sentence. “I mean I saw them together. It wasn’t friendly.” “I know.”
Her eyes moved to you, then back to him. “And you’re just okay with that?” Seungmin’s mouth tightened. “It isn’t your business.” “I’m trying to stop you being humiliated.” “I’m not humiliated.”
“You don’t have to pretend because she’s here.” “I’m not pretending.” Your sister looked at you again. “Can you give us one minute?”
“No.” “She’s not keeping me here,” Seungmin said before your sister could turn that into something else. “I don’t want to talk to you alone.” “You’ve never even given me the chance.”
“I’ve had your messages.” “She must have said something to you.” “She didn’t know you’d contacted me the first time.”
Your sister’s fingers tightened around her phone. Seungmin continued, still calm. “I blocked you. I told reception not to let you upstairs. Nobody made me do that.” The flat went quiet for a moment. Your sister’s expression hardened before she managed to soften it again. “You don’t know what she’s like when you aren’t around.” A laugh nearly escaped you, but there was nothing funny in her face now. “She was on a date tonight,” your sister said. “With him again, I assume.” Seungmin answered without hesitation. “With Minho and Jisung,” Seungmin replied. She stared at him. You hadn’t expected him to say it quite so plainly. He didn’t elaborate. Your sister looked at you as though the answer had confirmed something worse than she had prepared herself for. “Jisung too?” You folded your arms. “You came here to tell Seungmin I was with Minho. He knows. You’ve told him. You can go now.”
“No. What does that mean?” “It means what happens in our relationship isn’t your business.” “Relationship?” Her gaze moved between you and Seungmin again. “What, all of you?”
Neither of you answered. She understood enough from the silence. “Oh my God.” Seungmin shifted closer to you, not protectively and not as a performance. He simply seemed done with standing across the room from you while your sister examined both of you. She noticed. “So you just let her do this?” His face changed then. “I don’t let her do anything.”
“You know what I mean.” “No, I don’t.” “She’s sleeping with other men.”
“She isn’t lying to me.” “That doesn’t make it normal.” “We didn’t ask what you thought.”
Your sister’s voice sharpened. “You’re really standing there pretending you’re fine with being passed around between all of them?” The sentence was directed at you, but she kept glancing at Seungmin as though waiting for him to flinch. The word landed harder than you expected. Not because it described anything real. It didn’t. There was no version of your relationship in which you were an object being handed from one person to another. Still, she had chosen it carefully. She wanted you to feel cheap. For one ugly second, you did. Seungmin moved before you spoke. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Your sister’s brows lifted. “I’m saying what everyone else would think.”
“You don’t know what anyone else thinks.” “I know what it looks like.” “You know what you wanted it to look like,” you said.
She turned to you. “You were happy when you walked in on me and Minho. You didn’t look worried about Seungmin. You looked pleased.” “I was shocked.” “You said you knew it.”
“Because I did.” “No. You thought you’d finally found something you could use.” Her face flushed. “I was trying to protect him.”
“You told me he’d come straight to you.” The room went still. Your sister’s eyes flicked towards Seungmin. You took out your phone, though you didn’t need to show her the message. She knew exactly what she had written. “You said he’d be so angry with me that he’d sleep with you tonight.” “I was upset.”
“About what?” She looked at Seungmin again. “About seeing someone treated like this.” Seungmin’s expression had gone flat. “You don’t know me at all,” he said.
“I know you deserve someone who respects you.” “You keep saying that like you’re talking about me. You aren’t.” “I came all this way because nobody else was going to tell you.”
“I already knew.” “And you’re fine with it because she’s convinced you this is what you want.” Seungmin stared at her for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You thought I’d be angry with her and come to you.” His voice stayed even, which somehow made your sister look more unsettled. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know how you’d feel if you understood everything.” “I understand enough.” “She’s standing right there.”
“I told you to leave before she got here.” Your sister’s mouth closed. It was the first thing that seemed to reach her. For nearly two weeks, she had apparently imagined you intercepting messages, controlling Seungmin’s decisions and keeping him away from her. The possibility that he had heard everything she wanted to say and still rejected her had never been allowed into the fantasy. She recovered badly. “You’re letting her make a fool of you.” “I’m not.”
“You have no pride.” “That isn’t concern.” “I’m trying to help you.”
“No,” Seungmin said. “You’re trying to make me want something I don’t want.” Your sister’s eyes sharpened. “And what do you want? To be one of however many men she has wrapped around her finger?” The hurt from before was still there, but now it was joined by something steadier. “Stop talking about them.” She ignored you. “Minho was fixing your clothes while he couldn’t even be bothered to button his own shirt. Jisung was practically hanging off you the last time I saw him. He looked like he needed you to tell him what to do next.”
“Enough.” You unfolded your arms. “You don’t get to talk about them.” “I’m saying what everyone can see.”
“No. You’re saying what bothers you.” You stepped away from the door, closing some of the distance between you. “Jisung being soft bothers you. Seungmin not wanting to control me bothers you. Anything that doesn’t fit whatever miserable idea you have of how men are supposed to act makes you angry.” “That isn’t what I said.” “It’s exactly what you said.”
“You like them like that because it means you can do whatever you want.” “No.” “All of them running around after you, buying you things, fixing your clothes, doing whatever you say—”
“You stole a key to my home.” Her mouth snapped shut. “You took pictures of me without permission. You messaged my boyfriend behind my back. You turned up at his workplace more than once after he ignored you, and now you’ve come here because you thought you could make him leave me.” “I came because you were lying to him.”
“I wasn’t.” “You expect me to believe all of them are fine with this?” “I don’t care what you believe.”
“You think they all actually want you?” There it was. It came out before she could smooth it over. You watched her realise. The question hurt more than the other insults because it was closer to the centre of what she meant. Not disgust at the relationship. Disbelief that you could be loved inside it. You let the silence sit. Then you said, “That’s what you can’t stand.” Her face tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself.” “You don’t care that I’m with them. You care that they’re with me.”
The sentence came out more quietly than you expected. Your sister laughed, but there was no sweetness left in it. “Why would I be jealous of being passed between eight men?” Seungmin’s hand found yours. You held on. “You thought he’d choose you,” you said. “You said it yourself.” “I never said that.” “You said he’d come straight to you.”
“I meant he’d need someone.” “You meant you.” She looked at Seungmin. He did not look away. “I would never treat you the way she does,” your sister said.
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around yours. “You keep talking like this ends with me choosing you.” Her expression flickered. He continued before she could deny it. “It doesn’t.” “You only think that because you don’t understand what she’s doing.”
“Even if I had been angry with her, I still wouldn’t have gone to you.” The words were simple. They did not need anything added to them. Your sister’s face went blank for a second. Then the cruelty returned, stripped of almost everything polite. “Fine. Stay here and let her make you pathetic. Maybe that’s what you like.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened. You moved towards the door. “That’s enough.”
Your sister looked at you. “You’re throwing me out because I told the truth?” “I’m making you leave because you came here to hurt people.” “You can’t keep protecting him from reality.”
“I’m not protecting him from you. He doesn’t want you.” “You don’t speak for him.” “I’ve told you myself,” Seungmin said.
She ignored him. That, more than anything, made the whole thing obvious. She had spent weeks claiming to care about what Seungmin wanted. Now that he was saying it plainly, she refused to hear him. You opened the door. “Go home.” She stayed where she was. “So that’s it?” “For tonight, yes.”
“You’re just going to pretend none of this is sick?” “I’m not discussing my relationship with you again.” “And you think you can tell me where I’m allowed to go?”
“I’m telling you not to come back to this apartment. Don’t go to his work . Stop messaging Seungmin. He doesn’t want to speak to you.” Her gaze flicked towards him one last time. Seungmin stood beside you, still holding your hand. Your sister pulled her coat closer around herself. “You’ll regret this when it all falls apart.” Neither of you answered. She walked past you into the corridor. You closed the door before she reached the lift. For a moment, your hand stayed on the lock. Then you turned it. The apartment was quiet again. Seungmin didn’t speak immediately. He stood a few feet away, watching you without crowding you. You looked towards the paused television. “What were you watching?”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, as though that wasn’t the question he had expected. “I don’t know anymore.” You let out a breath that turned into something close to a laugh. Seungmin came nearer. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” You rubbed at the place between your brows. “Mostly. She’s such an asshole.”
“She is.” “The stuff about Jisung and the boys pissed me off more than anything else.” “I know.”
“She barely knows them.” “She barely knows me.” You looked at him. He was still annoyed. You could see it in the line of his mouth and the way his thumb kept moving over the side of your hand. But he wasn’t broken by what she had said. He wasn’t questioning himself or looking for reassurance that he was masculine enough. He was simply angry that she had been cruel to people he loved. Your phone buzzed. Minho. Is she gone? You replied that she was. Jisung’s message appeared before you had put the phone away. are you both okay Three dots appeared immediately. did she expose you You looked at Seungmin. He noticed. “What?”
“Jisung wants to know whether she exposed me.” Seungmin’s expression flattened. “He’s enjoying this too much.” “He was worried.”
“He can be worried without typing like that.” You smiled and sent Jisung a message. Minho replied next. Do you want us to come back? You considered it, then looked around the apartment. The television was still paused. A paper bag sat open on the coffee table beside a drink with melted ice. Seungmin’s shoes were by the door. His charger was already plugged in beside the sofa. You were okay. No. We’re fine. Drive home safely. Minho sent a heart. Jisung sent four. Seungmin sat down on the sofa, then reached for your phone when you held it out. “What?” “You haven’t seen the actual message.”
“I heard it.” “That’s different.” He took the phone reluctantly. You watched his eyes move over the first message. Then the second. His face went blank. For several seconds, he said nothing. You sat beside him. “Well?” Seungmin locked the phone and handed it back. “She really doesn’t know anything about me.”
That made you laugh again. He looked offended. “Why is that funny?” “It isn’t.” “You’re laughing.”
“I’m laughing at her.” “That’s not better.” You leaned into his shoulder. “Jisung said something worse.” Seungmin immediately looked suspicious. “What did he say?”
You told him. He closed his eyes. Then he picked up the nearest cushion, put it over his face and stayed like that while you laughed against his side. When he finally lowered it, his ears were pink. “He didn’t need to say that in front of everyone.” “Everyone lready knew.” “That isn’t the point.”
