one date with someone else is all it took to realize you're in love with your roommates, wooyoung and san. but do they want you as much as they want each other? ⋆.˚
━ woosan x fem!reader, roommates/best friends to lovers, smut minors dni, 18+, consumption, mxm, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, threesome, don't wanna spoil anything so read at ur own risk!
━ wc 28.6k
━ happy almost cb day! this fic is my second & final installment of @everyonewooeverywhere ‘s fic exchange event, and a gift for my bestest friend in the world, love of my life @chimivx ᢉ𐭩 this is the best lie ive ever told, the best secret i've ever kept, i even stole your layout for it! you deserve the world my plum, and i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚
“I think that dress is saying, ‘Take me back to your place,’ but the other one leaves more room for mystery, like maybe, ‘I could come home with you, but I might just be here for free dinner.’”
With your hands on your hips, you stared at your roommate, San, unimpressed. Curled up on your bed, he laid on his side, one palm holding up his head, the other on your puppy’s belly, rubbing it while your black lab laid there with his paws up, tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“Which one are you going for?” He asks after receiving nothing but silence in return, one knee bent up, the other extended straight along the length of your mattress, his foot near your pillows.
A date with a shared friend of your two roommates, one you originally didn’t want to go on, but were now somewhat excited for. You haven’t been on a date in a while, which you didn’t think much of, but it seemed everyone and their mother was more than concerned for your love life than you were. You were content with San and Wooyoung, your two roommates, and your one year old black lab named Sweetie who was almost as big as you.
After fighting both San and Wooyoung’s attempts at convincing you to go out with Yunho for a week, you finally agreed, days into the follicular phase of your cycle, mere moments out of the month when you craved the touch of a man. Now, mid-ovulation, you weren’t completely sure where you wanted to end up tonight.
You knew Yunho well. Being a friend of both San and Wooyoung, he was over your apartment all the time, with his shaggy brown hair, cozy clothes that made him look like a librarian, legs that stretched on forever. Sometimes you caught yourself staring at his veiny hands for a second longer than what was considered appropriate, but you never thought of Yunho as an actual option.
When you came home after a long day of teaching, blabbing to San and Wooyoung how the other teachers at the studio teased you for being single yet again, telling you that you should at least go on dates, the pair took it upon themselves to find you a suitor. Silently, without your knowledge, they hooked you up with Yunho, one of the only other single people in their friend group. Your friend group.
“I guess the second one?” You tilted your head to the side in thought, turning to stare at yourself in the mirror again, a black dress that hugged your curves dangerously. “Maybe this is more club than it is dinner and drinks.”
“Try on the other one again,” San tilted his chin toward the brown dress you tossed on the chair in the corner of your room, the one usually tucked under your desk that held your two-monitor PC setup. Used mainly for The Sims 4. No one had to know that part, though, your set-up was sick.
You whined, head falling backward, effectively giving up. Sweetie’s head picked up, and San’s amused smile grew as you trudged across your bedroom, crawling on your bed, sprawling yourself across your best friend who rolled on his back, opening his arms to welcome you in.
San chuckled, your head tucked below his chin, vibrations bleeding through your skin. His body was so hard beneath you, so warm and inviting, you could happily stay here, buried into him forever. He turned his head, making room to press a kiss to the top of your head, “You’ll have fun, Yunho’s a great guy. He’ll treat you well.”
“What if I just want to cuddle and watch movies all night? Is it so bad to cancel now?” You mumbled, voice muffled by the cotton white tee he wore, one from the pack you bought him a month ago. His home uniform, a white tee that clung to his body like latex, and gray sweats that hung so low on his hips you wondered how they didn’t fall off sometimes.
“Come on,” San ushered you upward, his chest pushing on your cheek until you pulled your arms under your body to lift yourself off of him. You pouted, he smiled, dimples joining the party on your bedspread. “If you don’t like him, you leave, no harm, no foul.”
“He’s your friend,” you whined again, bottom lip jutting out in the most exaggerated way. “Why did I agree to a set up with one of your friends?”
Just as San was about to protest that Yunho is one of your friends too, you heard the front door snap open, sneakers hitting the wall as he kicked them off his feet, you always heard him before you saw him. Yours and San’s heads turned to your opened bedroom door as Wooyoung yelled from the living room, “It’s date night!”
You sighed, sitting backward, legs tucked under you. Sweetie got up from where he snuggled against San and joined your pity party by laying across your lap, head nuzzling into your tummy. Like a reflex, you scratched your fingers along his back, on the top of his head, he pushed air through his nose in delight.
Wooyoung ran into your bedroom, halting dramatically in your doorway, both hands propped up on the frame on either side of his head. His eyes danced between you, San and your dog, but they landed on San. “Why isn’t she ready?” Eyes sliding to you, “Why aren’t you ready?”
“I don’t wanna go,” your head tipped back again, whining, “Sweetie doesn’t want me to go either, look at him, he’s so cozy. He wants me to stay home and cuddle with him.”
Wooyoung’s lips flattened in a line, “You can’t cancel on him, Shy. He’ll be here in thirty minutes to pick you up, it’s rude if you cancel now. Get up, girl.”
Your top lip curled in distaste, you hated when he said your name like that, even if it was the nickname they both had for you. Really, it was San’s nickname, which was originally your mother’s, he picked it up when he was three, when your entire family called you their shy girl. The nickname had always stuck with him, even after moving away from your hometown and into the city that your family thankfully wouldn’t step foot in, even after almost a decade. When you met Wooyoung your junior year of college, he thought the nickname was so damn cute he started calling you Shy, too.
Wooyoung moved to the center of your room, movements fluid, eyes dancing about the space like he was your fairy godmother. Picking up the brown dress thrown over your chair, he cheered, “Aha! I love this one on you.”
Sighing, you tapped on Sweetie’s head, a warning to him before you stood up. He crawled off your lap and back into San’s chest, settling in his side just like he had before you interrupted. You stood up off the bed, pulling your dress down your thighs, and Wooyoung grinned, eyes flaring, “That dress is an option? What, are you planning on fucking him?”
Eyes narrowing, you scowled at him, crossing the room to snatch the brown dress from his hands. In all black, jeans, tee and jacket, he wore his hat backwards on his head, hiding his short, cropped black hair. Rings adorned his fingers, silver necklaces on his neck, he and San so opposite it still made you laugh at how close the three of you are.
You supposed you were the glue. To Wooyoung’s hotheaded, outspoken, free-bird self, San was more emotional, logical, he actually thought before he spoke, when his feelings didn’t cloud his mind. You were the perfect combination, spontaneous yet level-headed, in tune with your emotions, in tune with theirs, you were the ground they stood on, the final word in their decisions. Why did you need to go on this date when all you needed was in this room with you?
“No,” you bite, throwing the dress on the bed while you pull the one you already wore up and off your body.
Woo laughed, sitting down on the chair he stole the dress from, “No? Your panties match your bra.”
“I just wanted to be prepared,” you throw the dress at him as soon as it's off your body and he catches it with one hand, eyes obviously drinking in your figure. Too close for comfort, that’s what the three of you were, roommates and best friends and an enigma no one around you can understand.
When you turn to San, his eyes are on Sweetie before him, his fingers lightly scratching his head. Always polite, always considerate, you grabbed the brown dress you threw on the bed, forcing yourself to not recall the days where he wasn’t so respectful.
“Did you shave? Be honest,” Wooyoung’s eyebrows raise as you step into the low cut, bodycon brown dress. You snort, walking towards him so he can zip it up your back.
“I trimmed,” you answer simply, amusement dancing in your tone, pulling your hair to one side to give him access to the zipper. He straightens in the chair, one hand on your hip as the other tugs the chilly zipper up your back, he stands back up to reach the top. You turn to him, hair still grasped in your fist, brows raised as the thought crosses your mind, “Should I have shaved?”
“Hell no,” San responds from the bed, eyes trained on you and Wooyoung standing feet away from him. “Yunho’s a man, like, a man. He doesn’t give a fuck if you have a bush or whatever.”
“You should have left the bush,” Wooyoung’s smile is swimming in his eyes too, half-joking, half-serious, “it’s like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.”
You peel away from him with a laugh as you stand before your full-length mirror, hands gliding down your body as you twist from side to side, head tilted to look at yourself from every angle. You look good, the color compliments your features, accentuates your curves just enough, you didn’t know if the heavy feeling in your gut was anxiety or if you didn’t feel confident or what. It’s been a long while since you’ve been on a date. You sigh, “I just feel like it’s too much.”
Wooyoung comes up behind you, one of his veiny hands on your waist, his cologne in your nose. Woody, notes of creamy sandalwood, spicy, you ease into his touch as he swings a pair of pumps around your front for you to look at through the mirror. You missed when he grabbed them from your closet. “You’ll feel better with these on,” his voice is low in your ear, velvety even if it wasn't intentional, “Your legs will look longer. He’ll wanna eat you from across the table instead of his food.”
You nod, swallowing, ridding your thoughts of all things incriminating about your roommate and best friend. He moves to crouch down on one knee in front of you, your heels on the floor beside him. San, on his stomach now, is beaming while he watches Wooyoung give you princess treatment as if your heart wasn’t reaching tachycardic level, “It’s like you’re Cinderella. Shinderella.”
Your brows scrunch as a punched laugh rushes from your chest, one palm holding the hat on Wooyoung’s head for leverage as you slip your foot into the deep maroon heel he’s holding out for you. “That was an awful joke, Sannie.”
“I liked it,” Wooyoung smiles up at you, sincerity in his eyes, all warmth and love as he grabs the other shoe, “You deserve to be treated like a princess, so if he doesn’t hold the door open for you, pull the chair out for you, if he doesn’t pay the bill, you come home straight to us.”
He stands up on two feet to lean forward, pressing a kiss to your freshly done hair, hands squeezing your shoulders, “Why does this lowkey feel like a big deal?” He turns around to look at San while your face flushes aggressively, “I feel like we’re giving her away.”
San snorts a laugh, tucking a muscled arm under his head to lay his cheek on, “She knows she’s ours at the end of the day.”
You roll your eyes, hands on your hips again as you turn to San, disagreement in your body language but in your heart you know it’s fucking true. Ever since you were little, you’ve looked up to San in a way, always taller than you, stronger than you, older than you. Even if it’s only by a year, you’ve always seen him as someone wiser, someone you could count on no matter what, if you needed him, he’d be there. Because of that you’ve always stuck by his side, never treading farther than arm’s reach, because as much as you were San’s, he was also yours.
And he knew it in his bones, too.
“It’s one date,” your voice is full of reassurance as you walk to your closet, pulling out your collection of bags, totes, purses, already having one in mind. Finally finding the tiny black Coach purse as you realize what you’d just said, you whip around to look at his dimpled-cheeks deep in the pocket of his elbow, purse tucked under your arm, “Why was I just about to convince you why I should go? This is getting very backwards.”
“Because you love us so much, you don’t want us to sit here all night, all sad because some six foot sexy man is taking you away from us,” Wooyoung’s voice is full of humor as he sits back on your bed, one leg tucked under him, one hand rubbing San’s exposed ankle. He sits up a little straighter, “You should still go, though. We won’t be that sad.”
With your features blown into offense, you scoff, “I’d expect you two to be crying, nervous wrecks while I’m gone. You’re telling me you’ll be fine and dandy while I’m off getting pounded by that same six foot sexy man?”
“Pounded?” Wooyoung and San answer at the same time, their eyes wide, eyebrows in their hairlines. San even picked his head up from the pocket of his elbow.
You laugh loudly as you put your everyday purse on Wooyoung’s lap, transferring all your necessities into the tiny handbag. San sits up, crawling behind Wooyoung with his legs straddling the younger man’s back, “You’re really gonna fuck him?!”
“Do we need to have the talk?” Wooyoung blinks at you, face completely shocked, leaning back into San’s arms that wrapped around his front, “When was the last time you even had sex?”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, first of all.” You hold up two hands in front of you, palms flat, facing both men. “Second of all, I don’t know! Who knows? If the date goes super awesome-ly then I might end up in his bed, yeah.” You point a finger at Wooyoung, eyes narrowing, “Third of all, screw you. Two years, shut up.”
Wooyoung raises his arms in defense, lips tucked between his teeth to stop himself from giggling. San still looks surprised, cheeks pink, jaw slack and eyes wide, “I– I don’t know why I’m so shocked that you admitted that so easily.”
“You’re acting like I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you close the clasp on your purse, “I may have not fucked in two years but I’ve fucked plenty.” Looking at Wooyoung again, you ask, “Can I wear your Chrome Hearts jacket? The leather one?”
Wooyoung nods with his face scrunched like it was no biggie before asking, “So are we expecting you home tonight or what?”
“Why are you being so adamant about this?” Your eyes bounce between them, lingering on San’s cheeks that deepen by the minute, “I don’t know yet, jeez. What time is it?”
San scrambles for his phone, “He’ll be here in ten.”
As if Yunho himself was in your bedroom with the three of you, the doorbell rang. Your eyes widen, “Shit, he’s early.”
“We’ll distract him,” Wooyoung grabs your waist to move you to the side as he stands, rushing out of your room to greet Yunho at the door. Sweetie jumps off the bed next, following him, probably thinking something exciting was happening, and San mimics the two as the third musketeer.
Your finishing touches, extra deodorant, more perfume for good luck, a little lip gloss, a few fluffs to your hair. You caught yourself in the mirror again before leaving, doing another three-sixty, viewing yourself from every angle possible without twisting into a pretzel. Scrunching your lips, you stare at your own face, something still didn’t feel right. You hated when your gut was telling you something, but didn’t say what it was.
The three are in the kitchen, four if you count Sweetie, mid-conversation as your heels announce your presence before you breathe a word. Meeting San’s eye and then Wooyoung’s, both stared at you in awe, affection sparkling in their dark eyes, like they’d never seen you so dressed up before. Sweetie is at Yunho’s feet, the six foot man crouched into a hunched-over ball, hands scratching the dog’s ears until he sees you.
“Wow,” he stands, black slacks on his long legs, a cream-colored button up on his upper half, brown jacket thrown over his arm. Black hair styled and off his forehead, he looked clean, crisp, handsome. “You look beautiful.”
Your face heats up, beaming as you say, “Thanks, you look handsome, too.”
Wooyoung giggles like a child, you snap your head to sneer at him, catching San who’s still staring at you fondly. They’re like your parents, chaperoning your first date like you’re a teenager.
Wooyoung skirts around the kitchen island, “Your jacket, milady.”
Rolling your eyes, you smile apologetically at Yunho who looks amused as Wooyoung drapes the leather jacket over your shoulders. Yunho’s eye drops to the emblems on the sleeves as you slip your arms inside, the obvious Chrome Hearts crosses, the jacket Wooyoung paid an arm and a leg for. His eyes flicker before rising back to your gaze, face unreadable for a moment before he slaps the bright smile back on his cheeks.
“Ready?” He asks after you pull your hair out from beneath the collar.
Nodding, you murmur, “Yeah, ‘m ready.”
San and Wooyoung stay tucked into each other, watching like proud mothers as you wave your goodbye, wiggling your eyebrows. You blow a final kiss to Sweetie before you’re out the door, in the open air of an unforgiving February night, Yunho’s car parked directly next to yours. He opens the door for you, closes it behind you, and he’s in the driver’s seat in a flash.
“How are you?” He asks as he clasps his seatbelt and immediately you’re filled with the ick of inevitable awkwardness. You hated small talk, you hated this feeling, of a new relationship budding, of not automatically being at the oversharing-because-I-can stage.
But you respond politely, with a smile on your face that he couldn’t see through, all the way to the fucking restaurant. A nice place, moody lighting, an obvious date night spot. Your table is off to the side, against the beige-colored wall, more private than the center of the restaurant, thankfully. The air between you is a little more congenial by the time you’ve had a quarter of your fruity cocktail and there’s food placed at the center of the white tablecloth.
“I love my kids,” you shake your head, swallowing down a bite of the appetizer he ordered, “they’re all great kids, it’s the parents that make me want to rip my hair out.”
Yunho laughs, an easygoing thing, and you smile when it reaches your ears. “They’re all bad?”
“Not all of them,” you respond, words practiced, almost scripted, at the point in date talk where you were discussing what you do for a living. Next comes future talk, if this went anything like the dates you’ve been on in the past did. “Just the ones that nitpick everything I do, like they have any idea what they’re talking about.”
Yunho nods, “It’s like that at my job, too. But not with parents, with clients, the ones who talk about artwork like it means something to them. I know they just think it looks cool and they want it on their wall, but that’s enough, I mean, leave it at that. I understand not everyone is a connoisseur.”
Your grin widens, a giggle falling past your lips as you bring your glass up to catch it. You have to give it to him, he’s funny, but not as funny as Wooyoung. He doesn’t look at you the way San looks at you, either.
By the time you’re halfway through your entree you know you aren’t going home with him. You could possibly see him again, depending on how the second half of your entree goes, but the need to see him naked on top of you isn’t quite there. A sweet guy, heart of gold, you know he’s a genuine friend, you’ve had plenty of conversations with him before at your apartment during gatherings to know enough about his nature. But romantically, sexually, there isn’t a spark in your veins, a sizzling to your blood, a dampening in your panties that makes you want more.
He’s a great guy– but he’s not for you.
“Can I ask you something?” Now a singular piece of chocolate cake between you accompanied by two silver forks, you nod as you dig the prongs into the triangular edge.
“Your jacket,” he raises his perfectly trimmed brows to the leather that hangs off the back of your chair, “it’s Wooyoung’s?”
“Definitely,” you nod furiously, without missing a beat, “you know him and Chrome Hearts are in a very serious, very committed relationship.” The smile Yunho gives you in response doesn’t completely reach his eyes. You pop a brow, “Why?”
His fork dances around the plate, “I don’t know.” Setting it down softly, he leans back in the upholstered chair, “wearing his jacket on a first date, when he’s the one who set us up. I don’t know.”
Your head tilts, heat flooding you, the nervous kind. Confusion bites at the corners of your eyes as you blink at him, “What do you mean?”
“Can I be frank?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re Yunho, but sure.”
Amusement huffs from his nose, but he doesn’t exactly smile. “Is there anything going on between you?”
You pause, mid-bite, cake millimeters from touching your tongue. Body going hot, your arm lowers slowly, “Between who?”
“Between you and Wooyoung. You and San. Both of them, I don’t know.”
Your brows shoot upward, jaw dropping, “What the fuck?” Looking around, noticing the eyes on you, you cover your mouth with your hand. You didn’t realize the volume you cursed at— you mumble an I’m sorry sheepishly to the room around you.
“I’m serious,” Yunho leans forward again, and his eyes are so genuine it throws you for a loop. You knew your friendship with the pair was closer than the typical, a little strange at times, with the flirting and the touching and the looks. You knew how you felt about your roommates, your best friends, how there’s a certain depth in the way they treat you, love and respect too raw to be faked, how it always makes your stomach pang with gratitude too deep to express.
“No, Yunho.” You shake your head, fork landing on the small, ceramic plate. The words are short, not necessarily offended, but it’s clear the question didn’t sit well. Your relationship with the two men, both a third of your being, is completely platonic.
Did it really seem like it wasn’t?
“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezed tight, regret oozing off of him. “I don’t know why I asked you that, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you try to laugh to ease the tension, but it comes off demeaning. Yunho stiffens, hands coming up to dig the pads of his fingers into his eyes. “I’m serious, it’s fine. I know we’re a little closer than your average roommates, but we don’t fuck.”
You could feel eyes in the room on you again, this time you ignore them. Yunho’s hands leave his face, eyes cracking open, words escaping from his lips too quickly to have been thought about first, “You never have? Not even with Sannie?”
“Not even with Sannie, no. I haven’t seen him naked since we were seven, we’ve never once kissed, nothing.”
Lies. Lies, lies, lies. You don’t know why they spill from your lips like a waterfall, like you had to defend yourself. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself more than Yunho.
His brow pops like he asked the question just to receive your deception, “That’s not true.”
Taking you by complete surprise, your heart plummets, sputtering, “O-okay, well—”
How did he know? He shouldn’t know about your times in college, Sannie throwing you around the mattress with a boy from your English class. Or the handful of times with the girl from your contemporary dance class. Or the times you’ve been each other’s New Year's Kiss, or the times you’ve messily made out in the corner of a frat house after he finished a keg-stand. It was all platonic, anyhow, so whittled down to ancient history it wasn’t even worth bringing up.
“Why lie if you aren’t doing it still?”
Your eyes widen. You don’t know why you lied. You weren’t expecting him to catch you in it. Your ears are on fire.
“I’m not lying!” It comes out louder than intended, too defensive, too full of quickly found, nervous anger. If you were honest with yourself, you thought about ancient history often, you thought about what it would have been like with Wooyoung involved too, yours and San’s missing link. A line you haven’t crossed. You and San haven’t touched each other since you were twenty-one.
But you still think about it. More than you should.
You empty a much needed breath, one heavy and long. You ignore the stares of the people around you. You try not to let Yunho’s gaze be patronizing. You try not to feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.
“I’m sorry,” you mutter, head dropping down until your chin is tucked. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“I do,” Yunho says quietly, almost shakily, like he’s scared of saying the words that follow. “You and them… you want it, don’t you?”
“We’re just friends,” you nearly whisper, an unexplainable tightness in your chest. “Roommates,” you add, and it sounds like an insult.
He lays an open palm on the table, and you pick your head up to meet his soft smile, eyes full of sadness, pity. You take his hand anyway.
“You should really tell them how you feel so this doesn’t happen again.”
How you feel?
How you feel?
You don’t even know how you feel. You have memories that linger, a soft spot for the two men you spend all your time with that was the size of a crater. You have touches, eyes, words you weren’t sure should mean more than they do. You have emotions, you have a fantasy you keep buried, you have a secret that would shatter you if it ever saw the light of day.
That line hung over your head the entire drive home. Yunho paid the bill, much to your dismay, you definitely didn’t give him the best date of his life, but your argument was cut short by the reminder that you had bigger fish to fry. You needed the brain power for the thoughts that’d keep you awake tonight, while your roommates were fast asleep in their rooms, unaware that you were pondering about the possibility of them ever being more.
Yunho parked beside your car again. Turning towards you, keeping the car running, he said, “I won’t say anything about tonight.”
“Thanks,” you mutter in a breath, “I’m sorry again.”
“Don’t be,” Yunho shakes his head, laying a hand on your thigh to squeeze it encouragingly, “I hope it works out for you.”
Giving him a weak smile, you unbuckle your seatbelt and let yourself out of the car, the stupid fucking heels on your feet clacking against the pavement. “Drive safe,” you say before closing the door behind you, and Yunho nods with a warm smile.
You face your apartment building with a pout. That could not have gone any fucking worse, and those two upstairs are going to do nothing but pester you for every single detail. Forcing a breath through your lips, you walk up the stone steps to your front door, bracing yourself for questions you can’t answer as you push it open.
The apartment was quiet, lights dim, you slipped your heels off upon entering, dangling them from your fingers. Sweetie didn’t greet you, very unlike him, but maybe he was asleep at this hour— with the frenzy in your mind you didn't realize it wasn’t late at all. You took the corner around your foyer to reach the living room, and the sight before you had a shriek ripping from your chest, eyes blowing wide, heart positively dropping into your ass.
On your living room couch, brown leather, wrinkled and weathered from years of use, was Wooyoung, shirtless, lip locked with a shirtless San beneath him. Bronzy, sculpted chests pressed together, veiny hands in dark hair, spit-stained lips messily tangled, Wooyoung’s toned hips were rutting against San’s before your shriek bursted their bubble.
They broke apart like teenagers getting caught, Wooyoung so surprised he launched off of San’s lap and onto the fucking floor. “Shy!” San yelped, as shocked as you are, gaze panic-stricken as it bounced between you and Wooyoung, he stood up instinctively.
Your insides felt like weeds. Tangled up, knotted together beyond belief, the air in your lungs was gone, there wasn’t enough oxygen in the closing room to fill them. You stared as Wooyoung blew his hair off his face, leaning back on his elbows on the floor, legs bent up and spread, denim unzipped, sporting a tent in the pocket of his undone fly.
San was no better. Undeniably hard, droplets of wetness on his low hanging gray sweats, skin red and splotchy, glowing with a sheer sheen of sweat. His hair was fucked up, as was Wooyoung’s, sticking out in every direction, curled where fingers had been rooted.
Wooyoung’s lips curled in a lazy grin, “You’re home early.”
Your hands are shaking. You think if you take one step, your knees will buckle. This feels like betrayal. Your skin is fire-hot, body buzzing with confusion, shock, rage, hurt— you were out on a date they set up for you, while they were at home fucking?! Did they just want you out of the apartment for the night? How long have they been hooking up?
You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, you can feel every ounce of blood thrashing beneath your skin like your heart was the eye of a hurricane.
Your vision blurs, words coming out short, “I-I don’t—” shaking your head, you move in the direction of your bedroom. Sweetie’s at your side, you don’t know where he even came from, you don’t have the heart to greet him. Under your breath you mutter, “I’m going to bed.”
“Shy,” San calls after you, his voice strained. A little louder, a little harsher, he tries again, “Shy!”
You close your bedroom door and flatten your back against it, breath leaving you in tremors, palms shaky against the wood behind you. Sweetie is at your feet, dancing on his paws, whimpering for some form of attention from you, sensing all the emotion in your chest.
You sink down until your ass meets the floor, eyes focused on nothing, hands mindlessly reaching for Sweetie as your brain replays everything you just saw. Wooyoung’s back arching his chest into San’s, San’s tongue slipping between Wooyoung’s lips, one hand on Wooyoung’s thigh while the other tugged at his hair. Wooyoung’s hips rolling against him, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, a shakiness to his lean body that could only be perceived as need. This was not the first time they’ve done that.
Your chin tilts upward as Sweetie licks your cheeks, you didn’t realize silent tears poured down them, dripping from your jaw. You couldn’t deny it now— everything Yunho insinuated, everything he said, how witnessing those two together made you feel. You wanted them. You wanted to be in the middle. You wanted their lips and hands on you just as much as you wanted to watch them touch each other.
Fuck.
You can’t pretend like your feelings don’t exist anymore. Half the reason you didn’t want to go tonight was because you wished they were taking you out, instead. You wished they begged you to stay home, with them, watching movies curled up on the couch, just to end up how they did without you. Without you. There wasn’t any room for you, they had a relationship on their own. They left you out of it. They set you up with someone else so they could have each other.
It hurts like a knife to your gut.
You can hear them whispering through the walls. You can’t make out a word, but they sound like they’re arguing, or debating. Then it’s quiet.
Sweetie whimpers again. You pouted at him, his precious face seemed like it was pouting back at you. “It’s okay,” you reassure the puppy, hands cupping his face, scratching behind his ears, “I’m okay, I promise.”
Wiping your tears, heaving a breath, you push yourself up, leaving your heels thrown beside the door where you dropped them. You tug the leather off your shoulders, hanging it in your closet— you didn’t have the heart to give it back to him right now, but it was too expensive to throw haphazardly on your gaming chair.
After pulling out pajamas, you reached for your zipper, but you couldn’t reach it to get it down. You tried again, folding your arms behind you, fingers touching, zipper out of reach. You curse under your breath, shoulders strained, it hurt, your breathing picks up again in frustration.
Sweetie jumps on your bed, watching you. It seemed he felt pity for you, too, sitting on his back legs, head tilted as watches how pathetic you looked— the tears bubbled up again.
San knocks on your door twice. You know it’s him because the knocks are soft, gentle, Wooyoung would have just barged inside after a slew of obnoxious knocks of his knuckles. You didn’t want to see either of them right now.
“Let me get your zipper.”
Your arms unfold from your back, hands planting against the mattress beside Sweetie, head dropping as a defeated sob silently rips from your throat. The black lab’s nose nuzzles in your hair as you force the tears back in, back down, away.
San opens the door without waiting for your response. You can’t see him eye the pair of heels on your floor, picking them up, placing them in front of your wide closet, you keep your eyes on the white comforter, laser focused on keeping your emotion locked up. On silent feet he comes up behind you, moving your hair out of the way, deft fingers slowly pulling your zipper down your back.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is as soft as his movements, tender, like if he spoke the wrong word you’d crumble in his hands. You shake your head, sniffing. His sigh is light, apologetic, “We didn’t think you’d be home so early.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine. The date just didn’t go as planned,” your voice is nasally from how much snot had formed in your sinuses. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, standing up, turning to look at him. Still shirtless, skin still red and splotchy, the only difference now was that his face was filled with concern instead of shock. “I’m sorry I broke up your date night.”
He shakes his head fervently, “You didn’t break up anything, Shygirl, what happened on your date? You didn’t like Yunho? Are you okay? Did he do anything—”
A sharp chuckle tumbles past your lips, you look off to the side, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna talk about it, I just wanna go to sleep.”
You can feel the cool air of your bedroom on your bare back. You feel exposed, despite being naked in front of him so many times in your life, despite standing before him in a bra and underwear just hours earlier. You cross your arms over your chest. “Go back to Wooyoung.”
His lips tighten, but he nods, eyes searching your face for something he can’t find. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”
You nod, looking up at him just as another hot tear slips down your cheek. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, to wipe your tear away with his thumb, but you pull away. His eyes widen ever so slightly, you’ve never once pulled away from his touch. He doesn’t press it, instead he turns on his heel, leaving your room, closing the door behind him gently, knowing space was what you needed, even if he wished you needed him.
You felt better in comfy clothes, curled up in your bed, Sweetie snoring softly beside you, his head basically on your pillow. You tried to focus on that, how his shiny black coat rose and fell with each breath, how he stayed by your side because he knew you needed comfort. Your brain was too muddled to pick apart each and every emotion you were feeling, there were too many, too blended together.
But you definitely tried, for each hour you were supposed to be asleep.
The studio is quiet.
Rehearsal finished for the night, all of your kids home by now, probably doing last-minute homework or showering before school tomorrow, you don’t know what you’re still doing here. The floors are mopped, the mirrors wiped down, the speaker is off and plugged in, your laptop and charger tucked away in your tote. Sitting on the floor of your studio, criss-cross-applesauce, you leaned back on your palms, chin tipped up to the ceiling.
It’s been a week since you found out your two best friends, your roommates, the two people you now know you’re in love with, are in a relationship. You truly have no idea how you got away from their barrage of questions unscathed, the two men want to know every detail of your life on a regular Tuesday, let alone when you come home crying after a date. You put your deceptive shoes on, straightened your back, and blamed every single one of your tears on how sad you were about it not working out with Yunho.
Truth was, you haven’t spared the date with Yunho a single thought since you came home to see them making out on the couch. Since then, it’s been a constant fight convincing yourself everything was fine. In reality, everything was fine, you’re healthy, you’re stable, you have a puppy at home that still pees a little out of excitement when you walk through the front door.
You just couldn’t have what you wanted most, and you’re not a child anymore. Wooyoung and San seem so happy together, attached at the hip, pressing soft kisses to each other’s lips randomly, giggling at something the other said, so lovesick and ignorant to how shitty it all made you feel, you couldn’t be mad. You tried your hardest not to be upset.
As if you’ve been onstage for a week now, it’s felt like seven days of constant performance. Wearing the mask, playing the part of a perfectly-okay-girl, not letting them peer inside to see your heart shredded beneath your ribs. There was still a part of you that was disappointed they couldn’t see through the charade, they knew you better than anyone else, too occupied with one another to make an effort in seeing the truth.
“What are you still doing here?”
You picked your head up, wide-eyed as you glanced at Wooyoung in the doorway, holding a silver ring of multi-colored keys around his pointer finger. Gray sweats, hoodie on top, a black puffer layered over it, sneakers on his feet half-tied. His hair laid messy over his cheekbones, forced down flat beneath the deep red hood, the color compliments him. You think every color in his closet compliments him.
“Hello? Shygirl?” He’s smiling now, taking a few steps inside the studio, eyes raking over your frozen form. He pushes the ring of keys inside the pocket of his puffer as he gets closer, bending down at the knees, the backs of his thighs tucked to his calves.
“Just thinkin’,” you smile weakly, head rolling to the side, cheek landing on your shoulder. He’s so pretty, barefaced, skin clear and soft and beautiful. Shadowed beneath his hood he looks even more breathtaking, the hollows of his cheeks prominent, the freckle under his eye appearing darker.
With a heavy breath he leans backward, landing on his ass, arms stretched out behind him, mimicking the same way you sat. His legs longer than yours, they straighten out in front of him, feet tangled between where yours sat strategically. Always close, never close enough.
“About what?” He tilts his head. “Competition?”
Yeah, that sounds good enough. You nod and he begins his encouraging monologue all over again, softness in his tone, a determined edge of confidence, you’ve heard it all before. You didn’t care to listen to the details.
“Okay, be serious, what’s up?” He reigns in his knees, wrapping his arms around them, leaning forward, brows furrowed. “You’ve been off all week, Shy. I know it’s not dance-related.”
You give him a weak, disappointed smile, shaking your head. The worst, shittiest excuse comes to mind, but you’d rather use any excuse than tell him why shrapnel floated through your blood, pieces of your heart that shattered beyond repair a week ago. “I’m just getting my period, I’m in my head, that’s all.”
He pouts, “You swear?”
You nod, eyes heavy, “I swear.”
It doesn’t even feel bad to lie. Maybe you’re tired of wearing the mask. Tired of feeling.
“Wanna dance with me?”
Your eyes flicker up to him, a question in your lifted brow. “Dance?”
His grin has turned mischievous, lopsided eyes thinning with the giddiness on his cheeks, he plants his palms on the floor to push himself up, throwing his puffer to the side as he walks to the speaker in the corner of the room. Turning it on, static catching as he plugged in his phone, he looked over his shoulder to ask, “What song?”
“Woo,” you shake your head, “I don’t want to–”
“Come on,” he looks back at his phone screen, you can only assume he’s scrolling through his liked songs on Spotify, “your endorphins are in jail right now, they need to be released.”
Your lips tighten, he leaves no room to argue. He never does.
Ain't another woman that can take your spot, my…
He turns with the same feline grin as bass pounds through the room. He turned the volume up on the speaker, the building empty, no one lingering around to hear it.
Your brows raise, a smile begging to curve your lips, “Justin Timberlake? Really?”
“Get up!” He yells, chest pumping to each beat, limbs fluid as his feet glide in your direction, “It’s just you and me, Shy-Shy. Come on.”
You push yourself up off the marley flooring reluctantly, and then you hear his voice.
“If I wrote you a symphony, just to say how much you mean to me,” he grabs your hands as soon as you get your footing, a scowl on your face as he pulls you towards him, “If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular?”