You rested your head against him. “He wasn’t wrong.” Seungmin gave you a long look, then reached for the paper bag on the table. The fries inside had gone cold. He ate one anyway. “You wanted us to bring chips,” you said. “These aren’t chips.” “They’re close.”
You took one from the bag. It was terrible. You ate the rest of it. Seungmin found the remote beneath the cushion and restarted the episode from the beginning. You tucked your feet beneath his thigh, and he rested one hand around your ankle while the opening credits play
Synopsis: You and skz members become contestants in Love Island. A real-time dating competition featuring a group of sexy singles living in a tropical villa who must try to win the $100,000 prize by coupling up and surviving to the end. (12,1k words)
Author's note: Happy STAYday! It's been an honor to serve the fandom. Episode two coming tomorrow. Hope you enjoy it❣️
NARRATOR: Welcome to Love Island and an unforgettable summer of love here in Fiji where the water is crystal clear, the cocktails are always cold, and the dating history of this year's Islanders is about to become everyone's business. For the next several weeks, a group of ridiculously attractive singles will swap the real world for paradise. They're here for romance. They're here for adventure. And let's be honest... they're probably here for a little bit of drama. And you’re in control. Voting on all sorts of decisions that impact the show in real time. How cool is that! Ultimately, you’ll decide which couple wins the $100,000 prize. One villa. A handful of hopeful romantics. Countless chances to find love. And our first Islander...
-
The car door swings shut behind you with a muted thud and heat kisses your skin almost instantly. It’s that warm, tropical air scented with saltwater and blooming frangipani. You pause for half a second, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as your gaze travels upward.
The villa. It's somehow even bigger than what you expected. Cream-colored stone, towering glass windows reflecting the afternoon sun, palm trees swaying around the property as if they were specifically planted to frame every camera angle. Somewhere nearby, waves lap gently against the shore, close enough that the ocean feels like part of the villa itself.
You can't stop smiling as you mutter in quiet awe. “This is insane...”
You take one last steadying breath before walking toward the entrance. The heels you’re wearing are taller than ones you usually wear. You manage to keep your balance as you strut through the stone path.
“Oh my God!” A cheerful voice greets you.
Your head whipped to the side and there, a brunette standing beside a small round table practically lights up the moment she spots you. Tight curls hair flowing down to her waist. Brown eyes that are just as warm and welcoming as her smile. The neon pink bikini makes a great contrast to her perfect tan skin.
“Hello, there!” she says, rushing toward you before you can even walk down the wooden platform.
You laugh at her enthusiasm. “Oh my God, hi!”
The two of you meet halfway, exchanging a quick hug before pulling back just enough for the customary cheek-to-cheek kiss. You take her hand, holding it in yours as you introduce yourself.
“I’m Mandy,” she introduces herself back with a bright grin. “Girl, you are gorgeous.”
You get her vibe right away. Bright and cheerful, unapologetically confident. You laugh, already feeling some of the nerves melt away. “And so are you,” you easily says.
“Stop.”
“No, seriously."
She takes your other hand and shakes both hands in excitement. “I'm so glad another girl is here because I was standing here by myself pretending I wasn't nervous.”
“I was literally talking to myself in the car.”
“No way!” her eyes widen in disbelief.
“I swear.”
The two of you dissolve into laughter. The awkwardness disappears almost immediately. She gestures toward the small welcome table positioned beneath a pergola. A silver bucket filled with ice cradles a bottle of champagne, the flutes already waiting.
“Let’s pop the champagne already!”
You pick up the bottle. “Oh, absolutely.”
She braces herself dramatically, scrunching her nose, eyes narrowed.
However, you change your mind in the next second, pushing the bottle to her. “You do the honors.”
“I have no idea how,” Mandy innocently admits, then hugs your side in embarrassment.
You both break into laughter again. Once you recovered, you twist the wire cage loose. “I feel like this is going to explode.”
Mandy takes another step back, hands pressed against her ears. “It is absolutely going to explode.”
You carefully ease the cork and POP! The cork shoots into the air and both of you shriek in reaction. The champagne foams over the neck of the bottle and you hurriedly putting away to avoid spilling on you.
“It actually scared me!” Mandy says, holding two flutes in each hand now.
“You screamed before it even popped!” you say, still laughing.
“I know!” Mandy admits, also still laughing.
You manage to pour two uneven glasses, bubbles spilling over the rims. Then you hand one to Mandy.
She raises hers immediately. “To finding love?”
You lift yours against hers with a bright smile. “To finding love.”
The glasses clink in a delicate chime. You tilt your head up just slight as you take a sip. The champagne is crisp, cold, and surprisingly good.
Mandy nods approvingly after swallowing the wine. Then looks around. “Should we snoop?”
“We absolutely should,” you agree, nodding.
Leaving the champagne behind, the two of you wander toward the terrace. Every few steps another excited gasp escapes one of you. The beach. The Pool. The open gym. The open showers. The colorful lounge chairs and throw pillows.
“Really love the pool,” you comment almost absentmindedly.
“Yeah. The size of it!” Mandy adds in her bright excitement.
You both move to the open kitchen. Marble countertops. A fridge already stocked. The massive living area overlooking the pool, also with lots of colorful throw pillows.
“I'd like to move in, please?” Mandy playfully says.
“I think we're technically moving in,” you say, throwing your hair to the back.
The realization hangs between you for a second as Mandy looks at you with wide, surprised eyes. “We're actually living here.”
“We're on Love Island, baby,” you say it out loud for the first time.
The words don't feel real, even to you.
Mandy squeals again as she throws her arms around you for another excited hug. You squeal along with her without a shred of embarrassment. Her excitement is just that contagious.
Hand in hand, the two of you race toward the fire pit.
-
YOU: Honestly, the men in my area are rather… [puts thumbs down] [laughs] and that’s why I’m here in Fiji looking for love. [laughs] I’m looking for a guy that is my boyfriend, but also my best friend. [smiles] I’m a girl’s girl. If I get close with a girl in the villa, I’m never going to step on her toes. The last two relationships I had… [sighs] they were messy. They both cheated on me [grimaces] My friends said I have my radar on for heartbreakers only [awkwardly laughs] Ever since my last breakup, I just… haven’t been ready to open up to someone and kind of give my all [solemnly nods] I think I’m ready to find a guy that has good personality, and actually get to know them. And not just go for the looks. [puts hands together] Find me a man, please! [laughs]
-
The villa doesn't stay quiet for long. The distant hum of another engine rolls up the driveway.
Every head turns toward the entrance.
“Oh!” Mandy grabs your forearm as she squeals again. “Another one's here!”
Without even thinking, the two of you hurry toward the entrance, champagne flutes still in hand. You hold each other’s hands like you’re either bracing yourselves or just trying to ground each other.
A blonde steps into the villa, one hand shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun before spotting the two of you waiting at the top of the path. The first thing that you notice are her big, hazel eyes and the way her smile slowly blooming on her heart-shaped face the second she notices both of you.
“There she is!” Mandy cheers.
The newcomer laughs as she walks up to you both. “Oh my God! I’m nervous,” she says and the shaky voice explains it.
The three of you meet halfway, exchanging hugs and quick cheek kisses as if you'd known each other far longer than thirty seconds. You and Mandy introduce yourself right away.
“I’m Kat,” she introduces herself with a sheepish smile before looking between the two of you. “I already love the vibes.”
“We've literally known each other for five minutes,” you playfully say.
“And we’re already sisters,” Mandy adds without a beat.
She laughs as she tucks a hair behind her ear. Her eyes drift over the two of you. “And can I just say? You're both absolutely stunning.”
“When I saw you walk in, I was like...” Mandy fans herself exaggeratedly. “'Right. Competition.'”
You groan dramatically. “Please stop right there cause you're also gorgeous.”
“Because we’re sisters from different parents,” Mandy easily jokes.
The three of you burst into laughter as Mandy once again clings to your side as she laughs.
You glance toward the champagne. “Let’s get you a glass of champagne.”
“Oh, definitely.”
By the time everyone has topped up their flutes, another girl is already making its way toward the villa and the three of you immediately squeal in unison.
“Here comes another one!” Mandy mutters while squeezing your hand.
Soon, another girl joins the growing circle. Then another. Each arrival follows the same pattern. Excited laughter. Warm hugs. Cheek kisses. Within minutes, compliments are flying so quickly none of you can keep up.
One by one, the Original Girls begin filling the place. The once empty villa is now filled with lively noises, excited chatter, abandoned champagne flutes, and endless conversation.
Someone refills everyone's glasses.
“Ladies...” Chastity, the latest to walk into the villa, calls everyone as she raises her champagne flute in the air. “To us!”
The chatter dies down as everyone instinctively lifts their flute.
“To finding love!” You chime in.
“And to not embarrassing ourselves on national television,” Bianca, another blond with stunning blue eyes, playfully adds.
Laughter erupts at that.
“That’s rather… impossible,” Mandy responds.
More laughter erupts. Despite it, the glasses clink together in the middle. A tiny celebration before anything has even begun.
“Cheers!”
The champagne tastes sweeter this time. Or maybe everything simply tastes better now that the villa is beginning to feel alive. Like children set loose in an amusement park, the group wanders through the villa together. Another throws herself dramatically onto one of the daybeds.
As you continue wandering through the villa, conversations naturally split into smaller groups. Some talk about where they're from. Others joke about how awkward the first coupling is going to be.
“What if nobody fancies me?”
“Oh, stop.”
“You'll be fine.”
“What if I fancy someone who likes someone else?”
“I've already accepted that we're all probably going to step on each other's toes at some point.”
A brief silence follows and then someone shrugs. “I guess that's kind of the point.”
It earns a chorus of understanding hums.
No one wants to hurt anyone. But everyone came here hoping to leave with someone.
Those two things don't always go hand in hand.
-
YOU: They're all… [lowly whistles] ridiculously beautiful.I knew everyone would be attractive. It's Love Island. [softly chuckles]But then you meet them in person and you're like... [eyes widen] 'Oh. Okay. Everyone's actually gorgeous’.But… [dramatically pauses] I don't like unnecessary drama, and I definitely don't want another girl thinking I was trying to take something away from her. [smiles] And if that happens, I just hope we can all be honest with each other. But it’s probably not going to be that simple, right? [winces] [laughs]
-
The afternoon sun hangs low enough to cast everything in warm gold as the girls are now gathered in the firepit, still chatting and enjoying the bubbly wine in between. Then the unmistakable sound of heels clicking against the stone patio sends every conversation to stop.