You can’t fight the smile that creeps over your cheeks this time, letting him guide you to the center of the room, still fighting your instinct that begs your body to move to the beat of the song. Bodies facing the mirror that stretches from one wall to the other, he glides behind you, his right hand still over yours, freeing your left.
“I can see us holdin' hands, walkin' on the beach, our toes in the sand. I can see us on the country side, sittin' on the grass, layin' side by side,” still holding your hand, you sing with him as he guides you, his left hand on your hip. “You can be my baby, let me make you my lady, girl, you amaze me. Ain't gotta do nothin' crazy, see, all I want you to do is be my love.”
You’re giggling at first, moving with him, singing loudly in the studio, until he spins you around, two hands on your hips, holding you close.
Ain't another woman that could take your spot, my love…
Your smile falters, lips parting as you stare up at him, breath stolen from your chest. His hoodie had fallen, leaving his hair visibly messy over his face, a smile so true, chocolate eyes holding half of your heart, you remember who he is. Jung Wooyoung, roommate, best friend, coworker, he’s so many things to you, but not yours.
Is this some kind of sick joke?
Like he can read your thoughts, like he’s trying to make you forget, he twists you back around. Two hands on your hips, knees bent and legs spread, you follow suit, watching each other in the mirror. Your outfits look planned, your sweats baggy and low, hoodie tucked up, hair that was once in a bun now halfway spilling down your cheeks, you let your body flow. Allowing your mind to go blank, you let yourself feel the music, your hips sway with his, your movements clean, you dance together like you choreographed it.
“There you go,” he’s grinning again, nodding, encouraging, “my love, my love, my love.”
Four minutes and thirty-six seconds feels like a lifetime, yet no time at all. You and Wooyoung, your bluetoothed brains, and Justin Timberlake in the studio nearing eleven at night, you ended the song out of breath, staring at each other from feet away, as if you’re twenty-five all over again when San had just opened the studio. Brain cleared, endorphins released, you did feel lighter– not better, but lighter, like Wooyoung reached into your mind and took the edge off himself.
“Feel better?” He’s smiling, chest heaving, hands on his hips, one knee bent with the other holding his weight.
You nod, tugging on your ponytail to free your hair, just to pull it up all over again. Walking toward him, you’re still out of breath, “We should have recorded that.”
“We can do it again,” he offers, “although I don’t think we’ll ever reach that level of synchronicity without choreography again.”
You laugh, a lighthearted thing, “No, I think that was the extent of our bluetooth abilities.”
He takes a step forward, throwing his arms out to wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I missed dancing with you.”
He smells like home, woodsy, spicy, sweaty– you can’t help the way you drink him in, letting the smell of him calm something primal, something integral in your soul.
Wooyoung is convinced you’re the only person in the world that can steal the breath from his lungs just by looking at him. Your arms wrapped around his torso, chin tucked into his chest, looking up at him with those big eyes he could get lost in, his breath catching in his throat is a verbal sound. He can feel the heat in the base of his spine, he settles into your touch as it spreads through him like wildfire, his heart picking up speed, pounding harder against his chest.
Holding you like this, wanting you like this, like he has since the day he first saw you– around a fire, in the backyard of a house party at Seonghwa’s place, sat next to San with a cute, shy little smile on your cheeks. He thought you were San’s girlfriend, he assumed it from the way you looked at each other, spoke to each other. Stars in your eyes, a soft, comforting tenderness in your voice that turned your words into song, Wooyoung thought he’d lost before he even entered the game.
But then he watched San leave your side for the pretty brunette from his dance class, the guy Wooyoung kept his eye on, taller than San, muscular, beautiful. Mere minutes went by before San kissed him, and even if San was shorter, smaller, Wooyoung watched as he dominated the kiss, hands in his hair, making the taller man cower for him. Obey him, even just in a kiss.
Then you stood, sauntering over in your ripped denim that hugged your ass perfectly, one hand on San’s shoulder had him pulling away fully, dimples out in a smile, face flushed with a hazy, lustful stare. You talked, talked, and talked before San was grabbing you by the hand, the man following behind you both as you left. The three of you, together, you left together.
Wooyoung was left confused– aroused, curious, hopeful, but still so fucking confused. He asked around, Yeosang told him the nature of your relationship, that San’s known you forever, that you do that sometimes. Casually. You weren’t dating– but you fucked. Other people. Together.
Wooyoung wanted to be next.
He wanted you. He wanted San. He wanted both of you. Carnally.
But that day never came. He formed a friendship with you easily, with San easily, the three of you becoming a trio that did everything together, but your hobby, your past-time after a party, never included him. In fact, it stopped altogether when Wooyoung became involved.
It’s not like he didn’t try, he’s flirty by nature, it comes as easily to him as breathing, but eventually he accepted that your relationship, your friendship, had taken root in something platonic. It bloomed into the best thing that’s ever happened to him, two people that love him fully, unconditionally, but by the time he moved into your shared apartment, he had to pluck the petals off the basis of his interest– his arousal, his want, his need, tucked away in his back pocket like it was never there to begin with.
It became easy, over time, until San kissed him for the first time, restarting all the work he’s done, placing him back at square one. Three in the morning in the kitchen of the apartment, the only light over the sink, dimmed and low, San took Wooyoung by his cheeks and made him feel like San wanted him the whole time, too.
And he did, Wooyoung learned. And he still wanted you. So did Wooyoung.
“I missed it, too,” you whisper, your face too close, he has to swallow down his instinct, every fiber of his being that tells him to fucking kiss you. Dancing with you, it’s something the two of you used to do often when San first opened the studio, when you weren’t as busy, as successful as you are now.
Sometimes San was included, in the corner of the room, correcting your form with a smile on his dimpled cheeks, amusement on his tongue, sometimes he was dancing with you, too. Late into the night, sometimes a few seltzers added into the mix, those nights Wooyoung could have sworn there was an understanding between the three of you, that there was a layer of arousal, of want, those nights Wooyoung prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d repeat history with him. For him. The way you looked at him, the glint in your eye, even now, more often than not you looked at Wooyoung like you wanted him to pin you to the floor beneath you.
For years that look has given him hope, that eventually something will happen, something will bloom between the three of you. It won’t just be him and San pining over you while they try to fill the gap with each other.
He hasn’t seen that look once since you caught him with San. You said you were fine, okay, that their relationship doesn’t bother you, that you’re happy for them– and there’s truth to it somewhere, Wooyoung assumes the truth is mixed into the lies, that you weren’t completely bullshitting him, the only reason they tried to set you up with Yunho is because they were convinced it’d never happen with you. They gave up. At least Yunho was a nice guy.
His arms lift from your shoulders to push your hair away from your face, stray pieces that had fallen even if you’d just put it up, barefaced, maybe some mascara on your lashes, he’s stunned the way he always is. So beautiful it makes his stomach hurt, your skin soft in his palms, warm in such an inviting way, he doesn’t want to let go. His voice tumbles out small, “You’re so pretty, Shy.”
Your heart skips a beat in your chest. His eyes look so soft, a fond smile on his lips while his eyes glance at yours like he was going to kiss you, while he looks at you like he loves you, he does love you– it’s different. It looks different. Chest turning tight, stomach doing a flip, your arms uncurl from around his waist, you break away from him quickly like he burned you, the loss of warmth hits hard even if you were the one who enforced it. “You shouldn’t do that,” your tone comes out harsher than you wanted it to, voice slightly broken, stressed. Panicked.
Wooyoung’s brows furrow, “What? I- Shy.”
“It’s disrespectful,” you don’t know why you’re speaking, where this is coming from. Your throat is tight, heart pounding against your breastplate, you bring your hand up to lay where it’s bursting from your chest. “You can’t do things like that anymore, Woo,” you’re avoiding his eye, head shaking rapidly, voice panicked and wary beyond control, “not anymore.”
“I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”
Wooyoung is pacing around San’s room, shirtless, his hair sticking out in every which way atop his head, oily after work, even more so from how many times he’s ran his hands through it. San, on his bed, also shirtless, briefs loose on his hips, wears furrowed brows and a solemn downcurve of his lips after hearing the story Wooyoung frantically woke him up to tell him.
The younger man ripped his hoodie and his tee off his upper half upon entering the room, crawling onto San’s bed, shaking him awake. Eyes barely closed, he’d just fallen asleep, blinked awake upon the first shake of his shoulders, “Woo? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I think Shy hates me,” his face was red even in San’s dark room, brows furrowed and voice panicked in a way he hadn't heard in a long time.
San sits up halfway, turning over to face Wooyoung, “What? No she doesn’t, what happened?”
“We were at the studio, we danced, I called her pretty and she freaked out,” Wooyoung sits back, his breaths quick and uneven between his words, he toys with his fingers in his lap, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. “She called me disrespectful, Sannie, she said I can’t do that anymore, I don’t know what happened San, I–”
“Baby,” San reaches to put a hand on his cheek, taking note of how hot he felt, “calm down, breathe. Don’t say anything, breathe with me for a few and then we can talk, okay?”
Wooyoung’s first breath is shaky, panicked, like he couldn’t suck down air fast enough, couldn’t get it deep enough. San sits up fully, pressing a hand onto his diaphragm, keeping the other soft on his cheek, “Breathe, baby.”
A few counted breaths until he sounded even, one singular hot tear rolling down his cheek onto San’s palm, the older man leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. “No matter what, she doesn’t hate you, okay? Tell me what happened.”
Wooyoung takes another two breaths before speaking, telling him the story from the start. How you looked at him like you were offended, like he’d just done the worst thing in the world, how you didn’t speak to him the entire subway ride home. How when you walked inside the apartment you barely greeted Sweetie, instead you silently gave him a treat from the counter before bringing him to your room, closing the door behind you. You didn’t even look at him, like he wasn’t beside you the whole time.
Mid-story he’d jumped off the bed, began pacing back and forth on San’s carpeted bedroom floor, speaking a mile a minute, each word edged with panic like he’d done something despicable.
“She hates me,” he finally stood in the middle of the room, voice cracking, “I made her hate me because I couldn’t control myself.”
“No, Woo,” San shakes his head, voice soft and comforting, “knowing her, she thinks our dynamic changed. To her, we’re off-limits now, we can’t act the way we always have, can’t flirt and touch and do all the things that make us, us.”
He starts pacing again, hands running through his hair, tugging at his roots. San can barely see more than his shadow in his dark room, but he doesn’t need to see to know what look is on Wooyoung’s face, how his brows tie together, how he tucks his lips together, face splotched red.
“I don’t want that!” Wooyoung keeps his voice a low cry, “I don’t want us to change. This isn’t what I wanted to happen, I want her to want us, I want her.”
“Come here,” San keeps his voice calm, steady. Wooyoung walks over, standing between San’s legs, one of his hands still in his hair. San leans forward, plants his palms on Wooyoung’s hips, “She has no idea how we feel about her, Woo. She’s trying to be fair, to keep her distance so she doesn’t hurt either of us. You know how her head works, baby.”
“What if she doesn’t forgive me?” The way his voice breaks is like a shot through San’s heart. But San knows you better, he knows your mind, knows your soul, he’s known you since you gained consciousness, he’s watched them form, learned you as you grew.
“There’s nothing to forgive you for, baby,” San whispers, tugging the younger man towards him, forcing his knees onto the bed, to bracket around his hips. He brings a hand up, petting his hair, sliding down to cup Wooyoung’s cheek, bringing him closer, “Everything is okay.”
Wooyoung presses his lips into San’s, hands landing on his broad shoulders, his body melting into San’s touch, finding comfort in his hard, broad body, his own sinking into him. Wooyoung’s hands travel to find his neck, his cheeks, deepening the kiss, his tongue poking out to slide into San’s mouth, still light, steady.
Until San’s length twitches under Wooyoung, making the younger man smile into his mouth, “Yeah? Hard already?”
“Don’t tease me,” San is breathless, their lips still touching, “I’m supposed to be making you feel better.”
“Ah,” Wooyoung’s tone is still teasing, his grin spreading into a smirk, “I know how you can make me feel better.”
San snorts, head tipping back until he falls back onto the bed, letting Wooyoung crawl on top of him, his head tilting as Wooyoung leans his head down, pressing a kiss to one of San’s pecs, soft hands roaming his torso. Body shivering, San keeps his voice light, “Did you freak out just to fuck me? A ploy, huh?”
San can make the outline of Wooyoung’s scowl as he stares up at him, making San chuckle, Wooyoung bites down on his skin and he hisses. “I was stressed,” Wooyoung’s voice is sharp, “I still am stressed, but now I’m kinda horny and it’s your fault.”
San laughs again, hands coming up to tangle in Wooyoung’s hair, pulling him upward, “I’m sorry baby, I'll fix it for you, yeah?”
Thirty minutes rolling around in the sheets, keeping their voices quiet, their movements slow but not any less tantalizing, Wooyoung is filled, sated, skin sticky against San’s as he lays on the older man’s chest, dozing off to the sound of his heartbeat.
Despite being woken up by Wooyoung, it’s harder for San to find sleep now, mind muddled with thoughts about you. Analyzing Wooyoung’s story, the details, how you looked at him– he wondered if there was a small chance you felt the same way towards them.
While you were still in college, you and San had moments where lines blurred, he can still remember the nights where you brought someone home just to barely touch them. So wrapped up in each other, lost in pleasure, you almost forgot there was a third person there to play with. It didn’t just happen once, not even twice, it happened enough times to where you had to stop after the third person left angry and unsatisfied, an unsettling feeling floating around the room that neither of you had the balls to address.
Always light, always casual, you explored pleasure together, different positions, different kinks, different dynamics for so long– he blamed those days on you two being young, horny, rabid animals, looking for a good fuck, a new skill to add to your arsenal. It was around the time you two met Wooyoung, San thinks, when that night happened, the last time you touched each other sexually. Still to this day, unspoken, swept beneath the rug.
San sometimes wonders if the lines blurred sooner, he’s loved you since you were young, in high school even, it’s petrified him since he was a teenager to tell you how he feels. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he told you, and your friendship ended? He couldn’t bear a life without you, he doesn’t know a life without you.
Maybe he figured one day his feelings would dissipate into thin air, that he didn’t need you to love him back, that as long as he never told you, you’d still be friends. But then you fucked. And then you fucked again. And you kept fucking until San realized he’d never be satisfied with anyone else, that he needed you, he needed you to love him back, he needed to treat you how you deserved.
When you stared at him with wide eyes, crawled off the bed with shaky legs, retreating back to your room without a word, San almost laughed at himself. At his feelings. Because why would you ever love him back? He's watched you grow up, each phase, your best and your worst, that’s friend zone material, at least in his younger, twenty-something year old mind.
But you never grew apart. And after the fucking stopped, the makeouts, the lazy hookups, the people you both thought were sexy and sought out together, it seemed to have added yet another layer of strength to your relationship. Vulnerability. A closeness you should never, ever have with a friend as close as you two are, it never ends well.
Years later, still in the same boat. He still loves you the same. He still wants you the same. Somehow he got comfortable without the intimacy— or without the sexual aspect, he should say, because your relationship was full of intimacy. It never really bothered him, he never really yearned for more, until it was three in the morning and he had his fist wrapped around his cock with only you in his mind.
Then he had Wooyoung, the sole person he’s entrusted with his feelings, sputtering words between Wooyoung’s tongue pushing between his lips, so obviously confessing feelings that he’s kept trapped inside for over a decade, just to find out Wooyoung feels the same way. That he’s also wanted you since he laid eyes on you.
It was confusing, the lack of possession, of jealousy in his gut. He already knew he wanted Wooyoung, living with the younger man only made him love him more, their friendship was already blurring lines the day they met. For awhile San thought maybe you felt it too, that maybe you saw how Wooyoung looked at you, maybe you realized San had never started treating you differently. That he loved you, that Wooyoung loved you, and it wasn’t all platonic.
He wonders if you love them back. If there’s even a small, microscopic part of you that wants them, more than friendship, more than sex, even. Not that he’d decline you if you proposed sleeping together. For a week now, your spark’s been gone, the twinkle in your big, doe eyes you wear like an accessory was replaced with something dull, something sad. You blamed it on the date with Yunho— but was that really the truth? You barely told them any details, you kept it vague, you even blamed that on not wanting to think about it, talk about it.
As he settles into the mattress beneath Wooyoung, one arm curled up to hold his head close to his chest, he wonders if you’re asleep in the other room, dreaming of more, too.
“It’s fine,” you smile weakly at Wooyoung whose head is burrowing into your chest like he’d crawl inside and make a home there if you let him. “I’m sorry I gave you the silent treatment, I just freaked out a little.”
His voice is muffled by your hoodie, your chest that his head was buried in, “Don’t apologize, please don’t apologize to me, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Woo,” you forced out a chuckle, flexing your body on the old, brown leather couch that he was forcing you deeper into, “look at me.”
He picks his head up, his pretty, bronzy, bare face is littered by splotches of cherry. You ruffle his hair, smelling your shampoo, a blend of grapefruit and vanilla, “I’m not mad, it’s fine. Let’s just be done with it, put it past us, okay?”
Wooyoung pouts, but he nods, then lays back on your chest all over again. You groan, shifting your body to get comfortable under his weight, wondering how the fuck they were hooking up on this thing when you have to fight for your life to get comfortable on it.
“Sannie,” you shout into the open, living room air, “come get your boyfriend off of me!”
Wooyoung gasps, picking his head up to shout towards the hallway, “Don’t! I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Your head tips back in a laugh, knees bent up on either side of his body that’s dead weight on top of you, arms caging you in against the couch. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“You’re warm, let me stay,” he nuzzles his head into your hoodie further, his voice a sated mumble.
You smack your teeth, eyeing the pink princess blanket between your bodies, “You’re laying on top of the blanket and you don’t have clothes on.”
Shirtless, briefs on his legs, he snickers, guilty as charged. “You’re the only heat I need, baby.”
“Woo.”
“Too soon?” He picks his head up, brows lifted and eyes apologetic, “I’m sorry.”
San comes out of the hallway, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water sinking down his temples, onto his bare shoulders, his chest from his still-soaked hair. It makes your breath stutter in your chest the way it always does, he’s so effortlessly perfect it makes you miss touching him, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers, sinking your nails into his strong, hard muscles. He smiles when he sees you, dimples prominent, he says nothing as he crosses the room with bare feet, nothing on his body but gray sweats on his legs.
“Don’t you dare,” you warn, seeing the twinkle of mischief in his eye, how his grin turns from soft to playful.
He ignores you by crawling onto the couch, shoving you into the back of it so he can take up the side, the couch just big enough to squeeze the three of you, only if San’s strength is on the outside to keep you boxed in.
You yelp as your body sinks into the couch, “San! I was comfortable.”
“You’re only comfortable on the L part,” San quips, body nuzzling into yours, Wooyoung giggling from below you.
“The chaise?” You snort, eyes flickering up to his that stare right back, “we’ve had two sectionals since we got this apartment, and you don’t know it’s called a chaise?”
He giggles, “I don’t care what it’s called, I just know that you like it.”
“And you only sit in the corner,” Wooyoung adds, his head sinking down to lay on your stomach. Your ankles cross over his back as his arms curl under yours, more comfortable now that you’re tangled, his arms taking pressure off your lower back.
“Let’s stay like this forever,” San doesn’t give you time to answer, squeezing in closer, pushing you and Wooyoung further to the back of the couch. He smells like his bodywash, sweet and soft, you would stay forever if you could.
Your voice comes out strangled under the pressure of his body, “We’re gonna have to, because soon I’ll be dead. You’re gonna kill me if you keep pushing me into the couch, Sannie.”
“I just want to keep you here,” he pouts, squishing his face closer until his nose presses against your cheek, “if I let you go, you’ll run away.”
His wet hair bleeds into the pillow, quickly spreading to where your head lays, it brushes against the side of your head the closer he gets, it’s cold. You squirm, “Your hair is freezing, Sannie, holy shit, there’s too much happening right now.”
San whines, but he rolls off the couch, landing on one steady foot, standing up. You suck in a breath, but your pillow’s already soiled, you frown. He grins.
“I’m going to the studio,” he says swiftly, “come with me, I have a few things to do before the day starts.”
You groan, lip lifting in protest, “I don’t have a rehearsal ‘til six.”
“Lucky,” Wooyoung mumbles, “Mine’s at four.”
“I know when yours is,” you mumble back, “I was gonna enjoy my alone time.”
“Freak,” San teases, a smile playing on his lips, amused at what he insinuated.
Wooyoung’s laugh is loud, piercing through the room, “That was a good one.”
Your brows raise, deadpanning, “And what if you’re right, hm? What then?”
They both turn to look at you, faces serious, both silently asking really?
It’s your turn to laugh, head tipping back into the pillow, and they both groan, San walking away, Wooyoung pushing off of you. It makes you laugh harder, talking through it, “Come on, that was a good one, you should have seen your faces.”
“Are you seriously not gonna come?” San, brows raised, asks from the entry to the hallway. “We can stop for food on the way, the three of us can hangout before everyone else shows up.”
You make a show of shaking your head back and forth, “I have shit to do here before work.”
Wooyoung smacks his teeth, “Like what? Laundry?”
You flatten your lips, “Have you seen the mountain of clothes in my room?”
San snorts, disappearing into the hallway, and Wooyoung finally climbs off the couch, “Fine, do your laundry, but I know you’ll miss us.”
“I’ll miss you so bad,” you’re wearing a smile now, watching him with lazy eyes as he follows behind San into the hallway, disappearing into the shadow of the walls.
Your smile falters, settling, before a frown takes its place. Soon enough, probably sooner than you think, you’re sure you won’t be able to do this anymore– spend so much time with them, cuddle with them, live with them, eventually they’ll grow sick of you, they’ll only want each other.
There’s already no room for you in their relationship, and with time, you’re sure the space they’ve carved out for you will dwindle to nothing. Looking across the room, you find Sweetie sunbathing beneath the window, his head politely tucked over his paws, the sun casting a shiny glow over his black coat, the sight makes you smile. You call him over and immediately he’s jumping onto the couch, laying on you where Wooyoung had just been, replacing the warmth he’d ripped away.
“At least I have you,” you whisper, smiling, fingers scratching under his ears.
“Yunho!” Wooyoung all but whispers, his loud voice carrying down the aisle, perking his tall friends’ ears. The older man whips his head around in confusion, smiling when he sees Wooyoung and San, giving them a small wave before walking down the aisle to greet them properly.
Stopping in a mid-sized corner store, the halfway point between the studio and home, San made good on his promise to pick up food on the way into work; Wooyoung was already giddy before seeing Yunho, this corner store was his favorite, it sold his favorite energy drink.
“Whatsup?” Yunho’s grin is wide as he clasps the hand of both men, pulling them both into a hug, landing a smack on their backs. “You guys going to Steer on Friday? I heard it’s got a weird industrial, mechanical vibe to it, I don’t know. Joong seems pretty hype about it.”
San and Wooyoung both nod, but it’s San who answers, “Yeah, yeah, we wouldn’t miss it.”
“Sounds weird, though,” Wooyoung adds, “do you know if the drinks are cheap?”
“Three bucks a beer,” Yunho’s tongue pokes out from between his teeth, nodding, and the three men erupt into what can only be described as men-turned-pelicans finding an endless pit of fish to feed on.
They’re all smiles and laughter until Yunho asks if you’re going, which sparks the two men’s memory, Wooyoung and San’s backs standing a little straighter, entering Shy-defense-mode.
“I…” San begins, then turns to Wooyoung.
Wooyoung, already staring at him, blinks, then turns to Yunho, “Maybe?” He gives it a second, then blurts, “Can I just ask what happened between you two?”
San’s lips tighten, head falling until his chin tucks into his chest. They shouldn’t have asked, Wooyoung shouldn’t have asked, but he can’t help his curiosity– he wants to know, too. They haven’t gotten anything besides vague answers from you.
Yunho’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. It makes San curious, too curious for his own good, he adds, “We won’t say anything, she just won’t tell us anything, and we’re worried about her, y’know?”
Yunho’s chin tilts in defense, brows flattening, “I didn’t– it was just–”
“We’re not accusing you of anything bad,” Wooyoung waves his hands out in front of him, eyes wide, chucking nervously. “Shy said you were really great to her, it just didn’t work out, or something. She cried for like an entire day after and wouldn’t tell us any more details.”
San frowns with remembrance, how you shut yourself away and wouldn’t let them in, figuratively and literally. When Wooyoung’s hand falls to his side, San grabs it, giving him an encouraging squeeze, the two meeting eyes with small, fond smiles painted on their cheeks. Yunho’s eyes lock on the action, on their smiles, confusion morphing his features, everything scrunching together at once.
“What?” San asks, “Was everything okay? You’re both being so ominous about it.”
“Us?” San asks, surprised, eyes wide and brows high.
San and Wooyoung share a look, then reluctantly, they nod. Wooyoung smiles, “Yeah, we’re together.”
“Like, just the two of you?” Yunho has a finger pointed, dancing between the two of them.
San’s head turns in question, “Yes?”
Yunho’s jaw drops, nodding slowly, then with a pitched, disbelieving tone, he mumbles, “No shit.”
“I know,” San nods with a knowing smile, thinking he’s got all of Yunho’s thoughts figured out. “Long time coming, though.”
“It’s been like, a little over a week of us being together officially,” Wooyoung adds, his grin proud and wide, “but it’s been good so far. We’re happy.”
“Does she know?” Yunho asks, his face quickly settling back into confusion.
Wooyoung’s lips purse, “Yeah, she knows. Why?”
Yunho nods slowly again like he’s thinking, then shakes his head quickly when Wooyoung’s question settles. “No reason, just wondering. Anyways, I’ve really gotta run, I’ve got this thing that I’m already late to and… art, and you know, yeah. Bye.”
“Wait, you didn’t–”
“Sorry guys, see you Friday though, yeah?” Yunho gives them a brief smile, then scurries down the aisle like Wooyoung and San were about to put the plague in his palms.
Wooyoung and San stand there for a second, brows furrowed, heads tilted, before they look at each other utterly dumbfounded. Wooyoung points down the aisle, “Was that homophobic?”
San, still confused, responds, “Perhaps.”
“Hm,” Wooyoung’s eyes thin, “could’ve sworn him and Mingi fucked before.”
“I thought so too,” San squeezes his hand again, “who cares? We can snitch on him Friday.”
Wooyoung’s grin returns, laughing loud enough for the whole bodega to hear, “Imagine Hongjoong’s face.”
“Hongjoong would beat the shit out of him with one hand, Naoya style.”
The more San thinks about it, the more he thinks Yunho might not actually be homophobic at all.
“Don’t call me schizophrenic.”
Wooyoung snorts, “Are you about to say something that will make me think you’re schizophrenic?”
“Maybe,” San responds, lips scrunched. Sitting at the receptionist desk at the front of the studio, the final piece of San’s thought process clicked into place when you brushed past them into your studio for rehearsal. “I think Shy might love us back.”
Wooyoung, sitting fully on the desk beside San, wears a white tank on his upper half, exposing the tattoo on his forearm, black sweats on his lower, hiding each inch of bronzy, toned muscle. He’s housing a granola bar, his knees spread, back hunched, brows raised as he watches San think.
“That interaction with Yunho was kinda weird,” San begins, leaning back into the rolling computer chair, hands lazily thrown at the center of his spread thighs. In all black, his clothes look painted on, tee clinging to his chest, his arms, his torso, sweats exposing the breadth of his thighs.
“We knew this already,” Wooyoung nods, sticking out his free hand in a rolling motion, “let’s skip to the Shy part.”
“What if she was crying the whole day after her date with Yunho because of us?” His eyes flicker up to look at Wooyoung, who only raises a brow. “What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”
“Why would she even go on the date then?”
San deadpans, “Did she want to even go on that date?”
Wooyoung slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, “Oh my god, she definitely did not want to go on that date. What if she didn’t work out with Yunho because she wants us, and she told Yunho all about it?”
San rolls his eyes, and then literally rolls the chair away from Wooyoung who tips his head back in laughter. “I’m sorry, come back,” he says through his laughter, “please? I’ll stop, I’m sorry. It just sounds like we’re grasping for straws here.”
“Why else would Yunho be so weird about us being together?” San continues, rolling the chair until he’s between Wooyoung’s spread legs, he lays both palms on his knees. “And when he asked ‘just the two of you’? Come on, he basically told us the whole damn story.”
Wooyoung holds onto his granola bar with two hands, eyes closing as he terribly sings, “Just the two of us… We can make it if we try, just the two of us…”
“Listen to me, Wooyoung. I’m being serious.”
It seems to lock him back in, Wooyoung meeting San’s eye, his back straightening a little. San’s lips perk upward, his groin opening an eye at the easy display of submission– not the time.
“Okay, fine. But I do think you’re a little insane and grasping for straws.”
San smacks his teeth, “I’ll prove it to you, then.”
“Yeah?” Wooyoung cracks a smile, “How are you gonna do that? That night in the studio set us back, like, five years.”
“You don’t know her like I know her,” San sits back in the computer chair again, smirk crawling its way onto his cheeks, his arms crossing over his chest.
Wooyoung scowls, “Are you flexing on me right now?”
“No!” San shakes his head, “I’m just saying, I think I could get her to crack if she does want us back.”
“And why would you do it any better than I could?” Wooyoung’s voice is sharper, “I wanted her to begin with, you know.”
“And I was fucking her before you ever laid eyes on her,” San responds in the same tone, “don’t get cocky with me, not when it comes to this.”
Wooyoung’s brows raise, back arching ever so slightly at the tone of San’s voice. There’s amusement playing in his words as he says, “Wow, never thought I’d see the day you get possessive.”
“With you, there’s no reason to, it’s not a competition,” San shrugs, “besides right now. You struck a nerve.”
Wooyoung smiles, hopping down from the desk to place a fat kiss on San’s lips, “You love me.”
San’s dimples are on display in a smile as he lifts his arms to grab Wooyoung by his cheeks, leaning up off the chair to kiss the younger man again, “That I do.”
“You’re really gonna try?” Wooyoung asks again, leaning against the counter, his legs crossed between San’s as he takes another bite of his granola bar. “Even after my studio debacle with her?”
San nods, “I’m optimistic about it, I know, but I really do think I’m right.”
San learned to enjoy cooking before he learned to enjoy being in the gym. Him and his mother in the kitchen, teaching him recipes she’s carried through her years learned from her own mother, to recipes he’s learned from cookbooks and the internet that fall within the strict guidelines of his diet.
It turned from sustainability to passion— cooking became a love language before he knew it, and the main reason is because he’s always loved cooking for you most. More so since the two of you moved in together, even more so when Wooyoung moved in, too. Cooking for the three of you, to eat at the kitchen table, on the couch, even if he was dropping off plates to you in your bedrooms… San loved it. Adored it.
For you to enjoy something he made for you warmed his blood until it sizzled with affection, to know he was making a good, hearty, healthy meal to nourish you, he never thought cooking, of all things, would make him realize how deeply he’s in love.
It’s a constant reminder every time his bare feet touch the tiled floor of the kitchen that he loves you, that he loves Wooyoung. Tonight it feels stronger, but maybe that’s the two glasses of wine and his pink cheeks talking. The way you’re dancing about the kitchen, twirling in nothing but a big tee, singing along to the song playing from the speaker you keep in the kitchen— the confession is laying right below his skin, on the tip of his tongue, begging to be set free. After his realization, a bubble of hope so big you could pop it with a fingernail, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it in.
You’re laughing at something he said, his tipsy mind doesn’t even know what it was, but your laugh is so loud and so involuntary it squeezes the life out of his lungs. He wants to pick you up and put you on the counter, his hands on your perfect thighs as your ankles hook around his back, he wants to kiss you. He wants to feel you laugh into his mouth. He misses you.
“I don’t want to talk about me at eighteen,” you shake your head, still giggling. Your hair is in a bun atop your head, messy, pieces hanging out like you tied it without looking in the mirror. Barefaced, no pants, no bra, this is his favorite version of you, the one that doesn’t care, the one that’s perfectly comfortable being in your own skin.
“Why not? I loved you at eighteen, too,” San turns back around before his cock begins stirring in his pants— he stirs the pot on the stove, instead.
You come up behind him, on your tippy toes to place your chin on his shoulder. Still smiling, teeth stained with a faint, deep red, “Yeah? You loved me, huh?”
San knows it’s the wine talking, you’d never be so bold otherwise. He doesn’t even think you’re being serious. But, being himself, his brows dance above his eyes as he says, “Of course I did, I still love you.”
You roll your eyes, smile faltering for just a second before it returns with vengeance, “I thought you meant you loved me, you goof.”
Should he just say it? Should he? His back straightens a little. Uneasy, voice a little shaky, he tries, “I did, I had a– a huge crush on you when we were eighteen.”
Your eyes blow wide, spinning around next to him to press your back up against the counter, palms folding around the edge. Surprised, but a little disbelieving, your jaw drops, “No way.”
“I’m serious!” I still have it to this day. “When you dated that one guy— fuck, what was his name?”
“Mark.”
“Mark, that’s it. When you dated him senior year, I was so mad, I can remember being at graduation and being so fucking jealous that you were kissing him for pictures.”
You gasped out a laugh, mortified, shocked, stomach dropping with what you could have had, “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was I supposed to say?” San steps to the side, half of his body taking up all of yours. He pretends like he doesn’t notice how small you are beneath his body. “‘Hey Shy, I know we’ve known each other all our lives, but in the past few years I’ve actually formed a gigantic huge crush on you. Sorry if it ruins the friendship.’”
“Exactly that, yes,” you’re laughing again, nodding, head tilting to the side as you look up at him with those fucking eyes. He loves them, so big and full of knowledge, experience, maturity and grace that is only expressed in the most you way. In a quieter voice, like you’re afraid to say it, you mumble, “I guess that explains college then, huh?”
There’s a pit in his stomach, one full of gasoline, and you just dropped a lit match down his throat without even realizing it.
“There’s a lot that could explain college,” San smirks, one dimple arriving at the scene, moving so he’s fully standing in front of you, caging you in between himself and the counter. He presses his hands into the ledge, voice teasing, light and airy, “Like how we wanted each other, and were using a third person as an excuse?”
Your smile falters, eyes widening. You swallow, San watches as your throat bobs, breath turning shallow, chest rising and falling beneath your tee. He can’t help the way his smirk grows, liquid confidence and too much optimism making his arm raise to brush a thumb over your cheek, reveling in how you twitch under his touch, eyelids fluttering. He remembers this body like it was his own, how you react to him, what gets your panties wet, what makes your toes fucking curl. He wants to show you how much he remembers you.