When someone emerges from the entrance, Mandy points right at her, “She’s here!”
Walking through the villa doors with an effortless smile is Jaz, dressed in a flowing ivory dress that catches the ocean breeze. She looks every bit as glamorous as she does on television, somehow making the entire villa brighten just by stepping into it.
“Hello, girls!”
The girls practically jump to their feet to welcome the host of the show.
Jaz laughs warmly, opening her arms. “Who’s ready for a summer of love?”
The question gets answered by various responds. But mostly, excited noises. The girls crowd around her one by one, exchanging hugs and cheek kisses before settling back into a loose semicircle around the outdoor seating area.
She takes a seat on the end of the sofa, looking around and taking in every nervous smile. “First of all,” she says, beaming. “Welcome to Love Island.”
A fresh wave of cheers erupts.
“How are we all feeling?”
“So excited!” Mandy immediately answers.
“Nervous!” Kat sheepishly answers.
“A little bit sick, actually,” you honestly say, earning a laugh from everyone.
“I think that's completely normal,” Jaz says with an understanding smile. Then folds her arms playfully. “Now tell me. Who's here to find love?”
Every hand shoots into the air. Including yours.
“I love the enthusiasm,” she says, nodding and softly chuckling. “Alright, let's get to know you all a little better.”
She points at the girl sitting beside you. “Bianca, what sort of man catches your eye?"
Bianca adjusts her sunglasses on the crown of her dark hair. “Tall. Good looking. Great smile,” she answers without hesitancy.
Everyone laughs at how she seems to already have a list of what she’s looking for in mind.
“I know what I like,” Bianca simply explains.
Jaz turns at Mandy. “How about you, Mandy?”
“I need confidence,” she answers, clapping her hands together once. “But not cocky. If he spends longer getting ready than I do... absolutely not.”
Laughter ripples through the group.
One after another, everyone shares little snippets of what they're hoping to find. Chastity looking for someone ambitious and a pursuer. Kat is looking for someone cute and genuine. Jaz eventually turns toward you. “What about you?”
You blink, momentarily caught off guard by all the eyes turning your way. “I don’t have any specific type. Like physically.”
You smile thoughtfully before continuing, “But I’d love a guy who’s funny. Who can make me laugh.”
“So appearance isn't really what draws you in,” Jaz says.
You nod in confirmation. “And I’d love someone with an artistic side,” you add, your smile grows almost unconsciously.
“Like a musician?” Jaz curiously asks.
“Doesn’t have to,” you reply, keeping a smile on your face. “I just like people who appreciate creativity.”
A few girls nod in agreement.
"I like that answer,” Jaz says.
Jaz claps her hands together once. “Well, I certainly hope you're all ready.”
Immediately, the atmosphere shifts and the excited chatter dies down.
“Because...” she gestures toward the opposite side of the pool. “…it's time to meet the boys.”
A collective gasp escapes the group.
“Girls, would you follow me?” Jaz says as she gets up from the sofa.
Everyone instinctively fixes their hair, finishes one last sip of champagne before trailing after her. The edge of the infinity pool has been prepared with neat white markers, each one spaced evenly apart. Every marker has room for one girl.
You find yours on the farthest right. Your heart has suddenly become very aware of itself as you stand on your spot.
Jaz waits until everyone is in position. She folds her hands together before talking, “As you know, one by one, the lucky guys will enter the villa and choose one of you to couple up with.”
Several girls exchange nervous glances and your heel somehow begin bouncing in nerves.
“As each boy arrives,” Jaz continues explaining. “If you'd like to couple up with him, you simply take one step forward.”
You hear Mandy squealing next to you.
“If more than one girl steps forward, the boy will decide.”
Mandy’s squeals turn high-pitched now. “I'm actually sweating,” she mutters when she turns to you.
You laugh nervously at her.
Jaz grins seeing the mixed reactions from the girls. “So, you have the power to influence their decision, okay? So If you like them, you better step forward because they might get snatched up.”
Easier said than done.
“Oh my God!” you lowly mutter to yourself.
Jaz turns toward the beach and a producer somewhere off-camera gives a subtle nod. When she looks back at the girls, she smiles even brighter.
“Islanders...” Her voice carries effortlessly across the terrace. “Let's meet your first boy.”
-
YOU: I honestly don't expect to meet my person the second someone walks into the villa. [lightly chuckles]I think chemistry surprises you. If I walked in here with a list... I'd probably miss someone amazing. [smiles]
-
“Please welcome...” Jaz gestures dramatically toward the shoreline. “Patrick!”
Every head turns. A figure appears at the end of the winding stone path. Tall. Broad shoulders. Light brown curls bounce slightly as he walks, one hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. A neatly trimmed beard and mustache frame an easy smile that seems equal parts charming and bashful.
“Oh, he's cute,” someone whispers down the line.
Patrick chuckles awkwardly as he approaches, clearly aware that every pair of eyes is fixed on him. “Hi, ladies,” he greets, almost sheepish.
“Hi!” the girls chorus back.
He stops beside Jaz, planting both hands on his waist before dropping them to the side. “I'm not really sure where to look. All of you are beautiful!”
Laughter ripples through the group.
“It's alright,” Jaz says warmly. “The nerves disappear eventually.”
“Hopefully,” Patrick mutters as he laughs.
Jaz turns back toward the girls. “Now, you all know how this works. If Patrick is someone you'd like to couple up with,” she lets the suspense linger for a heartbeat, “take one step forward.”
You glance at Patrick and he's undeniably handsome. Cute, even. But you don’t have any attraction to him whatsoever. Instead, a completely different thought crosses your mind and you almost let out a chuckle at that. So you stay where you are and you instinctively look to the side to find that no one moves either. The line remains perfectly still.
Patrick blinks and looks down for a second. “Tough luck,” he mutters, his ears immediately begin turning pink.
You almost feel bad for him and Mandy feels it to as she covers her mouth and quietly mutters your thought. “I feel bad for him.”
Jaz notices the embarrassment creeping across his face and steps in with an encouraging smile. “The girls are probably just playing it cool.”
Patrick laughs through his embarrassment. “I really hope so.”
Jaz turns back toward the line and her eyes land on you. “Can I ask why you didn't step forward?”
you glance apologetically toward Patrick and let out an awkward laugh. “It's honestly because he kind of look like my ex,” you hesitantly share.
For exactly one second... silence. Then Patrick bursts out laughing. “Can’t argue with that.”
Jaz laughs right along with him. “Fair.”
“I'm so sorry,” you apologize while softly laughing.
He waves both hands. “I actually think that's hilarious.”
The tension dissolves instantly.
Jaz turns toward Mandy. “How about you, Mandy? Why didn’t you step forward?”
Mandy smiles politely. “I think Patrick's really good-looking. But,” she plants her toes behind her and tilts her head. “I think he’s a little too shy for me.”
Patrick nods immediately. “Also, fair.”
Jaz goes to the farthest left. “And Kat?”
Kat smiles apologetically. “I just don't think facial hair is really my thing.”
Patrick instinctively strokes his beard. “Should've shaved…”
Everyone laughs again as Patrick takes every answer with good humor, laughing along with the girls instead of shrinking into himself.
Jaz smiles approvingly. “Well, no one stepped forward. But,” she turns back toward Patrick. “It is actually your choice.”
She gestures toward the line. “So who would you like to couple up with?”
Patrick's eyes slowly travel across every girl. You notice them pause on Mandy. Then drift toward you. Your stomach tightens not because you expect him to choose you, but because being looked at like this suddenly feels very real.
His gaze lingers for another second before returning to Mandy. A smile appears as he starts speaking, “So the girl I’d like to couple up with is…”
He scratches lightly at his jaw. Then his hand gestures at the girl standing next to you. “...the girl with the beautiful curls.”
Mandy is looking not that delighted to be chosen, but she masks it well with her bright smile.
The other girls cheer immediately and Jaz turns toward Patrick once more. “Go and you’re your partner, Mandy!”
Patrick walks over, offering Mandy an awkward smile as she meets him halfway. The two exchange a brief hug. Then, almost simultaneously, they both step back and high-five each other.
“Team curly hair!” Patrick cheerfully says.
The words greeted by Mandy’s high-pitched giggles.
Still chuckling, he takes his place beside Mandy. Neither looks uncomfortable. Just like two strangers hoping things might grow.
Jaz looks back toward the remaining girls. “Alright, one couple down.”
She makes a dramatic pause. Then looks at the girls as she asks, “Are we ready to meet the next boy?”
The answer is immediate. “Yes!”
This time, your heart beats just a little faster. Maybe the next introduction would spark something. Or maybe not. Either way, the journey had only just begun.
-
A grin spreads across Jaz's face as she gestures toward the beach path once more. “Everyone, please welcome… Mike!”
A second figure emerges from the dazzling sunlight. Immediately, a few appreciative murmurs ripple through the line.
Mike walks with an easy confidence, flashing a warm smile that instantly softens his features. His rich brown skin glows beneath the Fijian sun, and his lean frame is impossible to ignore, especially with a toned torso on show.
He lifts a hand, waving toward the girls. “Wow. A bunch of beautiful girls in front of me!”
“Thank you,” Patrick jokingly says, earning laughter from everyone.
You’re curious as to what the other girls think of Mike and as your gaze drifts sideways, you nearly laugh finding Chastity's mouth is literally hanging open at the sight of the man standing next to Jaz and doesn't even seem aware of it.
Jaz notices too and says, “I think someone likes what she sees.”
The girls erupt into giggles.
Chastity fans herself dramatically. “I've been exposed.”
Mike scratches the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. “I don't know whether to be flattered or nervous.”
“A bit of both,” Jaz teases. Then turns back to the line. “Girls, you know what to do. If Mike catches your eye... step forward.”
A second is hardly passed and Chastity steps out. Confidently. No hesitation whatsoever. The rest of you remain exactly where you are.
Mike glances across the line before smiling almost immediately.
Jaz turns toward Mike. “Mike, you can choose any girl you want. Whether they’re single or already coupled up,” she pauses for a second. “So who are you going for?”
He points toward Chastity. “I'd like to couple up with her.”
Chastity claps once in excitement. “I knew it!”
She practically skips over to him and Mike opens his arms for a hug. She embraces him tightly before pulling back with the brightest grin. Standing beside each other, they already look surprisingly comfortable.
Jaz smiles. “Our second couple!”
Applause breaks out around the villa. Then, without wasting a moment—
"Let's meet another boy.”
The excitement builds all over again.
“Please welcome...Cam.”
Another man appears and this one looks younger. Dark hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. A tattoo winds around one toned arm. But it's his eyes that immediately draw attention. Clear blue. Almost piercing. Very seductive.
You can't help but admit that Cam is undeniably attractive. But you still don't feel that instinctive pull. Nothing tells you to step forward.
Jaz smiles knowingly. “Ladies, if you're interested, please take a step forward.”
Almost immediately, Kat and Bianca step forward. A ripple of surprised laughter follows as Mandy stepping forward as well.
Jaz lets out an amused laugh. “I don't think Patrick's taking this well.”
“Can’t argue with a guy with blue steele eyes,” Patrick easily replies.
Cam's attention returns to the three girls standing before him. He takes a thoughtful moment. Then smiles.
“So, Cam, who it’s going to be?” Jaz asks.
“I'd like to couple up with...” his blue eyes hovering around the girls on the left of you. Then settles on someone. “...Kat."
Kat's face lights up. She walks over with an easy confidence. The two exchange a warm hug before taking their place together.
Bianca steps quietly back into line while Mandy rejoins Patrick, who immediately whispers something that makes her roll her eyes and laugh.
Jaz surveys the group and gestures toward the remaining girls. “Alright, we're getting there.”
Then her eyes settle on you and Bianca. “We now have just two single girls left.”
You exchange a quick smile with Bianca. “No pressure.”
“None whatsoever.”
Jaz chuckles. “Let's see if our next Islander changes that.”
She raises her voice as she introduces the fourth guy. “Please meet... Joey!”
Heavy footsteps echo against the wooden planks as Joey rounds the corner with an easy grin. He's noticeably taller than the previous boys, broad-shouldered with freshly cropped hair.
“G'day,” he greets with an unmistakable Australian accent.
The girls greet him enthusiastically.
He flashes another grin. “How we doing?”
You find yourself smiling because he's charming. He seems friendly and approachable. But again... Nothing. No curiosity. No feeling urging you to move.
Jaz gives the familiar instruction. “If Joey's your type, take a step forward.”
Silence. Nobody moves.
Joey lets out a playful whistle. “Tough crowd.”
The girls laugh apologetically.
“You’re not the only one, bro,” Patrick playfully comments.”
Joey shrugs with good humor. “Can't blame a bloke for trying.”
Jaz smiles sympathetically/ “Well, Joey. You still have all the power,” she gestures toward the line of girls. “Who would you like to couple up with?”
Joey studies everyone carefully. His gaze eventually lands on Bianca. “I'll go with the lady with gorgeous blue eyes.”
“Me?” Bianca points at herself.
He nods with an easy smile. “I like your smile.”
Bianca’s smile widens. “Thank you.”
Joey walks over to her and the two exchange a hug before standing beside one another.
Jaz claps her hands together once more. “And just like that, our fourth couple.”
Then, she turns toward you, noticing that you’re still standing alone. The only girl remaining on her marker.
Jaz smiles kindly as she looks at you. “So, one boy left. Do you think he could be the one?”
The cameras suddenly feel impossibly close. You glance toward the now-empty beach path where the final Islander will appear. Then back to Jaz.
A hopeful smile tugs at your lips. “Let's hope so.”
-
YOU: I don’t know why I’m holding out [laughs] I want to look at someone and feel...curious. Like I need to know more about them. [thoughtfully smiles] I’m going to find my man! [confidently smiles]
-
Four couples.
One girl still standing alone.
Jaz lets the anticipation stretch just long enough for your heartbeat to become painfully obvious. She smiles toward the beach and brightly announces, “And now, our final Original Boy.”
The girls collectively hold their breath.
“Ladies, please welcome... Walter!”
Every eye turns toward the winding path leading up from the shoreline.
A tall figure appears against the backdrop of turquoise water. Unlike the boys before him, Walter doesn't look particularly nervous. He walks with an easy confidence, shoulders relaxed, his smile bright enough to rival the sun. There's no arrogance to it—just someone completely comfortable in his own skin.
Your eyes lift to meet his and for a split second... he looks directly at you. It isn't a lingering stare. Barely more than a heartbeat. Yet something inside your chest gives the smallest tug.
Oh.
The feeling surprises you and your stomach performs an unfamiliar little flip. You instinctively look away, suddenly very aware of yourself. You let out a silent breath before glancing sideways, finding Mandy is absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. Her lips are pressed into an almost nervous smile. It’s not hard to read into her gesture that she clearly interested. Once more.
When you look back... Walter has reached Jaz. Up close, he's undeniably handsome. Broad shoulders. Warm tan. A confident grin that never feels forced. Your gaze accidentally drops for half a second to his impressively sculpted torso. Mentally counting eight pack of abs.
“Hello, beautiful ladies,” Walter says easily.
Jaz smiles knowingly. “Well, you know how this works by now,” she looks toward the girls before finishing her sentence. “If Walter is someone you'd like to couple up with, take one step forward.”
Your body moves before your brain can overthink it, taking one step forward. The decision feels strangely natural. You don't even realize you've moved until both feet are planted on the white line.
Jaz's face lights up. “Well, look who's finally stepped forward!”
The villa chuckles.
Jaz holds your gaze as she asks, “What made you finally taking a step forward?”
You glance at Walter before answering honestly. “I don't know,” you let out a soft laugh, somehow feeling flustered. “I just like his confidence. And I get good vibe from him.”
Walter smiles almost immediately. “Thank you,” he says with a warm smile. “I appreciate that.”
Then, you look to the side to find that the two girl to your left, Mandy and Bianca, are also taking a step forward
Walter's eyebrows rise ever so slightly.
Even Jaz is laughing now. “I think Patrick's going to need a minute.”
“He has two more abs than me so…” Patrick says, feigning defeat.
Mandy only laughs as she looks at Patrick with apologetic eyes.
Still smiling, Jaz turns back toward Walter. “Walter, the decision is entirely yours. You can choose whichever girl you'd like to couple up with.”
A silence follows afterward. Walter studies the three women standing before him. First Bianca. Then Mandy. Finally, his gaze settles on you and you daringly hold his eyes while keeping a smile on your face.
For some reason, you don't feel nervous anymore. You simply have a quiet feeling that he’s going to choose you.
Walter nods almost imperceptibly and then says, “The girl I'd like to couple up with...”
Your heart skips a beat when his hand pointed at you and a chorus of excited cheers breaks out around the villa. Your smile grows before you can stop it. Relief and excitement mixed with a tiny spark of happiness.
Walter walks toward you with that same easy confidence. When he reaches you, you instinctively open your arms and the two of you hug for a brief moment.
He steps back with a grin. “I'm Walter,” he introduces, intense gaze, firm voice.
You introduce yourself back right away. “It's nice to finally meet you.”
He takes his place beside you, standing shoulder to shoulder. And for the first time today, you don't feel like you're waiting anymore.
Jaz steps back to admire the line of Islanders. “So, we have our original couples.”
She gestures toward each pair in turn and introduces each one for the viewers.
“Patrick and Mandy.”
“Mike and Chastity.”
“Cam and Kat.”
“Joey and Bianca.”
“And finally...”
She smiles toward you and Walter.
Everyone applauds in reaction, looking happy and looking more settled with their choices now, including you.
“Congratulations, Islanders,” Jaz says, folding her hands together. “Your Love Island journey officially starts now as you'll spend your days getting to know one another, playing challenges, living together…”
A playful smile tugs at her lips as she continues, “And sharing a bed together.”
The villa erupts into teasing cheers.
You bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling as the excitement bubbling inside you feels almost impossible to contain.
This is actually happening. You're on Love Island, standing beside your first partner. And maybe, the beginning of something real and genuine.
Jaz watches everyone's reactions with a knowing smile. Then, she tilts her head. “However...”
The chatter dies instantly as everyone gets the same ominous feeling from that single word.
“This is Love Island, “Jaz’s voice takes on a teasing edge.
“You never know who might walk through those doors,” she gestures toward the villa entrance. Then she points toward the beach behind everyone. “…or arrive from the shore.”
Several Islanders exchange puzzled looks.
“I'd like you all to welcome… Monique,” Jaz warmly announces.
Every head turns toward the beach once again and soon enough, another silhouette appears against the glittering ocean.
You stare toward the approaching figure, surprise written all over your face. Another girl? Already? Your coupling is barely two minutes old and somehow, everything suddenly feels uncertain again.
-
The figure walking up from the beach is impossible to ignore.
Monique moves with effortless confidence, her leopard print bikini are sure catching the eyes, especially the males’. Long, dark hair tumbles over one shoulder as she takes a stand beside Jaz.
“Hello, Islanders,” her voice is light and airy.
You notice the way the boys collectively straighten almost imperceptibly. Beside you, Walter doesn't say anything. You feel him glance briefly in her direction before returning his attention to the front.
Jaz smiles brightly at her. “Welcome to Love Island, Monique.”
“It's good to be here,” she sweetly says, waving her hands at everyone.
“Monique, you’re a little late to the party,” Jaz playfully says. “As all the boys have been coupled up.”
She lightly chuckles. “I can see that.”
“Now, Islanders,” Jaz looking at all the couples now. “You all know this wouldn't be Love Island without a little twist.”
Several people laugh nervously.
Monique folds her arms loosely, looking remarkably calm considering she'd just walked into a villa full of strangers.
“As our very first bombshell,” Jaz continues, “Monique has a very important decision to make.”
Jaz nods toward Monique. “In the next 24 hours, you will get to choose one of these boys to couple up with.”
She looks toward the original couples. “Which means… that will leave one of the girls single and vulnerable.”
You instinctively glance toward Walter and your eyes meet for a fraction. Neither of you says anything. After all, you've known each other for barely three minutes. There isn't anything to reassure each other with.
In reaction to that announcement, Jaz lightly teases, “Girls, you look a bit worried.”
she suddenly turns toward you, “Girl, tell me what’s going through your head?”
Honestly, a little sick. You say inside your head. But you quickly come up with another answer. “I think she’s stunning and just… perfect.”
“Oh, thank you,” Monique warmly says.
“And I hope she finds a guy soon,” you continue. Then a second later, you gesture toward Walter beside you and jokingly add, “Just not mine.”
Walter bursts into laughter next to you and you exchange a quick, easy look at each other.