“Are you guys talking about college again?”
You gasp loudly, jumping, body slithering out of San’s clutch and into the open floorplan of the kitchen, all in a few quick, panic-driven movements. With a hand clutched over your heart, you’re out of breath, “Fuck, Woo, you scared me.”
“I could feel the jealousy simmering in my bones, I knew you had to be talking about college,” he’s leaning against the archway, playful smirk on his lips, golden skin gleaming beneath the warm light of the kitchen. Shirtless, body on display, an ankle crossed over the other with a pair of baggy basketball shorts on… fuck Wooyoung for interrupting him, but fuck, San might actually get hard with the both of you half-dressed.
You roll your eyes, taking two steps before you press your back against the other side of the counter, using your palms to lift you up over the edge. Exactly how San wants you, how he imagined you, his breath catches in his throat. He turns back around instead of dwelling on it.
“Shut up, Woo,” he hears you mumble, “those days have long ended. Should’ve met us earlier.”
Wooyoung whines, uncurling his arms from his chest to walk further into the kitchen, stopping in front of you with his palms pressed to your knees, “What, you don’t miss it, Shybaby? Not even a little?”
San turns the knob on the stove until the flame lowers to a small flicker, stirring the roux in the pot. He turns his head halfway, side-eyeing Wooyoung whose back is slightly arched as he stares up into you, hands now planted against the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs, so confident, not a shred of insecurity in him. San wonders how he’s managed a complete one-eighty from the night he woke him up to freak out. Maybe he’s really making this a competition.
You stiffen, eyes widening. Tipsy, but not drunk enough to admit something like that. A nervous laugh stutters from your lips, “I— What? Like I said, that ship has sailed. Those days are over. The baton has been passed to you, Woo.”
You use one hand on Wooyoung’s bare shoulder and the other pressed to the countertop to haul yourself off of it, landing swiftly on bare feet. Scrambling out of the kitchen towards the living room, you call over your shoulder, “Let me know when dinner’s ready, I’m gonna lay down, the wine went straight to my head, I think.”
Wooyoung waits a moment before he turns to stare at San, eyebrows flat. San tightens his lips, an insult in his eyes, whispering, “Why did you interrupt?”
Wooyoung crosses the kitchen, his voice a sharp whisper, “I thought you already did it. Do you know how it looked from over there?”
Leaving the roux, he leans up against the counter, arms crossing, “We would have been making out by now if you didn’t interrupt.”
“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whines, “it’s fine, just try again.”
San covers his face with his hands, “You know what?” His hands lay on his boyfriend’s shoulders, “What I just did will hit its mark, maybe if you try next, we can get the point across without having to actually say it. Then she will come to us.”
“If I try then she won’t have to come to us,” a cocky grin spreads across the younger man’s face, “it’ll be game-point. You’ll come home to find us fucking.”
San’s lips thin, but he doesn’t respond. At this point he doesn’t care how it happens, as long as it happens.
You thought the wine had left your system hours ago, after the meal Sannie made you, especially after a movie on the couch. The wine is the only explanation for your insides feeling warm and gooey— not the fact that across the hall, you could hear the squeaking of the mattress, the bedframe hitting the wall repeatedly, strangled moans leaving two men’s lips that you could tell they were trying to keep inside.
Sweetie slept on his bed on your floor, head buried in the gray plush, waking up every few minutes or so from an especially loud moan or a shrill bang of wood against wall. Even your fucking dog was losing sleep.
You’ve never heard them before, not once. Not once. Why tonight, after having both of their hands on you, their eyes staring into you, after the question Wooyoung asked? Do you miss it? The fear that zapped up on your spine was so intense you needed to lay down and close your fucking eyes.
Confusing as much as it was scary, Wooyoung speaks of jealousy, but asks you if you miss fucking his boyfriend? Was it a kink to them? Is that why they’re fucking now?
They get off on other people wanting them… Wanting each other… That had to be it. The jealousy aspect, of reclaiming one another, and they used you to do it of all people?! It’s worse than mean, it’s worse than rude, it’s cruel. Cruel to dangle their relationship in front of your face after flirting with you— even if flirting with you is all they’ve ever done.
You can remember meeting Wooyoung for the first time, sitting with him in a smoke circle, laughing your heart out when only three or four words had left his mouth. You ended up in tears, cheeks aching, lungs empty and dry, by the time everyone up and left and it was only the two of you left, he’d come onto you. Your first time meeting, even if he said he took notice of you far earlier, around that same smoke circle.
You can’t remember why you’d said no, how you rejected him. You had a feeling, maybe, that your relationship with him would grow far deeper than one night spent together in a cloud of hazy lust. Still to this day you remember that ache, laughing so hard you nearly gagged, eyes locked in on him, waiting for the next hilarious thing to leave his lips. It became routine, the next time you saw him out, the time Sannie introduced you to him when you already knew each other, when your name fell from his lips for the first time, Wooyoung has always, always looked at you with a certain look in his eye— like he was waiting for the smile to kiss your cheeks, for the laugh to fall from your lips.
You don’t remember exactly when your duo with San had turned to three. Wooyoung only moved in two years ago, but you’ve been close for years now, since that night around the smoke circle, passing three joints amongst nine people.
Maybe you were meant to become friends with him so he could end up with San, so the two of them could knock their headboard against your fucking wall and remind you that you’d never be on the inside.
It felt sour.
Yet for some reason, the hurt laying low in your tummy swam with the heat, the desire, curling into a pit of fire-hot pressure you couldn’t ignore. You’d already pushed the sheets off your body, already tugged your shirt up, desperate for air. You tried a pillow over your head, squeezing cotton against your ears. You went on your phone, scrolled Twitter, watched a few TikToks, tried your favorite ASMRtist.
Laying low in the background was them. Endless. San’s low grunts, Wooyoung’s pitched whines, they poured through the thin wall separating your rooms, surrounding you like wildfire. They were everywhere, in the air, on your skin, in your sheets, but the ache curled low, settling into nothingness because you could hear the pleasure but were feeling none of it.
You gasped as you heard it— one singular line gritted through San’s teeth, “Yeah? Gonna be good for me?”
You bent your knees up, head tipping back into the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. Your fingertips tapped against the bed, pushing a heavy sigh through pursed lips. That voice, his tone, the actions that accompany it, your memories are your personal hell. You could see them, Sannie bending Wooyoung in half, a foot planted on the bed as he drilled into him.
Then Wooyoung whimpered, “Yes, please. So good for you— I’ll be good, please, fuck me Sannie—”
Your lips parted, a shaky breath slipping through. Your body was steaming, ears straining to listen to every last fucking detail even if you didn’t want to hear any of it. Even if it hurt, you needed it like water, like air, so badly you wanted to get up out of bed and walk in there.
“That’s it,” San grunted, you could see the sweat beading between his pecs, “stay down, don’t fucking move.”
You bit your lip as your hands traveled to your thighs. Nails scraping against your skin, your nipples pebbled against the open air of your room, shame and embarrassment twisting with the rest of everything curling in your gut. Arousal, jealousy, rage, nostalgia, shame, hurt— you needed your panties off. It felt unethical, you should put on headphones, you should leave, you should do anything but dip two fingers into your panties.
You moaned as your fingers made contact with your clit. Immediately you clamped a hand over your mouth, back arching into your own touch, ignoring the flame of shame completely as your eyes fluttered closed. You eased yourself into the pleasure, breath picking up as Wooyoung’s moans grew louder, the smack of San’s hips landing harder.
Your other hand sank down to toy with a nipple while your fingers circled your clit in tight, rhythmic movements, eyelids twitching as their pleasure became your own. Timing your movements with theirs, lips parting when a moan sank through drywall, you let your mind drift, placing yourself in the fantasy.
Laying up against Sannie’s chest, Wooyoung between your thighs. On top of Wooyoung, hips circling his as Sannie pushed up against your back, hands on your chest, one sinking down to rub circles on your clit. Sitting on Sannie’s lap just like Wooyoung had the night you caught him, chests pressed together, hands in hair, hips mindlessly rutting together, Wooyoung on your back as if you really were between them that night.
The movie played in color in your mind, so vivid, like it was happening— with noise melting walls, it felt real. Lost in the pleasure, in the fantasy, you didn’t realize their volume had lowered, that their movements slowed.
“Sannie, stop, stop,” Wooyoung splayed a hand behind him, head perked up, face still twisted in pleasure, but his lips stayed parted like he couldn’t believe his ears.
“What?” Concerned, San had two palms on Wooyoung’s hips, pausing immediately, “Are you okay? What's wrong?”
“Listen,” Wooyoung whispered, like if he spoke too loud, you’d hear him. That you’d stop.
San’s brows furrowed, lips parting to question, but then he heard it. Small, faint whimpers, and then a moan— a genuine, raw, unbridled fucking moan, yours. He recognized it, he knows it, he’s forced it out of your lips, his hips grind into Wooyoung’s warmth out of instinct.
Wooyoung’s head dropped, arm bending until his elbow hit the mattress, a low moan spilling from his lips as his arm slipped between his thighs, tugging on his length. His voice comes out low, ragged, “I can’t believe this.”
“Fuck,” San cursed low, long, hips picking up again, slow but steady, quiet enough to hear your sounds float through the wall. “She– I–, Woo.”
“Yes,” Wooyoung whispered, moaned, hips fucking back onto San’s length in a nasty, slow grind, “wish she was in here, sh- it, want her hands on me.”
San’s fingertips squeezed into the plush of Wooyoung’s ass, face scrunching together in pleasure, a silent moan leaving his slacked jaw. The shock, the debrief would have to come later.
“You— you wanna fuck her while I fuck you? Hm?”
Wooyoung arched deeper, fisting his length faster, picking up speed all over again, drowning out your noise. San wasn’t faring much better, hips stuttering into Wooyoung, one hand sliding up to claw fingers into his boyfriend’s back.
San’s eyes stayed locked onto where the two met, watching how Wooyoung’s ass rippled with each harsh thrust of his cock, the end approaching too fucking fast.
A few more thrusts until he was hunched over, drooling onto Wooyoung’s back as he filled him up, Wooyoung’s release spilling all over the comforter beneath them. They didn’t even get as far as undoing the sheets.
Dinner, a few glasses of wine, a movie with too much touching, Wooyoung was already dirty talking San before they opened up the bedroom door. Cocky smirk on his pretty lips, head tilted, eyes sparkling, teasing him about you— oh, he was begging to get fucked. San’s been overly careful of your presence for awhile now, never too loud, keeping Wooyoung’s mouth on a tight leash when you’re home.
But Wooyoung pushed each and every button tonight, all concerning you. How he’d fuck you better, how you’d crack when he tried, how he’d treat you better than San, San put one hand around his throat and the rest unfolded in a mess of teeth, tongue and lube. To hear you through the wall, getting off to them, was the cherry on top. They needed to do something, now.
San ripped the comforter off the bed and crawled beneath the sheet, not caring if Wooyoung spilled into them as he settled over San’s chest, their breath still heavy, hearts still pounding.
“You seriously think she was getting off to us?” San asked Wooyoung, brows raised in innocence, in fear of what he thought to be true, being false. He kept his voice low, a small whisper.
Wooyoung, fully out of breath, chest still heaving and soaked in sweat, laughed. A hearty chuckle, he ran a hand through his hair, smile lingering, “Yes, baby. Bet she’s in there nervous as hell that we heard her.”
You sat up in your bed, chest heaving, eyes wide, right hand still shaky. Fuck. There’s no way they heard you, right? Too wrapped up in each other, they were loud, there’s no way they heard you over the sound of themselves. You looked over to Sweetie in panic, only easing when you saw his head still tucked into his half-torn bed, eyes closed, breathing even.
If Sweetie wasn’t bothered, then they definitely didn’t hear you.
You lay flat against your bed, mind whirling, so fucking confused because that was so hot but it wasn’t right. Masturbating to the sound of your two roommates, two best friends who were in a relationship fucking, it wasn’t morally correct, that you knew before your fingers slipped into your panties. Post-nut clarity seeping in, you’re met with regret, guilt, and the urge to give up.
Reminding yourself was painful– they don’t want you, they want each other. There’s no room for you in their relationship.
Maybe you’ll go with them to that fuckass bar tomorrow. Maybe Yunho will be there. Nothing could be worse than living with this.
San and Wooyoung had enough.
The morning after the multi-room sex debacle, you pretended like nothing happened. They supposed that to you, nothing did happen, you had no idea they heard you, and they weren’t going to say anything, either. You’d die of embarrassment if they brought it up, and they’ve come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be the best start of a blooming relationship. They at least thought you would question it, question them. But you didn’t.
Their patience was running thin.
The bar was loud, pop music floating through the space, a newer bar with an industrial look to it that left everything open. The ceilings showed the pipes, the walls looked to be something like steel, the decor had a very factory-mechanical vibe to it that they couldn’t quite explain– but the drinks were cheap and the music was good. With all of your friends here, they didn’t care much, anyhow, their main focus was that you wanted to be here, you wanted to blow off steam, let loose and let go after a hectic week.
They wondered how much of that excuse had to do with them.
You stood at the bar, one foot propped up on the exposed pipe lying at the base, tapping Wooyoung’s credit card against the bar. San leaned into him, their shoulders touching, both of their eyes locked in on you, watching like they always did. God forbid they took their eyes off of you.
“You guys are gonna go cross-eyed if you keep staring,” Seonghwa muttered from across the circular table, settled in the booth beside his boyfriend, Hongjoong.
“How could we not stare?” Wooyoung was quick to answer. “Have you seen her?”
“I thought you guys were together now,” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed, eyes bouncing between Wooyoung and San, fingers tapping against his glass, his draft beer halfway gone by now.
“We are,” San shrugged, “just trying to get her with us, too.”
Wooyoung snorted, “That’s one way to put it.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jongho interrupted, leaning forward between Mingi and Yeosang, separating the couple. “You’re trying to be in… what, a throuple?”
“Yeah,” San and Wooyoung answered at the same time, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Actually, I’m not even going to question it,” Yeosang shook his head, bringing the straw in his fruity cocktail up to his lips. “San’s always had a thing for her.”
Mingi leans forward, a smile on his pink lips, agreeing with his boyfriend immediately, “Right? I thought you guys would end up together, or really, I kinda thought you were secretly together this whole time.”
San’s cheeks, already pink, must have turned four shades darker. He didn’t have time to answer though, Hongjoong cutting in immediately, “Sounds messy. Does she know you want her?”
Wooyoung’s lips tighten as he shakes his head, “Don’t know, maybe.”
“Didn’t she just go on a date with Yunho?” Jongho asks, one of his brows popped.
San sighs, “That was before we knew she was interested in us, if she is.”
“She is interested in you?” Mingi looks completely confused.
“See?” Hongjoong shakes his head. “Messy.”
Wooyoung nudges San with his elbow, speak of the fucking devil, grabbing his boyfriend’s attention to watch Yunho approaching you at the bar, a pitstop on his way back from the bathroom. Immediately there’s a fire in his gut, jealousy spreading like wildfire to each nerve ending in his body, it doesn’t help that Yunho looks hot tonight. Baggy cargos on his legs, tight tee on his torso, oversized button down hanging loose off his shoulders, fuck him. Why is he approaching you like the two of you are friendly or something?
Last they heard, you didn’t want him, you wanted them. So why is Yunho talking to you like he’s hitting on you? Why is your hand on his forearm? What could he possibly be saying that makes your head tip back in laughter? Yunho isn’t even that funny.
There’s discomfort lining San’s eyebrows as he watches you lean into Yunho, seeming almost instinctive. He knows that look in your eye, the exact grin on your cheeks, what you’re insinuating even if he can’t hear a word falling from your glossy lips. He takes a slow breath, calming his heart rate before his mind warps what he sees into something completely different.
Yunho’s his friend. If his hypothesis is correct, he knows how you feel about them, how they feel about you, wait– did they even tell Yunho how they feel about you? San’s eyes widen in panic as he turns to Wooyoung who already looks like he’s settled in his decision, jealousy in the hinge of his clenched jaw, his fingers mindlessly swirling the straw in his drink.
San thinks they’re speaking around him, he can’t hear, he chooses not to listen. He watches as you lean forward, whispering something in Yunho’s ear. His chest feels heavy as Yunho looks down at the floor like he’s hiding flushed cheeks, an easy smile on his lips, body leaning closer to you as if San and Wooyoung weren’t sitting ten feet away.
They’ve had enough.
You were already smiling as Yunho approached you, having watched him make the few last steps to where you stood. “Hey stranger.”
“Hey,” he leans against the bar, “getting another drink?”
You flashed Wooyoung’s black card, a smirk on your cheeks, “Getting as many as I can stomach tonight.”
Yunho smacks his teeth, “Rough week?”
“You have no idea,” you say through an exhausted breath, “and you? Drinking tonight? I’m sure Woo won’t notice if I add another beer to his tab.”
Yunho’s eyes dance from the table back to you, “Oh, he’ll notice.”
“Trust me,” your lips scrunch together, disappointment on your face, “he won’t. He’s too focused on San.”
“They’re together?” Yunho lifts a brow, “like, together together?”
“Mhm,” you nod, tongue poking your cheek. “New development in the saga, I guess. Not a good one.”
“I’m sorry,” Yunho frowns, “I did not expect that.”
You’re still nodding until a sigh is pulled from your lungs, “It does leave me single, though, like super single…” Your eyes flicker up to him, blinking through heavy lashes.
Yunho snorts, “Yeah? Were you not super single before?”
You laugh, a breathy little thing, leaning closer to him, a hand mindlessly landing on his forearm. “I was, but there was hope before. Now there’s nothing, like super confirmed, nothing.”
“Super,” Yunho nods, laughter still playing on his lips like he was fighting it back. It leaves you both giggling like kids, a hand covering your mouth as your head tips back.
He looks pretty tonight, you realize. Undone, casual, like he didn’t put in too much effort. Baggy clothes on his body, hair a little disheveled, he looked comfortable. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in your system or the last bit of sanity you were clinging on to, but he looked… Different. Good, really good.
“Are you still super single?” The question slips from your lips before you can think about it.
Yunho’s brows raise, surprised, they quirk immediately after, confused. His eyes fly to the table, landing there for a moment before sliding back to you, “Oh,” he blinks, “oh. Yes, yeah, I’m still single.”
“Good,” you nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling the heat you were so desperately missing the night you went out on your date. You needed something, a good fuck, a drunk hookup, something to distract you from how fucking miserable you felt. Hopeless was the better word, after coming to the sound of them fucking you’d never felt more pathetic in your life, you needed change, something, anything.
“Do… you have plans after this?” Yunho’s face looked innocent, of all things. Like he wasn’t sure if he should be asking the question, the implication behind it, even though he seemed to see straight through you, what you needed.
The smirk that crawled onto your cheeks was anything but innocent. “Nope, completely free.”
“Good,” Yunho nodded, his smile a little more confident now. “Fuck the black card, let me buy you a drink.”
Your brows raised, a laugh falling past your lips as both your hands shoot up in defense, “Be my guest. You deserve a do-over.”
“No I do not,” he says through a laugh, “but you deserve to have some fun.”
You roll your eyes, snorting a laugh, “Please, we both know that date was not good.”
Yunho’s head turns back to the table again before taking your place leaning over the bar, ignoring your comment but definitely not denying it, “I’ll get us a round of shots.”
And he did– vodka, bitter and hot, it burnt your chest the entire way down. But it went down easy with the liquor already pooling in your gut, body warm enough to begin with.
He bought you something fruity afterward, rum and juice, it tasted like candy— easy to sip on, easy to chug if need be. You stuck around the bar instead of heading back to the table, eyeing the dance floor on the other side of the bar, in easy conversation with Yunho who seemed like he had no intentions of heading back to the table, either.
“Do you want to dance?” His eyes flicker to you, brows raised like he couldn’t quite gauge whether or not you’d say yes.
“You know I teach dance for a living, right?” Your lips quirk on one side, “Of course I want to dance.”
“I can’t say I’m a great dancer,” Yunho admits, lips tightened in a line. “I sell art, there’s nothing fluid about walking around a gallery all day.”
You laugh, grabbing him by the wrist, tugging him towards the music that gets louder with each step. “Follow my lead,” you say simply, mind finally feeling fucking free, “I’ll give you a free lesson.”
He trails behind you with a silly smile until you enter the crowd of people, it was busy over here, you realized. The bar wasn’t too crowded, the other side of the building consisted of booths and tables for those who… didn’t want to have a good time, you guessed. Talking, catching up, the first awkward half of a date, maybe.
You loved bars that had dance floors. Clubs, weddings, anywhere that there was a space dedicated to people letting loose, allowing their bodies to move as they pleased, to feel music in their blood. It was your favorite, even if you danced for a living, this was different– no choreography, no rules, there was nothing in your mind to keep you structured. You could let yourself feel, move the way your body allowed, you didn’t have to worry what anyone else thought.
With liquor in your system, that freedom is amplified by a thousand. Dancing before Yunho, you quickly realize he lied about having two left feet, his smile is just as careless as yours as his body moves to the beat of the song, matching your rhythm perfectly. Hips swaying in tandem, arms flowing in the space around you, you’re giggling before you know it, a smile branded onto your cheeks.
Until you turn your head and see that Wooyoung and San have joined you.
San’s arms over Wooyoung’s shoulders, they danced close, hips touching, swaying together as one. They were smiling at you– or pretending to be, the first thing you noticed was how their grins didn’t reach their ears. An alarm bell sounds in your head, confused, concerned, you want to ask what’s wrong, your body stops moving as the thoughts pile in.
Wooyoung, unaffected by your lack of movement, wiggles free from San’s grip. “Let’s switch!” He’s smiling, yelling over the music, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
Your brows furrow as Wooyoung shimmies between you and Yunho, his arms gliding swiftly over Yunho’s shoulders shamelessly, dark hair glowing under the pink, neon light, shaking with each sway of his body.
You turn your head to San who seems like he’s taking a moment to process, then he pulls you into him by your wrist, other hand landing on your hip, your back to his chest. You start moving out of instinct, hips swaying, but your brows stay furrowed.
Turning your head halfway, you ask, “What’s going on?”
San presses his lips into your cheek, dimples out to play with the smile he gives you. This one seems more real, it eases the panic in your chest ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I–” Your head turns back to Wooyoung, who has his cheek pressed to Yunho’s, saying something into his ear. “Are you guys okay?”
“Of course,” San’s palms hug your hips, pulling you flush to him, the feeling of him behind you sends heat up your spine. Immediately you’re brought back to the other night, the sounds leaving his lips, the mental picture you came up with, your hand between your legs. With his voice dripped in honey, he asks, “Are you okay, Shygirl?”
You’re nodding, body sinking into him, heat pulsing through your core, up your spine. His body feels so strong behind you, muscular arms on your hips, rocking you so sensually it throws your head for a spin. This movement brings back memories, ones that haunt you, ones you miss so fucking much.
You nod weakly, your voice a small squeak, “Yup, ‘m fine.”
He chuckles, cheeks pink, burying his head into your neck. You’re so close you could be considered one, it’s too close, it’s disrespectful, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. Yunho is right in front of you, expecting a night with you, he knows how you feel about San, about Wooyoung, and here you are falling into a haze, repeating old mistakes.
A third hand to one side of your waist, a fourth to the other. When you look up, Yunho is gone. Wooyoung stands before you with a cocky, lopsided smile on his lips, hips pressing into your front, falling into rhythm with you and San easily. He looks so pretty with pink cast onto his face, so bronzy even under neon light, his dark clothes sinking into the shadows.
“Where’s Yunho?” You ask, hands finding Wooyoung’s shoulders like it was instinct.
He takes the opportunity to come closer, the three of you molding together, the smell of both of them in your nose, the strength of them boxing you in. It feels so fucking good, it feels wrong, you don’t want them to let go, you want to stay here, dancing with them all night.
“Bathroom,” Wooyoung shrugs, thumbs caressing your sides. “Who cares?”
“Woo,” you whine, making a show of pouting, but it isn’t real. You don’t care.
“What?” His grin spreads wider, voice light and playful like he was proving his innocence, “The only thing that matters is you and us, right here. Nothing else.”
You couldn’t argue with him, not that you ever do. There’s nothing left inside you to make a rebuttal, anyway, there’s so you curl your fingers into the nape of his neck, spread your legs to allow one of theirs to slot through, and sway your hips like you were born to do it. Head falling back onto San’s shoulder, a lazy grin makes its way to your cheeks as you move with them, staring at Wooyoung over your nose, he looks at you like he’d do anything to drink you in.
He’s always looked at you this way, but there was something different about the longing glint in his eye, how his tongue slowly swipes over his lips like he’s hungry. Maybe it was knowing your own feelings playing a part, if it was anyone else you’d think they wanted to fuck you, but it’s Wooyoung. You can feel San at your back, the dirty grind of his hips against your ass, it’s been so long since you’ve been with them like this– dancing, liquor involved, too close for comfort, questioning if your relationship was as platonic as you thought it was.
Years. You haven’t touched San in years. You think back to Wooyoung asking if you missed it– you know you do, you miss it so fucking much, but was there a chance that Wooyoung wanted you to miss it? That he wanted to repeat history, this time with him involved, like all the times you’ve dreamt about? You almost groan, head tipping forward, heat spreading through your body at the thought of them wanting you like you want them.
“What are you thinking about, baby?” Wooyoung asks, his voice low, loud enough for you to hear. His face is so close you could feel his breath on your face; minty, like he was drinking a mojito, or took a shot of Rumplemintz. His smile is feline, eyes knowing as if your skull was transparent, like he just wanted to hear the words from your lips.
“I,” you take a breath, the admission sits on your tongue. “I’m not thinking.”
You can’t do it. To make yourself so vulnerable, so susceptible to rejection, you couldn’t do it.
Wooyoung leans in, soft, warm cheek pressed to yours, lips ghosting your ear, “You’re lying.”
San is on your other side, keeping himself close, his nose dancing along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. He keeps his voice just as low, sounding like an aphrodisiac, “Tell us, baby, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?”
Your heartbeat quickens, pressure below your skin, they’re too close, boxing you in, there’s a pit in your core like an itch you can’t fucking scratch and they’re dangling relief in front of your eyes, out of reach. Your jaw clenches, words fighting to push through, your fingers tangle into Wooyoung’s hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing against skin– he hisses into your ear, fingers tightening around your waist like it’s all he could do to stop himself from pressing into you.
“Fuck, Woo,” you mutter under your breath, marvelling at the sound, how it makes your stomach do a flip. The floor feels charged, tension spreading from your ankles to your spine, your words spill out before you can think twice about them, “did you like that?”
You can feel electricity prickling your scalp at your own question, but he answers it with a quick-spreading smirk brushing over your ear, “Is it okay if I did?” Your eyes widen as he pulls away from you, keeping your faces so close your noses are almost touching. His eyes stay locked on yours and you can see the desperation changing the shape of his face. He asks again, “What if I asked you to do it again?”
It’s so wrong. They’re together, they’re a couple, there’s no fucking room for you. But what if there’s a chance that there is?
Yet your fingers tighten in his hair, gripping at his roots harder than before and his head falls back, strong jaw on display, the curvature of his nose, jugular beckoning your lips forward. The music disappears as a tight sound leaves his lips, the rest of the bar fades away as his hips buck into yours, you’re left in awe, dumbfounded, the heat in your core unbearable.
“He likes it a little rough,” San whispers into your ear, voice rough, edged with dominance. His teeth dragging over your earlobe, tongue following, “You’re gonna make him hard, baby.”
“S-shit,” you manage to get out, body twitching, sinking into San behind you whose hands slide under the hem of your top at your hips, palms hot and callused against your skin. Involuntarily your hips push forward, into Wooyoung, your mind so fuzzy and confused but you’re so fucking horny all you can ask is, “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Wooyoung asks, voice playful again, his hand slides up to cup your cheek, thumb sliding over your skin, searing the trail he leaves behind. “You’re smart, use that big brain.”
“Kiss him,” San whispers in your ear, then plants a kiss right below it, using his tongue to seal the spot. You shiver, a whimper leaving your lips, brows tying together. You’re confused, you don’t have time to be, you don’t want to question it anymore.
You want to kiss him, you’ve never kissed Wooyoung once in your life. You’ve longed to know what he tastes like, how he uses his pretty lips, if his tongue can do all the things you’ve imagined it to. Your eyes drop down as he wets his lips again, so glossy and inviting, you bite your lip as his curve into another smile.
“You want to,” San’s lips drop to your neck, talking against your skin, “I know you want to, don’t deprive yourself, baby.”
You do want to, it’s a dream, your biggest fantasy coming to life. Your hands slide from the nape of Wooyoung’s cheek to cradle his jaw, Wooyoung’s flared eyes give you the green light, you blink once, twice, ignoring everything in your mind that tells you no as you lean in and press your lips to his. His hands cup your cheeks immediately, lips moving with yours, exploratory and relieving all at once, his tongue slips into your mouth like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it, no time to waste. San keeps his hands on your waist, groaning into your skin as he watches you, attaching his lips to your neck, kissing, sucking, licking over the marks he leaves behind.
There’s a leg between yours, you think it’s Wooyoung’s, maybe San’s, but your hips grind against it with each lick of his tongue into your mouth. It feels like heaven, or worse, mind so dazed and confused and horny but so at peace with this being everything you’ve ever imagined and more, you can’t get enough. You kiss him faster, rougher, arms wrapping around his neck, tongue searching his mouth like you need to embed the taste of him into your bones, he tastes sweet. Minty like this breath, a bitter note of alcohol on his tongue, your hands fall from his cheeks to his chest, sliding down to the hem of his shirt to tuck your hands beneath it.
Oh, he’s warm, his body feels like it looks, harsh and unforgiving, delicious. Like he could throw you around if he wanted to, you hope he wants to, unless it’s San who does the throwing– San.
San.
You break away from Wooyoung with low lidded eyes and he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the fucking sky. Eyes glossy, lips swollen, you pull away and immediately he’s following, searching for more.
You turn your head and San’s already waiting for it, palm splaying over your cheek to pull you into him hastily, lips molding against yours like nostalgia was a sentiment created by the two of you. Like coming home, his tongue slots between your lips, teeth clamping over your bottom lip, tugging on it, you whine into his mouth, back arching into his chest. You needed more.
“Do you want us?” He asks into your mouth, breathless. You nod, and he clicks his tongue, “Words, Shy. Tell me you want it.”
“I want it, I’ve wanted it for so long,” you’re quick to admit, breathless yourself, voice raw, honest. “So, so fucking long, Sannie.”
Wooyoung grabs your face by your cheeks, stealing your attention, forcing you to face him so he can explore your mouth again, San breaking away from your back. You barely notice the loss of heat, melting into Wooyoung, chest pressed into his, hands in his hair, meeting his intentions with your own. He breaks away to peck you once, out of breath, pupils dilated, “We’ve wanted you for even longer.”
Your breath stutters, weak in the knees, you can’t process his words, you’d put it on a checklist for later. Voice cracking, wrecked before you’d even begun, you muttered, “Let’s go home.”
You felt bad for the driver with the way you sat on San’s lap the whole drive home, switching between him and Wooyoung like you were trying to figure out who was the better kisser. Truth was, you just couldn’t get enough of them, San’s kiss was a part of your being, his touch was instilled in you, familiar to the point of not wanting to ever let go. Wooyoung was new, fresh, but an itch to a scratch, a relief you’ve ached for far too long, he was addicting, like you couldn’t stop if you tried.
Sweetie is jumping at you when you walk through the threshold and the three of you bend down to pet him like you’ve never seen a dog before, like they weren’t just ready to strip you in the backseat of a minivan. Liquor still coursing through you, you’re all talking in high pitched voices, making his tail wag, he couldn’t choose which of you to give his attention to. After treats you’re in your room, tying your hair up, and naturally, the two men follow you.
San makes himself at home on your bed, still in his jeans, jacket still thrown over his shoulders, he leans back on his elbows, eyeing you over the tip of his nose as you meander about your bedroom, maybe stalling, maybe thinking. Maybe you just made all of that up. Maybe you didn't even kiss in the club and you should be diagnosed with schizophrenia.
“Shy.”
Wooyoung stands in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking.
You look between them, jacket halfway off, heart picking up speed all over again, “What?”
“Oh my god, I love you,” Wooyoung’s smiling as he unfolds his arms, crossing the room, meeting you at your back. He pulls the jacket from your shoulders carefully, pressing his lips to your temple, “We want you, baby.”
Your eyes find San’s on your bed, he sits in a cloud of arousal, still sporting the tent in his jeans. Wooyoung presses his lips to your neck, hands landing on your hips, sliding up your waist, over your chest, your breath catches in your throat, head tilting to let him explore, back leaning into his hold to let him do as he pleases.
“I know it’s been two years,” San stands from the bed, walking towards you in three long steps, slipping his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. He tugs your hips into him, arching you off of Wooyoung, making your breath catch. The grin that spreads across his cheeks is all arrogance, “But did you really think you weren’t getting fucked the moment we walked through the door?”
Your body ignites in a way you haven’t felt in years. You whisper, “I did, I– I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He presses his forehead against yours, voice soft like velvet, invading your space again with his fingers uncurling from your belt loops to play with the hem of your jeans, two fingers pinching the button of your fly.
Wooyoung moves to your ear, biting the shell of it, not soft enough to hurt, but enough to make you suck in a harsh breath. He plays with your top, sliding it upward, knuckles cold against your skin, “Do you want me to fuck you?”
You whine, sinking into Wooyoung, reaching for San’s shirt. You want them to fuck you, god, you want them both, you’ll take anything they give you. You can barely get out a small, broken, “Yes.”
Accomplishment is bright on San’s face as he unbuttons your jeans with ease, Wooyoung pulls away to flip your shirt over your head, the two moving in such quick motions you begin thinking they’ve been waiting for this, too. San helps you step out of your jeans before attaching your lips and it’s more than hungry, he’s starving with the way he tries to devour you, swallow you whole as he turns you both around, unclasping your bra as he walks you to your bed.
You fall flat against your mattress with a squeak, feeling bare before them like this, standing above you like vultures. You’ve been here before with San, it feels like seeing an old friend again; but with Wooyoung, there’s a spark of unfamiliarity, it’s been years since you’ve opened up to someone new.
“Holy shit,” Wooyoung groans, dark hair messy around his face, deepening the shadows of his structured face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Shy.”
You burn, heat spreading through you, knees closing, “You’ve seen me before, Woo.”