Jaz turns toward Mike next. “Mike, what do you think of Monique?”
“She seems very cool, very fun,” Mike calmly answers. “We barely started so we’ll see.”
Jaz looks back at Monique and asks, “And Monique, what are you looking for in a guy?”
Monique doesn’t hesitate. “I like a guy who’s unapologetically himself. Passionate. And a little bit weird.”
Everyone chuckles at that.
“That’s okay. Weird is good,” Jaz assures with an assuring smile.
She looks back toward the line to continue with the announcement. “I’m going to leave you guys to start your life-changing summer together. There’s going to be romantic dates, villa parties, Islanders coming and going. All as you search for love.”
Jaz smiles sympathetically as she continues, “Don’t forget that the viewers are always watching. In real time.”
That makes you aware of all the cameras planted around the villa and probably filmed every tiny, little reaction you make.
“And they will be voting for their favorite couple. And that winning couple could win $100,000 prize.”
Everyone cheers at the mention of money. Mandy clapping excitedly. The boys are practically howling.
Jaz claps her hands together. “Enjoy your first day in paradise and good luck!”
With one final smile, Jaz heads toward the villa exit. The moment she's gone, the tension she'd left behind lingers in the warm air.
No one quite knows what to say first. Then Monique breaks the silence by hesitantly asking, “Can I come to you guys?”
You smile at her as you walk up to her. “Of course!”
And everyone immediately scatters, greeting each other for a proper introduction.
-
YOU: $100,000 is a lot of money. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it. It could change someone's life. It could certainly change mine. But I'd rather leave this villa with someone I genuinely connected with than win with someone I was forcing it with. [thoughtfully smiles]
-
Across the pool, the boys gather around the outdoor gym, huddling up like they’re talking strategy for a game of rugby.
Meanwhile the girls are gathered on the daybed, hugging the throw pillows while talking about… well, the boys.
You find yourself perched comfortably beside Mandy and Bianca, your legs tucked beneath you.
Chastity discreetly points toward Patrick, who's animatedly talking using his entire body. “I feel like he's going to keep everyone entertained.”
“He definitely has golden retriever energy,” Kat agrees.
Mandy smiles fondly despite herself so you nudge her lightly with your shoulder. “So, how are you feeling about Patrick?”
A small laugh escapes her. “To be honest, I don’t feel any initial attraction toward him. He's not really my type.”
You nod and so do the other girls.
“But I actually think we could get on,” Mandy says with a nonchalant shrug. “I don't know if it's romantic yet. But I feel like we could definitely vibe.”
You nod again. “That's a good place to start.”
“I think you and Patrick share the same fun vibe,” Bianca comments.
“I think so too,” Monique chimes in.
Mandy somehow dismisses it easily. Then looks over at Bianca. “What about you? How’s Joey?”
Bianca glances across the pool, looking at Joey who is currently attempting an Australian impression of Patrick, earning a chorus of groans from the boys.
“He’s not my type. But he’s nice,” Bianca calmly shares. “And really easy to talk to.”
The conversation naturally bounces from one boy to another. Kat shares that she’s happy with her partner, Cam. Chastity also shares that Mike seems cool and confident that they can build a connection.
Then, all of a sudden, Mandy leans in and lowers her voice as she says, “I think Cam and Walter are so hot.”
It surprises how comfortable she is sharing that. But you get it that that’s just Mandy, bold and unapologetic. And it’s only been like an hour so you’re aware that nothing is settled yet. Everyone is free to make connection with anyone as they please. Including you.
-
YOU: Yes. Yes, I only stepped forward for Walter. But all the guys, honestly, are so hot [laughs] and like, we don’t know them yet so it’s hard to figure out who you actually click with. But I’ll keep an open mind [nods] [smiles]
-
As the sun begins its slow descent beyond the horizon, the villa transforms.
The harsh afternoon light melts into soft shades of amber and pink, casting a warm glow over the ocean. Fairy lights flicker to life around the terrace, wrapped delicately around palm trees and draped across the outdoor seating area. Somewhere in the villa, everyone starts getting ready for the night.
The girls' dressing room quickly becomes a whirlwind of laughter. Hair tools are plugged in.
Makeup bags are scattered across every available surface. Half-open suitcases spill dresses, heels and shoes across the floor.
You smile from your seat in front of the vanity mirror, carefully blending the last bit of blush onto your cheeks while listening to Kat sharing a funny story from one of her night outs.
“What do you think?" Chastity asks, holding two different dresses in each hand.
You study both dresses for a moment. “I actually think... the white.”
Across the room, Mandy is trying to fasten the clasp on a delicate gold necklace. You stand and gently sweep her hair over one shoulder, helping her with it.
Done with your hair and makeup, you glance at yourself in the mirror one last time. You turn to the side to make sure you have no part on your dress that is unflattering.
All of a sudden, Chastity links her arm with yours. “Come on. The boys are probably waiting,” she says while looking at her reflection in the mirror.
You and Chastity are the last two girls leaving the dressing room and when you finally step out into the night, everyone has already gathered by the side of the pool.
Walter smiles when he looks at you, an arm stretches out to welcome you. You don’t hesitate to take your spot next to him and he doesn’t hesitate to put his arm around you.
“You look nice,” he mutters as he pulls you closer to his side. So close that you catch a whiff of his cologne.
Since he’s taller, you have to tilt your head up to look at him. “You too.”
“Like the hair,” he compliments again, a hand reaches for the strand of your hair caught on the strap of your dress.
Somehow, you chuckle at that and lean in close to whisper it to him. “And that cologne smells amazing!”
“Cologne?” he asks, tilting his head just the slightest. “It’s my pheromones.”
You laugh at that. Your hand absentmindedly flies to his arm and feel the evident veins there. “Just know that it’s working.”
Somehow Patrick and Cam are holding a bottle of Champagne each. Patrick struggles to open it while Cam has no problem whatsoever to do it. But he manages to twist the cork. And POP!
The cork flies into the evening sky and everyone cheers. Champagne flows into waiting glasses. Patrick raises his flute first. “I don't know about everyone else,” he grins around the circle. “But I'd like to propose a toast.”
Mike nods. “Okay. Let's hear it, Pat!”
Patrick lifts his glass higher. “To surviving the first day.”
A murmur of agreement circles the group.
Glasses rise and then— “Cheers!”
The first official toast of the season.
You take a sip and the champagne feels exceptionally refreshing and rewarding. Maybe because you weren’t the one popping the bottle open.
The music starts playing in the villa. Upbeat and cheerful. Soon enough, everyone is moving. Some dance together. Others in little groups. You find yourself dancing alongside the girls, your laughter blending with the music and the crashing waves coming from the shore.
Around you, the villa is alive with music, laughter. New friendships. New couples. You feel good, you feel happy and comfortable. But beneath it all, you feel like tonight is the moment of calm before the storm.
-
The party ends sooner than intended as the weather takes a turn. Everyone takes shelter from the pouring rain. Some people go into the main villa while the rest are scattered around the seating area.
You’re in the open kitchen, refilling your glass with sparkling water instead of champagne. You bring it with you before deciding to joining Walter in one of the outdoor sofas overlooking the pool. On the other end are Chastity and Mike, having a fun chat with their legs tangled around each other.
Walter smiles as you take a seat next to him. “Tired already?” he asks, putting an arm along the headrest behind you.
You return the smile. “Just taking a breather.”
For a moment, neither of you says anything. You're simply watching the rain and how every rain drop makes ripples on the surface of the pool water. It’s somehow just mesmerizing to look at.
Walter looks comfortable as he slouches on the sofa, putting his knee over one leg. You’ve been meaning on talking to him and this is just the right opportunity to do it.
You take a sip of your sparkling water before turning slightly toward him. “You know, you’re the only one I stepped forward for.”
Walter's eyebrows lift as he looks at you. “I know.”
You tilt your head with a teasing smile. “How do you feel about that?”
He doesn't even try to hide his grin. His shoulders rise in a small shrug. “I’m flattered that you chose me, of course,” he says with his easy confidence of him.
“Yeah?” you teasingly ask while swirling swirl the ice around in your glass.
He nods and faintly grins.
“But when you picked me, were you actually interested or…?” you curiously ask, eyes slowly narrowing at him.
Walter stares at you for half a second. “Well, you kind of looked small and sad so I…” he words trail off as he looks at the way you pout rather dramatically, feigning annoyance and then bursts into laughter.
He rubs a hand over the beard along his jaw, still laughing to himself as he gives you an honest answer, “I chose you because I got this feeling that I just wanted to know more about you.”
You pout is slowly replaced by a smile. “That’s kind of how I felt when I looked at you.”
“You were?” he asks in disbelief.
You nod again. “You were the only person today that made me think the same.”
“That’s nice to know,” he says while smiling in satisfaction.
A moment passes in comfortable silence and you have another sip of your water before breaking the silence.
“I haven’t been with a man for so long,” you honestly share while shyly shielding half of your face with your glass. “My flirting game is kind of rusty.”
He brightens up at that. “No. But like me too.”
Not even for a second you believe a handsome like him haven’t been with anyone. “Really?” you ask with eyes widen in disbelief. “You haven’t either?”
Walter drops his head to the back and sighs. Then turns his head toward you. “Honestly? I haven’t even had sexual contact.”
Your eyes widen more they’re about to pop out of its sockets. “I was embarrassed to share it earlier. But yeah, me neither.”
He laughs and with how close he’s sitting, you can feel it vibrating through you. “It’s been so long,” he convinces you more.
“I was about to say I haven’t felt the touch of a man…” you stop yourself as you break into laughter as they spill free now.
“People look at me and they be like ‘Shut up!’ and I’m like, ‘I’m serious’. I did it to myself.”
“Yeah, exactly,” you nod. “You just want someone you can talk to.”
Walter nods. “Yeah, have an actual connection.”
“Exactly.”
“Chemistry,” he adds. “And passion.”
“Yeah,” you nod along to his words, feeling great that you and him finally connecting in a way. That you’re both looking for similar things in a partner. And that you’re making a step to build something real with him.
Walter’s hand moves to your shoulder, his gaze sweeps over your face before settle on your eyes. “You must be excited to share the bed with me tonight,” his voice low and laced with teasing.
You crack a soft, shy laugh. “Not as excited as you I reckon,” you tease back.
“How do you feel about cuddling?” he leans in close that his forehead almost touches yours.
“I’d like that,” you casually say, not wanting to sound too eager.
“Lucky you,” he says, fingers playing with the end of your hair behind you. “Because I'm a great cuddler.”
You let out an amused laugh. “Oh, are you?”
“I've been told.”
“By who?”
“I can't reveal my sources.”
You narrow your eyes dramatically. “Sounds suspicious.”
“I stand by my statement,” Walter concludes as he looks at the
Despite it, you find yourself smiling without realizing it. Because for the first time today, you feel like you've had a real conversation and that you’re one good decision away from meeting the right person.
-
YOU: We've known each other for less than a day. I don't think either of us should pretend we've already found our forever person. [softly laughs] But I like the fact that we’re looking for the same thing here. And who knows? [lightly shrugs] Maybe we'll end up finding that connection in each other. [smiles]
-
You and Walter are still tucked away on the sofa as the rain continuously pouring.
“...so that's why I can never win at board games,” Walter finishes with a laugh.
You look at him in disbelief. “You've never won?”
“Not once.”
“You're telling me you've gone your whole life without winning Monopoly?”
“I usually end up bankrupt first.”
You stare at him for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. “Now I know why you’re single.”
This time, he stares at you. “And why is that?”
“Bad financial strategy,” you answer with a sly grin.
Instead of denying it, Walter nods in defeat. “Yeah, I guess that’s why.”
It’s getting late, but the rain is far from stopping. You spot Patrick sprinting from the daybed toward the villa, nearly slipping on the wet stone.
Walter slightly tightens his arm around you as he looks at you with half-shut eyes. “Should we head inside?”
You nod, already feeling your dress becoming heavier. “I think that's probably a good idea.”
He stands first. Then pauses. He looks between you and the increasingly soaked stone path leading to the villa. “I've got an idea.”
“What idea?” you look at him in both suspicion and curiosity.
“I give you a piggyback,” he offers with almost lazy grin.
You lightly chuckle at that. “That won’t stop us from getting wet though.”
His gaze deepens as he teasingly says, “I don’t mind getting wet.”
You look away first and stare at the wet path toward the main villa. “Well, I guess… why not?”
“Thought so,” he says, still grinning.
Without another word, he turns around and crouches just enough for you to climb onto his back. You hesitate for approximately half a second before slipping your arms around his broad shoulders. His back feels warm against your chest as you lean in and rest your head in the crook of his neck.
“You ready?” he says, supporting your weight by hooking his arms under your knees.
“I think so,” you vaguely answer.
Walter adjusts his footing. He clears his throat dramatically before counting down. “Three, two…”
You squeal and giggle into his neck where the smell of his cologne is concentrated.
“One!” Walter finishes counting.
He adjusts you once on his back. Then he dashes through the pouring rain while carrying you on his back. You shudder just slightly for every raindrop that hits your body. You instinctively tighten your arms around his shoulders as another burst of laughter escapes both of you.
By the time you reach the villa doors, both of you are laughing too hard to care you’re your back is completely soaked.
Walter gently lowers you back onto your feet. “There you go.”
You brush a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Thank you for the ride.”
“My pleasure,” he sweetly says. Then gestures toward the bedroom door. “I'm going to hangout in the bedroom for a bit.”
You nod as you smooth the hem of your dress. “Okay.”
“See you in a bit?”
“See you.”
You watch as he pushes through the bedroom door while you begin climbing the stairs to the second floor.
The girls' dressing room is much quieter than it was earlier. You step inside to find Kat perched on one stool, carefully removing her earrings, while Monique sits on the stool next to her, tying her hair into a loose ponytail.
Kat softly smiles when she looks at you. “How was the rain?”
You don’t hesitate. “Wet.”
Monique laughs. “I gathered.”
You smile before settling onto one of the vanity stools and the first thing you do is kick off your heels. The relief is immediate. You flex one foot before gently rubbing the back of your heel.
As you massage your sore heel, Monique casually asks Kat, “How about you and Cam?”
“I don't know,” Kat says, sighing as she brushes the end of her hair. “I actually feel kind of nervous.”
“About Cam?”
Monique smiles knowingly. “I actually think that's a good sign. It means you care. If you were completely indifferent, you wouldn't be nervous.”
Kat turns to you for opinions. “What do you think?”
You’re caught off guard for a second. “I actually agree,” you say. “I think nerves usually mean there's something worth being excited about.
You put a leg over your knee and massage your ankle. Then continue, “It doesn't guarantee anything, but I don't think they're a bad thing.”
Kat smiles to herself. “Yeah, you’re right.”
After a comfortable pause, Kat turns the conversation back toward Monique. “So, Monique, what do you think of the boys?”
Monique doesn't even pretend to hesitate. “So far? I'm definitely most attracted to Mike.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly because you thought she’d be interested in Cam but hesitates to say it to Kat.
Kat nods repeatedly. “Oh, yeah. Mike is sexy.”
You get curious as well and ask, “Who else you’re interested in?”
Monique glances toward you. Then sheepishly smiles. “I also think Walter's really attractive.”
Your hands pause briefly against your heel. Only for a second. Then continue massaging it. You keep your expression relaxed.
“I think he has a really nice personality,” Monique explains.
You find yourself nodding. “He is. He is fun to talk to. He's been really easy to talk to.”
Monique smiles. “Exactly.”
-
YOU: Monique mentioned she's interested in Walter [bites index finger] so I’m a tiny bit nervous. We've literally been coupled up for one day so I don't exactly have any claim over him. But… [grimaces] I'd rather not get dumped from my relationship after approximately twenty-four hours. [laughs]
-
By the time you make your way into the bedroom, the villa has finally begun to settle.
Not into silence. That would probably never happen with this group. Instead, the room hums with the comfortable chaos of eleven strangers preparing to sleep in the same space for the first time. Even Patrick is still in his party outfit, still talking. Nobody knows how he has this much energy.
You smile to yourself as you climb into your bed, fluffing the pillow before slipping beneath the crisp white duvet.
Walter isn't here yet and across the room, Mike and Chastity have already climbed into bed. Both are wearing their glasses and clutching the duvet close to their chest.
Kat who occupies the bed next to yours, breaking into laughter with her hand pointed at them. “You guys look like grandparents who've stayed up past their bedtime.”
The room immediately bursts into laughter.
Chastity chuckles without moving an inch. “It is past my bedtime,” she says, sounding genuinely drowsy.
Another wave of laughter rolls through the bedroom.
Just then, Walter appears in the doorway. His hair is still slightly damp and he brushes is to the back with his hand. On his other hand is a water tumbler.
He smiles when he sees you. “You claimed your side already?”
“First come, first served,” you answer with a cheeky grin.
Walter places his water tumbler down on the bedside table and gets onto the bed. “I think I see a roach.”
You know right away he’s lying and without thinking, you smack his chest with the back of your hand. “Not funny!”
He immediately breaks into laughter, falling to the back and accidentally hits the back of his head against the headboard of the bed. “Ouch!”
You hit him again, but gentler now. “See? This is why you shouldn’t joke about roach.”
Walter still laughs while rubbing the back of his head. The mattress dips slightly beneath his weight as he fully settled on his side of bed.
Around the room, conversations continue in little pockets. No one seems ready to fall asleep just yet. But then, all of a sudden, the room falls into darkness. Only faint moonlight filters through the large windows overlooking the pool.
The chatter softens. Someone whispers across the room. Another quiet laugh answers. Sheets rustle. Mattresses creak.
The villa is finally beginning to wind down. You roll onto your side, facing Walter and in the darkness, you can't make out much more than the outline of his face against the pillow.
Even so, he notices you. “You ready for cuddles now?” His voice is barely above a whisper.
You smile to yourself and instead of answering, you scoot closer until you’re snuggled up ot his side. Then, almost absentmindedly, you drape one leg over his.
Walter lets out a quiet, amused chuckle. “This is your version of cuddling?”
“I never said I was good at it.”
“I don't think you needed to,” he murmurs. Then carefully, he rests one hand over the outside of your thigh.
The room grows quieter still. You can smell the faint traces of his cologne lingering against his skin. Now mixed with the scent of freshly washed sheets.
You wrinkle your nose dramatically. “Stop spreading your pheromones. I'm trying to sleep here.”
Walter lets out another soft laugh. His thumb traces one slow, absentminded circle against the side of your thigh through the blanket. “I'll try to keep them under control.”
“Please do.”
Another beat of comfortable silence settles between you. The conversations around the room fade one after another until only the distant sound of waves can be heard through the slightly open balcony doors.
Your eyelids grow heavier as the excitement of the day finally catching up with you. Half-asleep, you mumble into the darkness, “Goodnight.”
Warm breath ghosting the side of your face as he murmurs back, “Goodnight.”
-
The first thing you hear is music. A ridiculously cheerful music. You hear it but your eyes remain stubbornly shut for another second. Then the bedroom lights blaze to life.
A chorus of groans immediately fills the room.
Patrick throws an arm dramatically over his face as he mumbles, “Five more minutes.”
Someone in production calls through the speakers. “Good morning, Islanders!”
Another collective groan answers them.
You blink a few times, your vision slowly adjusting to the brightness and the excitement of yesterday rushes back all at once. You’re actually here. In Fiji. For Love Island.
You push yourself upright, the duvet pooling around your waist as you settle against the padded headboard as the room is also still waking up around you.
Beside you, Walter lets out a long yawn. Then stretches both arms reaching high above his head. The movement sends every muscle along his arms flexing naturally as he works the stiffness from sleep.
When he turns his head toward you, he sleepily smiles. “Morning…” he mumbles with his hair is adorably messy. One side sticking up completely against its own will.
You smile before you can stop yourself. “Morning.”
He notices your expression. “What?”
“You've got a little situation going on,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward his head.
He instinctively reaches up, feeling the offending tuft of hair. “You still find me very handsome, right?”
You try not to laugh. “It's giving baby cockatoo.”
Walter stares at you. “That's incredibly specific. And somehow offensive.”
You grin as you gently pat the top of his head. “I meant it affectionately.”
He shifts until he's sitting beside you against the headboard as well, mirroring your position.
For a little while, neither of you says anything. The comfortable sort of silence that belongs to people who aren't quite awake yet.
Walter eventually turns his head toward you. A sleepy smile spreads across his face. “Some good cuddles we had last night,” he says.
The sentence lands so casually that it takes your brain a second to catch up. “I’m glad,” you casually say. “But when we woke up, I found us facing away from each other.”