He catches your knees, spreading them as San kneels onto the bed beside you, watching Wooyoung as his eyes sink between your legs. “Not like this, do you even know how fucking wet you are?”
Your hips twitch with the way he holds you open, already searching for more. Wooyoung continues, eyes glossed over, stuck at your center like it was treasure, “Fuck, baby, you’re soakin’ through your panties.”
“For you,” you breathe out, “taste it.”
His eyes snap up to yours, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, amused. “Yeah? That what you want?”
You nod, “Yes, Woo, wanna feel your mouth, wanted it for so long.”
His eyes slide to San’s with a smirk and the older man meets his stare with a short, cocky, “Told you.”
Wooyoung’s hands curl under your knees, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed before he pulls your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor, “Didn’t tell me she was impatient.”
“I am,” you’re quick to admit, shameless and desperate, “I’ve been.”
He smiles again, lifting one leg and pressing his lips to your ankle, keeping his eyes on yours as he sinks down to his knees. Slow kisses up your calf, your inner thigh, his tongue leaves a trail, your breath hitches in your throat as he breaks away just to tug his shirt over his head by the collar.
“Nostalgic, hm?” San mumbles, close to your ear, laying down with one elbow propped up to watch, “We’ve been in this position before.”
You gasp as Wooyoung’s teeth graze your other thigh, at the sensitive part on the inside, eyes flickering up to yours to see your reaction. Through gritted teeth, one arm reaching out for San, you whisper, “Mm, missed it.”
“He’s good with his mouth, y’know,” San leans in closer, pressing his lips to your cheek then your jaw as Wooyoung finally leans forward, his nose meeting your folds before his lips make contact. A strangled moan escapes you, hips immediately bucking into him, other hand flying between your legs to take root in his hair.
As his tongue swipes through your folds your back arches, your moan exposing every feeling of relief, of how much you wanted this, needed this. His name drips off your tongue and he groans at the sound, “You sound so pretty, Shybaby.”
“Prettier when she’s louder,” you can feel San smirk into your skin, “you have no idea how shameless she can get. Suck on her clit, Woo.”
As his lips wrap around your clit your moan heightens in pitch, louder than before, fingers tugging harshly at his scalp as your hips buck into his mouth, “Holy shit, Wooyoung.”
He groans into you, fingers curling into your thighs, soothing over your clit with his tongue, “Taste so good, pussy so pretty, can’t believe I haven’t done this sooner.”
Your face grows hot as his tongue flattens over your folds, flicking at your clit with precision, no haste to his actions, he’s exploring you. Seeing what you like, what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes your stomach clench in pleasure.
His nose glides over your clit and you buck into him again, his tongue circling your entrance, drinking up every ounce of your arousal. San’s fingers find your hair, “Mm, she liked that, Woo.”
“You like my nose?” His eyes flicker up to you and you nod shamelessly, humming your agreement. He repeats the movement and your back arches as he moves into a rhythm, tongue fucking into you while his nose glides over your clit, his movements timed perfectly with each jerk of your hips.
“Wanna see you ride it,” San whispers into your ear and you gasp out, one hand curling into the sheets beneath you. “Next time.”
“Yes, fuck,” you mumble through gritted teeth, “want it, need it.”
“Wanna watch you cum,” San’s fingers find your chest, the pads of them running over your hardened nipples, pinching at your sensitive skin. Louder now, your moans slurring together, your stomach curls in pleasure, pressure building in your hips.
“Don’t stop, Woo,” you whisper, a broken sound, using your fingers in his hair to rock your hips against his face, “so good, just like that.”
He grunts in response, letting you use him, adding more pressure and you’re locking up around him, whimpering as San’s fingers pinch harder at your chest, it’s enough to pull you right to the edge.
“There you go,” San encourages, lips buried in your hair, “use him, let me see you cum against his face, make yourself cum for me, c’mon.”
“Gonna–” there’s panic in your voice like you couldn’t believe you were reaching your peak so easily, but as his fingers tighten into your thighs harder, tongue lolled out for you to ride, the slight sting in your skin combined with the stimulation to your clit throws you over with a loud cry, pleasure washing over you in waves, body trembling beneath their touch, your skin on fire.
“Yes, so good for us,” San whispers, voice coated in praise, “such a good girl, Shy. Missed watching you cum, wanna feel you do it around my cock.”
You whimper, eyes cresting open to see him above you, dimples showing as he speaks. Dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, cheeks pink, eyes soft and warm, gaze filled with so much love it makes you dizzy. Your hand lifts from Wooyoung’s hair to cradle San’s cheek, pulling him down into a messy kiss, tongue slotting into his mouth softly as Wooyoung presses soft kisses to the tip of your mound, between your hipbones, up your stomach.
Your back arches as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue swiping over them, soothing where San had pinched, it makes you whimper, one hand falling from San’s cheek to dig into Wooyoung’s hair again, softer this time. Nails grazing his scalp, ankles crossing over his back, everything felt slow, filled with purpose, like each one of their movements were solely for your pleasure.
You needed more. You needed them to treat you like they’d treated each other a few nights ago, you needed the bed to hit the wall, to hear Wooyoung whimpering, San’s domineering voice. Your other hand finds San’s hair, gripping at the spiral of his crown, making him grunt into your mouth, “Shit.”
“Need more,” you’re panting into his mouth, “need you to fuck me, I need it.”
Wooyoung’s arms scoop under your back to pull you up as San leans back to groan, you meet his lips hastily, already seated on his thighs, your legs bracket his hips, your bare chest pressed to his. Denim below you, you curse at the feeling of texture, sturdy, rough fabric, “Get these off.”
“Impatient,” he smirks into your lips, “you needy? Desperate to fuck us?”
Skin alight with wildfire, your fingers find the hair at the back of his neck, tugging as you sit upward, following his face as you pull it backward by his hair, “Gonna make me say it again?”
A smile breaks out across his face, one full of excitement, “Holy shit, Shy–”
“Who are you talking to like that, huh?” San’s at your back, chest pressed to your shoulderblades, feeling so big it’s menacing, “You should be thanking him for letting you cum on his face.”
Staring down at Wooyoung, his grin had gone cocky again, one brow raising with your hands still rooted in his hair. Your fingers tighten again and his brows furrow in pleasure, a small moan croaking from his lips, it’s satisfactory enough. You mumble, “Thank you.”
San hums in contentment behind you, “Good girl.”
Wooyou watches in awe as San lifts you off his lap, turning you to face him with ease, standing on his knees he wraps a hand around your jaw, kissing you with more force than he had all night. Tongue pushing past your lips, teeth clashing, you melt beneath him, hands finding his bare pecs to hold onto as he devours your lips, your taste, your pleasure.
“You want me to treat you like a doll?” He asks into your mouth, voice harsh, edged like a blade.
“Want you to treat me how you treat Woo,” you whimper, the admission falling from your lips without a second thought, until you feel him smirk. Hazy from a minute of his mouth on yours, the heat of shame couldn’t find you.
“Knew you were listening,” Wooyoung is at your shoulders, hands on your waist, traveling to your front to grab two handfuls of your chest. “Fuckin’ pervert, listening to us fuck.”
Your back arches, fingertips digging into San’s skin, voice coming out tight, “Hard not to hear when the bed frame is hitting the wall.”
San stares at you like he’s debating fucking the cockiness out of you, “Almost forgot how much of a brat you can be.” Your grin is shameless, daring almost, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “Gonna look at me like that when I’m fucking you within an inch of your life?”
Your brows knit together, lips parting at his words, core clenching around nothing. “Please,” you whimper, hands sliding to his shoulders to pull him forward, “please.”
He doesn’t move, a stone wall before you. Instead he asks, “Did you touch yourself?” Left in the briefs glued to his lower half, your eyes sink to the outline of his length obvious in the polyester clinging to every inch of his skin. His face is lined by confidence, “Made that pretty pussy cum thinking about me fucking you, too?”
Softly, you moan, “Yes.”
“Should have come in the room,” Wooyoung’s lips find your neck, pulling you back into him as his palms knead into your chest. ”Woulda made you cum so hard.”
You whine, sinking into his hot skin, chiseled abdomen searing your back. With your knees spread, your eyes are glossy as you stare up at San who grips his length over his briefs, mouth watering with his sculpted body on display, he’s changed so much over the years. This body is bigger, bulkier, stronger, he’s a completely different San than the one you knew back then. The things he could do to you now cross your mind, sinking straight down to the pit in your belly, your core clenching around nothing.
“Wanna touch?” He asks, still sporting his cocky grin. You nod against Wooyoung’s chest, writhing beneath his palms, his touches only edging you further. He dips his chin down to his length, “C’mere, baby.”
You crawl forward on your palms until you’re standing on your knees before him, pressing your palms up to his shoulders, feeling the curves of his muscles before sliding down to his toned chest, palms laying flat, feeling his heartbeat beneath his skin. They slide down to his abdomen, so sculpted like he’s made of stone, your head tips forward, tongue lolling out of your mouth to glide across the dips and peaks, moaning at the taste of his skin, sweaty, salty, San. He pushes out a heavy breath as your head dips lower, fingers sinking into his waistband, tugging his briefs down.
“Wanna taste,” you mutter mindlessly, mind whirling, craving his cock, missing it. It springs out of his briefs, slapping up between his hipbones, thick and red and leaking, your mouth waters. You blow cool air from your lips and he hisses, cock twitching, making you smile. Your eyes flicker upward, “Want my mouth?”
His heavy brows are furrowed, hips tilted forward, his hands come forward to cup your cheeks. “Wanna fuck you, Shy.”
Your stomach fucking churns at the sound of his voice, whiny and desperate, you clench around nothing at the thought. You missed him so badly you ached for it, the feeling of him inside you, his cock so thick leaving you full enough it’s almost overwhelming to have him seated inside.
Before you have the chance to move you feel two heavy palms land on your hips, your head turns, back arching on command. Wooyoung knelt behind you, cock standing tall between his hipbones, the pretty pink tip leaking against his lower abdomen, so bronzy and veiny and strong. His eyes follow the trail of the base of your spine up to your eyes, “Let me have a turn first.”
You whimper, arching lower, knees spreading to allow him entrance, whining out a breathy, “Yes.”
San holds your cheeks steady, “Can you take it?”
You’re on fire, hips pushing back against Wooyoung with impatience, mouth filling with saliva. “Yes, yes, I can take it, use me– Please?”
A guttural moan spills from the two of them, San rips his briefs off his ankles as he sits back on his calves, one arm behind him holding up his weight. You feel Wooyoung slide two fingers up your spine, rippling over each vertebrae and then back down again, the other hand hooked on your hip squeezing as he grinds his cock against your folds, slippery and wet, he lets out a tangled whine at the feeling.
“You sure, Shy?” He asks, “Pussy’s begging to be fucked.”
“Need this,” you mumble, “need you, don’t hold back.”
“I won’t,” Wooyoung huffs, “don’t think I can, anyway.”
You turn to find San staring at you, his eyes so warm and inviting, lined with impatience he doesn’t dare verbalize. His jaw clenches as you lean down, tongue poking out to meet the leaking tip of his cock as Wooyoung lines himself up, letting his cock catch on your entrance with each slide up your folds. San’s other hand finds your hair as you lick up the underside of him, his head tipping backward as a moan tumbles out from his chest, abdomen already clenching at the pleasure.
“Fuck, that mouth,” San hisses as you let a mouthful of saliva drip onto his cock, using one hand to spread it along his length before you take the tip in your mouth fully, his grip tightens in your roots. “Missed those pretty lips, baby.”
You can’t answer, a strangled noise forcing itself out of you as the tip of Wooyoung’s cock prods your entrance. His hands find your hips, squeezing, “Breathe for me, baby.” His tone is absent, like he needed the reminder more than you did, laser-focused on how your entrance is already sucking him in.
You breathe through your nose, eyes screwing shut as he pushes in, filling you with his length inch by inch, slowly but steadily. A high whimper punches through your lips, mouth unwrapping from San’s cock to dip your head down, hips involuntarily pushing back onto Wooyoung, wanting to be full, fast.
“Patience,” Wooyoung squeezes your hips harder, more confidence in his voice, “this tight lil’ thing needs to be stretched out, take it easy, baby. We’ll give you everything, I promise.”
You haven’t felt this full in years. Even sopping wet you could feel him carving into you, making space for himself where you haven’t been properly filled in so long– the pleasure was tantalizing, slight sting of the stretch mixing into a cocktail of euphoria, your eyes fluttered back into your head, hand tightening around the base of San’s cock.
“Breathe, Shygirl,” San encourages, “let him in.”
Your eyes open, flickering up to San who watches Wooyoung over your head, your body the bridge connecting the two men. The sight of him, flushed, chest patched with a rosy hue, your tongue slides out of your mouth to lick up the underside of him again, taking the tip of him into your mouth.
His hips buck upward, surprised at your warmth wrapped around him, he pushes his cock deeper into your throat and you gag involuntarily, other hand tightening into the sheets below you. You breathe through it, your nose pushing out air as you take him deeper, head bobbing along his length as Wooyoung fully sheathes himself inside you.
He waits there a moment, fingers gripping the plush of your ass, his voice utterly gone as he says, “She’s so fuckin’ tight, Sannie.”
San’s eyes flicker up to him, “Make her cum on your cock, wanna see.”
He pulls out all the way just to slam back inside and your throat constricts around San’s length, making you gag again, eyes watering, blurring your vision. Wooyoung whines, “Fuck, baby, holy shit, Sannie.”
Hearing him moan out San’s name while he fucks you etches stars into your vision. Your hips start pushing back, your hand leaving San’s length to take purchase in the sheets as your hips buck against Wooyoung’s length in the same rhythm that you bob your head along San’s cock. Both men moan, a pitiful sound, lewd and desperate, it makes you clench around Wooyoung, nose diving down to press into the tuft of hair at the base of San’s cock.
“There you go,” San huffs, voice strangled, you look up to see him sink his teeth into his bottom lip. “Fuck, so pretty, taking my cock so fucking well. Missed seeing you like this.”
You moan around him, core clenching and you can hear the whine caught in the back of Wooyoung’s throat, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, squeezing so fucking hard it rips a tight noise from your chest, dying on San’s cock.
“Don’t know how long I’ll last, fuck,” Wooyoung chokes out, hands sliding up to your hipbones.
San does his best to make his smile appear cocky, “When’s the last time you fucked, huh?” He gasps the moment the words leave his lips, as you swallow around his length, he curses under his breath, tightening a hand in your roots.
Wooyoung speaks through gritted teeth, “Too fucking long, shit, she’s suckin’ me in–”
“Can’t wait to feel,” San grunts, hips twitching into your mouth, forcing you to take him deeper, “mouth just as dangerous, you’re a demon, Shy.”
You try to smile, he’s too wide in your mouth, in your throat, you settle for shooting him one with your eyes. You’re in rhythm now, head bobbing at the same pace as Wooyoung fucking into you, being so full, so manhandled by the two of them even if you were the one who put yourself here feels so good. Wooyoung’s cock is thinner than San’s, longer, you can feel how it curves along the front side of your walls, hitting every single spot you need it to.
It makes your knees wobble, your fingers twisting in the sheets, it feels too fucking good. It’s been a long while since you’ve breached an orgasm around someone’s cock, it’s muscle memory the way your arch comes back to you, the rhythm in which you fuck against him to get yourself off, the pressure building so different from when you do it yourself.
Wooyoung notices, landing a sharp smack to your ass, “Usin’ me? I can feel you fucking back.”
You pop off of San’s length to turn your head halfway, “Y’feel so good, Woo, can’t help it.”
His brows tie together, jaw falling slack, “Fuck, don’t stop, baby, don’t stop–”
“Inside, kay?” Between a moan and a whimper, “Don’t pull out.”
His palms push into the plush of your ass again as you take San’s cock into your mouth, stretching your lips wide to take him, using the slick you’d left behind to glide your tongue all the way down, choking yourself on him, bobbing your head in rhythm again.
Wooyoung’s hips stutter, he curses under his breath, one of his hands slides around to your front, between your legs, “Can’t– need you to cum first, baby, please.”
Two fingers to the bundle of nerves between your legs, your hips jerk, back arching impossibly deeper, a gargled moan vibrates San’s cock and he curses low, hands in your hair pulling, it’s overstimulating, how much is happening all at once.
Wooyoung’s fingers take all but three tight circles at your clit to send you freefalling over the edge, pressure blowing, pleasure spreading through your body like fireworks reaching each limb, every nerve ending. San tugs you off his cock by your hair, one hand fisting the base of him to stop his orgasm from hitting, and Wooyoung cries out as he barrels into you, hips finally stilling when he’s fully sheathed, filling you with warmth.
You’re gaping, staring at San wide-eyed, “Why?”
It takes a moment for you to process the warmth. Like sitting before a fire, it’s comforting, head dropping to let it sink in– nostalgic, you missed this.
“Wanna cum inside you,” he answers simply, “c’mere.”
Manhandling you all over again, he pulls you onto his lap, you can’t help but reach for Wooyoung behind you. San wastes no time, ignoring your heaving chest, the exhaustion in your eyes you’re hiding with adrenaline, with one hand on your hips he lines you up over his cock, easing you down onto his length, you hiss at the stretch, at the width of him.
“Big stretch,” his grin is taunting, “you can do it, baby, easy.”
“Fuck,” you whimper, arms stretching behind you, “Woo.” Searching for the man who just came inside you, he’s at your back, broad and steady, arms wrapping around you.