He turns to look behind him and sure enough, both pillows are slightly indented in opposite directions, evidence that sometime during the night the two of you had unconsciously rolled away from one another.
Walter bursts into laughter. “I thought we were doing quite well.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “We started all cuddly and somehow ended up conducting an international border dispute down the middle of the mattress.”
You’re both still sleepy and yet the laughter between you comes easily. And it feels like a pretty nice way to start the morning.
-
The sky overhead is unusually cloudy. Thick grey clouds drift lazily across the Fijian morning, hiding most of the sun. And because Mandy insisted on making you do a session of yoga with her, you end up being late for breakfast.
You settle yourself onto the nearest sofa, balancing a plate in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other before placing it on the low coffee table. You tuck one leg under you, occasionally shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs or a bite of bacon while watching everyone scatter into little conversations around the villa.
Patrick and Joey are somehow doing another round of workout after breakfast. Kat is lying on a sun lounger with Cam, possibly talking about his tattoo from the way her fingers trailing over it. Across you, Walter and Mike are chatting on the daybed.
You’re about to have a bite of toast when you notice Monique walks up to you.
“Hey,” she greets with an easy smile.
“Hey,” you greet back, then pat the empty space beside you. “What's up?”
She ends up sitting on the armrest of the sofa. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”
You put down your toast and grab your orange juice. “Go for it.”
“I was wondering if it'd be alright if I had a chat with Walter,” she sheepishly says.
The question doesn't surprise you, especially after last night. And you actually appreciate how she asks you first. So you answer almost immediately. “Of course.”
She smiles, though she still looks like she's checking to make sure you're genuinely okay with it. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “I think you deserve exactly the same chance to explore your connection as everyone else.”
Monique lets out a small breath. “I'm glad you said that. I'd feel awful if I stepped on anyone's toes.”
You shake your head. “I don't think you're doing that. This is literally why you're here.”
Her smile widens as she looks at you in half relief, half admiration. “I like you already.”
You lightly chuckle at that. “I like you too.”
She gets up and takes a step back. “I’ll let you get back to your breakfast.”
Instead of answering, you raise your glass of orange juice and finally take a sip. From the rim of your glass, you watch as she heads straight for the daybed and Walter looks up when she comes near.
You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but you can safely assume that Monique is asking him of she can talk to him. And soon enough, the two of them walk side by side toward the beach path, away from the rest of the Islanders. Toward a quiet spot by the shoreline where the waves swallow up every conversation.
-
YOU: I don't think anyone here is putting all of their eggs into one basket yet.And I don't think they should [chuckles]Monique came in here as a bombshell. Her whole job is to explore.And I genuinely think she deserves the freedom to do that [smiles]
-
By early afternoon, it starts to drizzle and the villa feels quieter than it did the day before.
Some Islanders still lounging in the seating are but most of the girls are gathered in the bedroom. On Monique’s bed to be specific.
You’re sitting next to Monique, back resting against the headboard while hugging a throw pillow. Kat is already curled up with her head on your lap. Chastity lies across the foot of it. Bianca sits on the edge of the bed, twirling the end of her hair around her fingers.
“So, how do you feel?” Kat asks, almost absentmindedly.
The girls know to whom the question is aimed for and everyone is looking at her.
“You've got all the power,” Chastity innocently asks.
Monique drops her face into her hands. “I think that's why,” she mumbles, peeking through her fingers. “I've only got a few hours left to decide.”
Before anyone can respond, the bedroom door swings open. Mandy walks in with Patrick close behind her. Without a second thought, Patrick drops onto the edge of their shared bed and Mandy immediately settles sideways on his lap. His arms naturally circle her waist.
Neither of them seems to think twice about it.
The girls exchange quick little glances. Then Mandy beams at Monique. “So, how are you going to make your decision for tonight?”
Monique laughs sheepishly. “I honestly don't know. But I’ve got a couple of ideas,” she says, the tone insinuating something.
“Ooo...” Chastity wiggles her eyebrows dramatically. A couple.”
The room erupts into teasing laughter laced with curiosity.
Mandy instinctively reaches back, taking one of Patrick's hands and pulling his arm a little tighter around her waist. The movement is subtle but it’s enough to show how possessive she is already over him.
You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.
Mandy points playfully at Monique. “I just hope none of those ideas involve my man,” she cheerfully says while patting Patrick’s arm.
Patrick chuckles beside her and the room laughs with them. But beneath Mandy's teasing tone, you catch the smallest flicker of nerves.
Driven by curiosity or the need to know the answer, Mandy asks, “Who do you have connection with?”
Monique thinks for a moment. Then breaks into a cryptic smile. “There’s probably three guys…”
Since you know that two of them are Walter and Mike, it makes you curious on who’s the other one is. You lightly nudge her knee with yours. “Who’s the third guy?”
Monique opens her mouth. Then stops. But you watch the way her eyes briefly drift toward Patrick. Your own eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly.
Monique breaks into faint laughter. “I'd rather not say.”
Chastity pouts at that. “Now I'm even more curious.”
On the next bed, Mandy’s shifts slightly. Her smile isn’t as brighter as it was seconds ago.
Before anyone can press further, Monique smoothly changes the subject. “What about you two?” She looks between Mandy and Patrick. “How are things going?”
Mandy's entire expression brightens like someone turns the brightness all the way up. She glances up at Patrick and the second their eyes meet, she dissolves into giggles.
“I'm starting to really like him,” she answers while nodding. “The attraction's definitely there.”
You find yourself smiling watching them because they're undeniably sweet together.
Still, something about Patrick feels restless. Like his mind is turning over something.
The feeling lingers until Patrick suddenly pats Mandy's leg. “Fancy a chat?”
She looks at him. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
She immediately nods. “Okay.”
Soon, the two disappear through the bedroom door together and the room falls quiet.
You barely hear the door click shut before Monique lowers her voice. “Can I tell you something?”
The girls immediately lean in.
"This morning, we were in the bathroom together,” Monqiue shares, keeping her voice low. “
And before we got interrupted, he said to 'Let's have a chat later.'”
You wince while Kat's eyes widen, it looks almost comical with her hazel eyes.
Chastity slowly sinks backward onto the bed. “That's surely interesting.”
Nobody says anything for a moment. But the atmosphere has shifted. Just slightly. But it’s enough to tell you that tonight's recoupling may not be nearly as straightforward as everyone hoped.
-
YOU: Remember when I said everyone shouldn’t put their eggs in one basket yet? Well, it looks like someone already did [covers the mouth with one hand] [whisper] spoiler alert: it’s not me [laughs]
-
The rain finally gives up. Almost as though production had made a deal with the weather itself.
Everyone naturally gathers around the outdoor kitchen, making their own choice of concoction. You settle on a glass of Aperol spritz. Then, almost instinctively, everyone forms a loose circle.
Patrick clears his throat dramatically. “I suppose as Head of Villa Toasts...”
“There is no such title,” Joey interrupts as he shakes his head, grinning.
Patrick ignores him and lifts his champagne flute. He looks around the circle once. Then says, “I'd like to make a toast to bread.”
Everyone raises their eyebrows in confusion.
Patrick laughs to himself before finishing his toast. “Because without bread, there would be no toast.”
Everyone bursts into laughter while Joey once again shaking his head, “Spoken like a true lad.”
Walter raises his glass higher. “Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
With that, the glasses clinking together and everyone takes a sip in unison. And for one fleeting moment, everything feels nice and surprisingly normal. Then— DING!
Every head turns toward the source of the sound and Monique instinctively unlocks the phone she’s holding. “I've got a text.”
Everyone cheers and then gets quiet as Monique starts reading the text aloud.
Monique, the time has come for you to choose which boy you want to couple up with. All Islanders must now gather around the fire pit. #decisiontime #stealinhearts
A collective chorus of nervous laughter ripples through the group and with that, one by one, they make their way toward the fire pit.
The atmosphere is completely different now as the curved sofas surrounding the firepit quickly fill. You settle into your seat near one end of the sofa and Walter sits beside you on your right. Mike sits comfortably beside Chastity. Kat leans subtly toward Cam. Bianca quietly folds one leg beneath herself beside Joey.
Across from you, Patrick and Mandy sit together. Mandy's fingers are intertwined tightly with his. She smiles whenever someone looks her way. But you can tell she's trying not to look nervous and at the same time, isn't entirely succeeding.
The boys mostly wear expressions of curiosity. Maybe anticipation. Wondering who'll be chosen. Wondering whose journey might suddenly change.
Standing alone before the fire pit, Monique draws a slow breath. Then the phone she’s holding chimes again. She slowly exhales as she glances down and reads the new text.
Monique, it’s decision time. Please reveal which boy you’ve chosen to couple up with. #singlenomore
She slips the phone into her pocket. Then looks up, meeting every pair of eyes. A nervous smile crosses her face.
“So it’s been hard being the last to come to the villa, and have to make this decision,” she says with a soft laugh. “But I feel like I would just have to kind of follow what I’m feeling. And we all came here for a reason so I just want to follow my gut.”
A few understanding nods greet her. The villa remains silent.
Monique looks down for a second before continuing. “The boy I've chosen is someone who I think is completely himself,” she smiles to herself. “He doesn't seem interested in pretending to be someone he's not. He laughs without worrying what anybody else thinks.”
She pauses to take another breath. “I find that really attractive. And I'd like to see where that connection could go.”
Almost instinctively, you glance sideways toward Walter, wondering whether he's trying to decipher the speech too. Instead, you find him already looking at you.
The two of you lock eyes and for one ridiculous second, neither of you says anything.
Then Walter gives the tiniest shrug as if silently asking, "Have you got any idea?"
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. You give the smallest shake of your head as if replying to him. No clue.
Monique lets the silence stretch longer this time as if she purposely tries to build the suspense. When she finally looks up, her eyes drifting from side to side. Then, a short exhale of air escapes her mouth.
She licks her lips before speaking, “And the boy that I want to couple up with is…”
-
YOU: I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen [lightly shrugs] I just know that I’m not going to get bored during the recoupling cause there’s definitely going to be some drama [laughs]
-
✨ LOVE ISLAND SEASON 1: EPISODE 3 & 4 ARE AVAILABLE ON PATREON ✨
Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!
pairing: ot8!skz, bf!skz x fem!reader
tags: swearing, hurtful messages, mentions of eating + drinking, heavy angst, no comfort, established relationship, want part 3?
part 1 | part 2
skz masterlist
⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 author's note - thanks for the hype, mwah !! comment for the maknaes <3
summary|| you kiss them suddenly ! how would they react ?
gener|| fluff, humor
warnings|| kissing (duh), suggestive at some parts, some parts are longer than the others
reference|| you
a/n|| honestly this didn't stick to the idea but i couldn't get it out my head, i haven't slept all night so it may have errors or ooc stuff, my eyes are burning i should sleep,
also i am taking a hiatus but this is a little something for me to forget the stress
wc|| 822
BANGCHAN — absolutely, in the most obvious way.
he would pause whatever he was doing as soon as you were in his sight, hands off the keyboard and slowly circling your waist when you lean down to kiss him.
he lets out a heavy sigh through his nose when your lips finally meet his, it is like a heavy weight on his shoulder has been lifted, he doesn't pull you closer nor let you go, chan gives you absolute control on the pace, he just likes to sit and lose himself in you.
LEE KNOW — yes, but subtly
he immediately got suspicious as soon as you climbed up next to him on the sofa, he doesn't move much when you lean down toward him but you can feel the way he move his head at a better angle for you
minho doesn't let go of his phone, nor change his position if someone who doesn't know him well they'd assume he was unaffected but you know him far too well to notice how his tense shoulders relax and his breath hitching–how when you pull back his eyes stay on your lips for a second and you don't miss the tiny little move of him leaning a little closer, almost like he was chasing them in a daze
SEO CHANGBIN — um..quite the opposite actually
don't get me wrong he would, will, and is melting but he's too whipped to stop at a simple kiss
it doesn't matter where you are, your house, in the company, backstage, if you attempted to kiss him his arms are already pulling you closer tightly against his chest, and when you pull back he'd plant million of another kisses all across your face and wherever he can reach, cooing at how you love him so much
so yeah you're the one who'll end up melting and wanting more..good luck
HWANG HYUNJIN — yes and will last for a long time
this man straightened up as soon as he realized what you were going for and he met you halfway through, he immediately went for a deep kiss, inhaling like he was taking in your scent, when you pull away you can see clearly how happy he was just from the shine in his eyes
hyunjin wouldn't calm down after that either, he'll keep tracing, touching, or licking his lips every few seconds, if you were somewhere with the members he wouldn't hesitate to say that it's because you two kissed, hell you're sure that if he was allowed he'd say it on camera
HAN JISING — get a bucket to contain the puddle
han is the most oblivious man you'll ever meet, i stand by that, if even with you being a few inches away from his face didn't give him the clue that you're leaning for a kiss – BUT he's also the sweetest one too
as soon as your lips touches his he's gone, malfunctioning, he'll melt into wherever he's sitting, literally sliding down like a ragdoll, if you two were standing then he'll pull you closer and lean against a surface because he KNOWS his knees would give up if he didn't get support to stay standing
LEE FELIX — ...uh yes? kinda?
well i don't know what to call it exactly but he's too eager, his eyes would literally lit up and he lean into it excitedly almost knocking the two of you off, he'll be smiling widely the entire time, it's honestly cute how happy he sound
but that's it for you now you can't pull away cause he'll pout and ask for more or chase you around the house until you give in, and a small kiss turns into two that turn into a full on make out, he just can't get enough of you!!
KIM SEUNGMIN — well…
he's like a statue, doesn't even show confusion when you suddenly get closer to him, nor will he lean more into the kiss but he also doesn't pull away, if you pull away, offended by his reaction he'll act clueless asking you “what it is?” with those puppy eyes of his, when you get upset and try to walk away he'll laugh and pull you back “at least finish what you started”
(well of course he'll melt, he is a total softy–a mischievous one but still a softy, if you were standing up he'll ask to sit down if you were sitting down he'll ask to lay down with the excuse of it being more comfy but honestly he's just starting to feel all tingly and weak in his joins)
YANG JEONGIN — yes! ….with struggle
first you have to get him into the kiss to test him, if jeongin wasn't in a touching mood (which is 65% with you and 96% with the members (the remaining 4 are felix)) good luck on getting to him, you could swear he has muscle in his neck from how hard it is to get him to bend down his head when he doesn't want to
but if you managed to get to him and smash your lips against his, he'll simply let out a sigh before leaving everything he was doing and wrapping his arms around you, he'll grumble for a second but then he'll get more into it than you
i do think and believe that it'll end with his mouth all over your body–
( 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏 ) That had his arm wrapped around your waist while you watched a movie with the rest of his bandmates, Felix sat just a few inches away from you while Jeongin's fingers slipped into your panties to start circling your clit. Luckily Han had to tell everyone to come look at some enormous bug in the shower and they surprisingly did.
Right when everyone left Jeongin’s index and middle finger started working faster while he pressed open-mouth kisses against your forehead. “Make a sound and I’ll stop.” He said.
( 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏 ) Who had missed you so much, decided that on the first day back home to his cute little girlfriend, he would loosen her up all night by trying to shove his whole fist into your pussy. “Wow, look at that. Missed this.” He groans already four fingers deep into you, the pleasure was too much your squirting all over his palm and wrist.
“You came before we added the last one, guess we have to do it allll over again.” Jeongin sighed with an annoyed tone. (He was more than happy to continue.)
( 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏 ) That loves to make you cum all over his fingers and bring it up to your lips to taste yourself. His fingers rest on your tongue as you lap over every bitter drop. Sometimes if he feels nice he’ll fuck his fingers into your mouth as well. “You just love getting filled through every hole, don't you, Darling?”
( 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏 } Who records videos already pre-recorded for when he’s on tour and in need of his girlfriend. His own hand stroking his cock to the video on his screen that shows your legs spread and his own digits plunged deep into your hole. Juices dripping down to his knuckles and down onto the sheets
The audio is you shouting profanity and hints of his name while he hushes you to make you look him in the eye. “Who’s making you feel this good baby, tell me.” Your thighs are trying to shut from the pleasure, the sight alone makes Jeongin fist himself harder.
“You don't know how much I miss you, my pretty girl.” He grunts in the dark of his hotel room, the sounds of him stroking himself fill the atmosphere making him yearn for you even more.
⟢ ┆ stray kids x reader. ot8. established relationship.
⟢ author’s note: so i had this prompt in my list for the longest time and now finally i was hit with enough inspiration to write it for all eight of them lol. i have no idea if this qualifies as comfort or slight angst or what, but i hope you guys enjoy and as always i would love to read your thoughts on it<3
pairing: ot8!skz, bf!skz x fem!reader
tags: swearing, hurtful messages, mentions of eating + drinking, heavy angst, no comfort, established relationship
part 1 | part 2
skz masterlist
⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 author's note - i feel bad for making them mean assholes but oh well. suffer !!
"Mmph, fuck– keep going. Yeah just like that." Jeongin pushes his cock deeper down your throat to make you feel how he pulses with every gag sound you make. “You love it don't you? You like it so much your panties are drenched, huh?” He mocks, his hands have a rough grip on the back of your head pushing you forward to meet his thrusts. Tears threatened to pool down your cheek but who cares? All you see when you look up is a silver-haired angel who desires to fuck you ever so full.
The crowd roars with voices and shouts for their favorite group that has less than five minutes to get ready to prepare to go back on stage. Watching him with hooded eyes, looking at the way he throws his headback when his tip hits the back of your throat. Jeongin's in a state of bliss but it doesn't compare to the satisfaction you get of sucking the soul out of this man that’s so damn sexy.
“Oh fuck, so close," Jeongin murmurs, his eyes closing in pleasure as his tongue presses against his cheek. His white cropped shirt rides up slightly, revealing his defined physique and the tension in his abs as he shudders. “Such a good little girlfriend, taking care of me right before I go on stage.” Every praise or filthy word he utters strikes a chord within you, and knowing you have to wait until after the concert to have him makes your thighs press together.
Your mouth sucks him in like it was made to take dick, Jeongin’s length is too much to take all at once – your wrist stroking up the base while the other gently massages his balls just the way that drives him insane. He finally looks down at you and all he sees is a view straight out of a porno. Jeongin’s pre fitted into the corners of your mouth along with spit and drool trailing down your chin not caring where it falls. “Your gonna let me fill that mouth, darling?”
The silver strands are already falling onto his forehead from the sweat building up. His hips start to lose their original rhythm — he’s so close, and both of you already know it. Jeongin’s grip on your head tightens, using you like a toy for his own pleasure. Your neglected cunt rubs against the floor, desperate for something to reach your own release.
Without warning his hands pull away, his dick leaves your mouth in an instant as he leans back against the wall trembling with his dick in hand. “Open,” You do, tongue sticking out with pleading eyes. Jeongin can't help but smile, the veins in his hands flexing while he fists himself in front of you. Watching his pretty pink cock with his tight grip makes you want it more. Your eyes are stuck on him like he’s the prettiest view in the world, and that's what he is.
He scans your face while he proceeds to jerk off, the drool that had been left to drip on your chin was now left to sit on top of the hill of your breasts. The tiny white tank top you had covered absolutely nothing.
A couple more pumps and Jeongin cums on your tongue with a hiss. He groans and throws his head back once more, your lips find his tip and suck on it to milk him completely dry. The cum tastes bitter but it tastes like him and pent-up energy that he needed to release. “You're so good to me,” Jeongin says while he helps you from stumbling. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss that's filled with love and lust, hints of his cum still on your tongue, a moan leaves his lips from the taste.
You pull away from the kiss first, eyes stuck on his new hair color, which is the reason you two are here in his changing room like heated animals. “It looks so good you don't know how much I love it.” Jeongin smiles at your compliment, “After that, I think I get the idea.” It's a sweet tender moment until you remember now you're the one who has to wait till after the show to get sorted out. “Don't even start I already see the pout forming.” He says leaving kisses all around your face to try and soothe you. “I have to wait two more hours!” You say clearly upset.
Before you could begin again to complain you heard someone knock on the door. “Yo! Jeongin! We're up in less than a minute!” Jeongin sorts himself back into his pants and leaves a big kiss on your pout. “I promise I’ll leave you so sore afterwards, okay?” If it wasn't thanks to those eyes you would have given him the silent treatment, but how could you possibly stay mad at him?
🗒️— new layout, don't know how I feel about it. some don't know my titles are song lyrics and now i have them linked to the song on spodify!! jeongin PLEASE let have just ONE chance i beg.