“I’m here,” he whispers into the curve of your neck, moving your hair away from your sticky neck to press his lips into you, and it’s the comfort you needed to start grinding your hips into San’s cock, moans spilling from your lips, small gasps and whines as he fills you up perfectly, walls molding to the shape of him like he’d never left.
“Fuck, Sannie,” you murmur, “‘s too much, missed your cock, but it’s too much.”
“You can do it,” he leans into you, groaning at the feeling of you around him, he searches for your lips. You pick your head up to meet him, pressing your lips to his, tongue sliding into his mouth, tasting every inch you can find. He grins into your lips, “Look at you, taking it like you did all those years ago. Still my fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?”
You gasp, hips twitching against him, clenching hard, and he curses under his breath like he wasn’t just taunting you. Lips still ghosting yours, he whispers, “Still like my mouth? All that nasty shit?”
You nod, nipples brushing against his chest with every bounce of your hips, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. All you can manage is, “More.”
“I know, baby,” his hips jerk up and you cry out, arching into Wooyoung behind you who reaches around your front, fingers pinching at your nipples, teeth at your ear. San, voice wrecked, grunts as he says, “Still need a little pain with the pleasure to get you off, huh?”
You can’t answer, eyelids fluttering, hazy at the feeling of Wooyoung’s release spilling out of you onto San’s thighs, the squelching sound of it coating his cock, making it easy for you to bounce yourself against him like a bitch in heat.
Wooyoung chuckles into your ear, low and velvety, it sends a shiver up your spine. “Never woulda guessed that from you, baby.”
It makes a lazy grin break out across your cheeks, head turning to kiss him, all teeth and tongue, messy and delicious. “Really?”
“My Shygirl,” his voice is filled with affection, lips pressed to the side of your head, parted and spilling spit onto your temple, your cheeks, it feels dirty– so fucking sexy you can’t control the way you hump San’s cock, slurring mindless babbles and strained noises you can barely comprehend.
“Our Shygirl,” San corrects him, eyeing Wooyoung over your shoulder, a severity to his tone that makes your eyes flick upward in question.
His brows tied with pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, dark hair messy and tangled on his head, he looks like a fucking dream. He is a dream, this is a dream, harmonious with the two as if you’ve done this a thousand times, like it was always supposed to be this way, he can read the question on your tongue. He cups your cheek with a hand, sliding it to the back of your head to take root in your hair, tugging you towards him close enough for your lips to touch, “It’s different this time.”
You try to kiss him with your slacked jaw but it’s a trading of spit more than it is a kiss, “Different.”
“Mine,” he growls, a hand wrapping around your back, fingers digging into your skin, his words too coherent to be born of the heat of the moment. “Wanted this for too long, both of you, you’re both mine.”
“Yours,” you repeat, confirm with an airy head, echoed by Wooyoung as your hips stutter against San’s cock, head tipped against the younger man’s shoulder, “f-fuck me.”
“Sit,” it’s an order from San to Wooyoung that’s answered on command, he sits on his calves before uncurling his legs from below him, cock half-hard laying stiff between his hips.
San maneuvers you with two hands on your waist, you gasp as he tugs you off his cock effortlessly, laying you back on Wooyoung’s chest like it took no fucking strength at all. Strong arms wrap around you as your skin meets his, tilting your head to the side to see him, to kiss him, he smiles as he sees you, teeth on display.
“So fucking pretty,” Wooyoung looks at you the same way he always does, stars in his eyes, like he couldn’t smile without his whole face if he tried, like the look was solely for you. “You’re mine too, y’know.”
You reach up with one arm to pull his head down to yours, the kiss softer than those you’ve shared tonight, more controlled like you needed a moment to let his words sink in, your mind too fuzzy to process the weight of what that meant.
San’s fingers hook under your knees, pushing them backward until they leave you spread, lining himself up all over again, pushing inside in one quick motion.
A different feeling of full, Wooyoung holds your face against his as you whisper a cry into his mouth, your lips still touching as he grins, “Been waiting for this too, haven’t you? You wanna be ours?”
Body going limp in his hold, hand falling from his cheek mindlessly, your body feels like fucking jelly. You nod, breath quickening, short and tight at the feeling of San fucking into you, “Need to be, waited so long.”
San’s grip tightens under your knees, picking up speed, your head turns to see him and god you want to take a picture, want to frame it and hang it on the wall; brows furrowed, lips parted, eyes focused on your meeting below, his abdomen flexing as he rolls his hips into you, it makes your toes curl where they hang in the air.
Face scrunching up, you reach for him, pulling him down to you, “Need t’kiss you.”
Messy, sloppy, wet, you can feel him in your stomach as your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close. With the last peck to your lips he presses his forehead against yours, “I missed you, I love you— taking me s’fucking perfectly, like you always do—”
A strangled noise fights to leave your chest, heavy where it sits trapped, the words forcing the warmth in the pit of your belly to bloom, explode, shattering every wall you’d built up in the past few weeks.
“I love you,” it’s a broken whisper, an admission you can’t keep inside any longer. A little louder, a little firmer, “I love you.”
He smiles into the kiss he plants on your lips, “Yeah?”
“Hey,” Wooyoung interjects, hands cupping your cheeks to tilt you backward, “I love you, too.”
You’d smile if San didn’t pick up speed all over again, instead you’re babbling a mess of I love you, I love you too into Wooyoung’s mouth, lips barely touching enough to call it a kiss, so mindless and breathless and overwhelmed all you can do is feel.
Wooyoung’s hand leaves your cheek to sink between yours and San’s bodies, two fingers pressed to your clit, swirling tight circles on the bundles of nerves. Your body fights to jerk between them, trapped between sweat and muscle, head lolling backward on Wooyoung’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.
San switches his angle, strong arms tilting your hips upward to fuck into you harder, to angle his cock to hit the sweet spot inside you, building the pit of pressure of your stomach with purpose.
Your eyes blow wide, breath quickening, “San— Sannie—”
“C’mon,” he encourages, sitting backward to fuck into you faster, “Lemme feel it, want it.”
Incoherent babbles and the clenching of your cunt has your hands reaching for his forearms, fingernails pressing into his skin, all while Wooyoung keeps his pace on your clit, rhythm perfect, pressure nothing short of unbearable.
“Woo— Sannie—” you don’t know who to cry for, hips fighting to meet San’s thrusts, grinding into Wooyoung’s fingers, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Let go, baby,” Wooyoung’s voice is light and encouraging but he’s babbling as if San was fucking him, “let him feel it, he wants it so bad, he loves it, loves you.”
Breath caught in your chest, your jaw drops as your pleasure hits its peak, meeting San’s gaze as your orgasm washes over you like a fucking hurricane, utterly speechless as your legs shake in the open air, inescapable euphoria reaching every inch of skin.
“Fuck, Shy,” San groans, “you’re so fucking sexy, oh my god, oh my god—”
You don’t have time to respond before Wooyoung is kissing you again, tilting your head backward with one hand as San extends your orgasm with every thrust of his cock, Wooyoung’s fingers slowing on your clit, letting you ride it out until you’re a whining, twitching mess.
“Fuck,” you mutter harshly, letting Wooyoung guide the sloppy kiss as San’s hips stutter, rhythm quickening to something ruthless, chasing his own high, a selfish pace.
“Gonna fill this pussy up,” San’s babbling, “all mine, mine to fill,” his voice is somewhere far, deep in the moment, “I love it, love you, my Shygirl, shit—”
Erratic thrusts come to a hilt, stalling fully seated, you moan softly into Wooyoung’s mouth as heavy warmth fills you steadily, making you shiver.
You break away from Wooyoung to look at San, eyelids low but you couldn’t miss the way his skin glows, as if you poured water over a sculpture made of gold, you stare in awe at his heaving chest, how his abdomen still clenches, flexing each muscle.
“Pretty,” the word is mindless, said through a breath.
He leans down, pressing his palms to the bed on either side of you, attaching your lips in a slow, steady kiss. “That’s you,” he whispers, “my pretty girl.”
He picks his head up to Wooyoung behind you, pressing a kiss to his lips, too. “My pretty boy.”
Wooyoung holds him close, you feel him melt under San’s touch, his words. “I love you,” Wooyoung mumbles, half-heard to you because he says it into San’s mouth, “so much.”
“I love you too, baby,” San presses one more kiss to his lips before he plants one on your forehead, “and I love you, too.”
“Do you really?” The question is pure instinct, “Like, actually?”
“Baby,” he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s silly for you to even question it. “I’ve spent my whole life loving you.”
There's a heaviness to your chest, the same tightness you felt when he said it earlier, it travels to your throat, the heat under your eyes pushing water into your lash line.
“No,” he says softly, “don’t cry.”
You can’t help your smile, sniffling, giggling as two tears spill down your cheeks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hold on,” his voice is still delicate, like glass, he sits back on his knees to carefully slip out of you, “come up here.”
You move with Wooyoung, the younger man half carrying you to the top of the bed, your heads falling into your pillows, their bodies on either side of you in your queen-sized bed like it was big enough to fit all three of you.
Your back is halfway pressed up against San, eyes hazy and low with Wooyoung in view, you ask him, “And you?”
His smile is soft but his face reads relief like he’s been sitting on this information for ages. “I’ve loved you probably since I moved in, but I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”
“That I knew,” you sniff, giggling again, turning your head up to see San who’s staring at you like you’re his entire world, “why didn’t you guys tell me?”
“It’s not an easy thing to say,” there’s a small, apologetic smile on his lips.
Wooyoung adds, “When we started living together I just assumed we were friend-zoned forever. When San and I got together, like, half of our relationship was based on the fact that we both still loved you while loving each other.”
San’s arm wraps around your front, tucking you further into him, “When you’re best friends and roommates and a little too close for comfort, it’s hard to not fall in love.”
“Especially when all of those things are you,” Wooyoung adds, shuffling towards you like he couldn’t get close enough, “why didn’t you tell us how you felt?”
“Because you started fucking dating each other,” you answer like you’ve been waiting for the question, amusement overshadowing the truth to your words, “I didn’t think I was invited to the party.”
Wooyoung leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, he looks at you when he pulls away, so much love and honesty swirling in chocolate it makes you shiver, but because he’s Wooyoung, he starts singing, “I only threw this party for you, only threw this party for you, for you for you…”
You snort, giggling into San’s chest, and the older man continues, loud and proud, “You could watch me pull up on your body like it’s summer take my clothes off in the water—”
You join him, just as loud and maybe even prouder, “—splash around and get you blessed like holy water, I don’t know what you’ve been waitin’ for, you know that I’ve been waitin’ for you.”
Wooyoung laughs, turning on his back, you watch how his chest expands and falls with each loud, obnoxious cackle. He turns his head to face you, “If you think about it, that song is kinda us.”
“I think that song is Jay Gatsby,” you correct him, “I’m kinda Jay Gatsby and you guys are kinda Daisy Buchanan.”
“No, we’re Jay Gatsby and you’re Daisy Buchanan,” San says a little more confidently than you did, “we threw the party and you didn't come.”
“Oh we are not arguing about this,” you turn your head to furrow your brows at him, reiterating, “but let the records show that I was not invited to said party.”
Wooyoung is quick with his answer, “We only threw the damn party for you.”
It’s like nothing has changed.
Curled up on the chaise of the couch, you in the corner, Wooyoung’s head on your lap with his leg stretched one way, San’s head is between your legs with both of your bodies laid out the other way.
Dirty Dancing is playing on the flatscreen across the room, Sweetie cozy right beneath you, on the hardwood floor with his body pressed up against the deck of the couch, everything, everyone you love is in one room.
A month of being together, the only thing that’s changed in your relationship is where you sleep, and that you kiss— and fuck, entirely too much for a typical honeymoon phase, but as San says, you’re making up for lost time.
Waking up together, going to work together, sleeping together, you wonder after years of being attached at the hip how you don’t feel tired of them. You suppose you never could, the two men being fibers of your being, embedded into you like the essence of your own being, it’s more that you can’t live without them.
And the more you think about it, the more you wonder how you didn’t notice it sooner. So hyper focused on what you want, you couldn’t realize what you already had, there was a reason your relationship has always been too close for comfort.
But now you have them, and you love them, and they fucking love you— they are not afraid to show it, they’d scream it to the rooftops if you let them. Sometimes you almost do let them, just to let the feeling sink in a little further, to let their love overflow the gap in your chest that’s been full for a month now.
One hand in San’s hair, the other drawing shapes into Wooyoung’s chest, a thought dawns on you. You ask, “Hey, remember that night at Steer?” Their heads tilt toward, eyeing you over their eyebrows, nodding. “Whatever happened to Yunho?”
Wooyoung snorts, San shakes his head, it makes you giggle. Wooyoung answers, “I told him his work was done and that we could take it from there.”
“His work was done?” You question, “What work?”
“You told him you love us the night you went on the date with him, right?” San suddenly asks, looking over his forehead at you once more. You nod like this was common information and he laughs so loud it makes Sweetie sit up on his hind legs.
“I told you, you called me schizophrenic!” San shouts over the couch at Wooyoung, sitting up on an elbow, “I knew it, my Shy senses were tingling.”
“Shy senses?” You ask, a question ignored.
Wooyoung sits up too, eyes wide, “Wha—? Maybe you should be a detective, Sannie, I’m serious.”
“What are you talking about?” You ask a little louder, “Inform me right this second, please.”
“I know you so well it’s scary,” San lays back down, one hand lazily thrown over the side of the couch to scratch Sweetie’s head, calming him. “Like the back of my hand, baby.”
His words make you smile, settling back into the couch again. Wooyoung turns on his elbow to see you, “San knew that Yunho knew,” he shakes his head, “with literally no proof, just vibes. Scary.”
You run your hands through his hair, your smile completely teasing, “You’ll get there, baby. One more decade.”
Wooyoung’s top lip curls, “Not you, too. I know you just as well, if not better than San—”
San’s head picks up with a gasp, “You do not—!”
Your giggles cut through their bickering, “You’re both stupid, I love you.”
“We love you too,” they mumble, settling back into their positions on the couch, where your hands fell to their hair, scratching their scalps into silence. Your smile stays as your head lifts back to the movie across the room, not actually watching, too consumed with contentment and that lovesick feeling in your stomach.
Yours. Finally.
my masterlist | fic exchange masterlist
my love letter to plum, you are worth the world and more. deserving of everything you've ever wanted, i hope u loved this. ur my whole heart. i love u ᢉ𐭩
⌇warnings: lil plot, smut, explicit nsfw, hormonal mood swings, crying/sobbing, ovulation horny desperation, p in v, oral (f!receiving), discharge eating (he's a greedy boy in this!!), fingering, body worship, begging, dirty talk, light choking, creampie, overstimulation, clingy needy behavior, messy, slight bleeding post-sex, affectionate aftercare, comfort sex, teasing, soft dom/sub vibes, slow soft orgasm, casual humor, soft praise, san is so bf here
⌇tysm for all the love on my recent works, it means the world--so here's a sannie one for yall <33
The rain had been coming down for hours. You watched it trickle down the glass, grey sky split with flickers of pale lightning every so often, the house dim except for the kitchen light left on above the sink.
The sound of the storm had long since faded into background noise, white noise for the ache growing in your stomach.
It wasn’t the cramps that had started it, not really. It was the need.
You were ovulating. You knew your body like clockwork. Your skin was flushed, your nipples stiff under your shirt for no reason, and the ridiculous amount of slick between your thighs had you changing your underwear twice today already.
But that wasn’t the worst part; the worst part was how empty you felt.
Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him. Since you’d last touched him. Since you’d heard that particular rasp in his voice when he pressed you into the mattress and told you how sweet you were when you cried.
Now he was finally coming home.
You curled your fingers around the warm mug in your hands and tried not to squirm on the couch. Tried not to think about how the crotch part of your sleep shorts was already damp. Tried not to think about how your body didn’t just miss him, it was screaming for him.
You wanted him, not just for the way he touched you, but because you needed the quiet comfort of having him near, his presence like a tether to hold you steady.
You didn’t hear the key turn, you only heard the door click open.
Then a warm voice, familiar, hoarse with exhaustion and soaked in affection.
“Baby, I’m home.”
The mug slipped from your fingers and clattered onto the coffee table, sloshing tea across the surface. You shot up from the couch without thinking, and the second your eyes met his across the living room, you ran.
San caught you mid-jump, arms wrapping around you like instinct. You crashed into him with a breathless laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
God, he smelled like the rain, leather and laundry, and just a hint of sweat.
“I missed you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you more,” he said, setting his bag down and squeezing you tighter. “Every day. Every city.”
You could feel it already, the tension pulling taut between you, like a bowstring straining under pressure.
He leaned back slightly to look at you. You must’ve looked a mess, skin flushed, lips bitten, your shirt rumpled and sleeves pulled down over your hands. His eyes softened.
“Hey,” he said, voice lower now, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you lied. But the tremble in your voice gave it away.
He tilted his head. “Come here.”
You followed him quietly to the couch, legs shaky, throat tight. The moment he sat, he pulled you onto his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands cradled your waist.
“Tell me.”
You hesitated. “I’m… hormonal.”
His brows rose just a little.
“Not in a sad way. Just my body’s going nuts. And I’ve been alone and stressed and horny for like three days straight.”
San’s expression shifted fast. From concern to heat in a heartbeat.
“Oh,” he said, voice dipping lower.
You bit your lip. “It’s not even the sex part—I mean, okay, it is, but it’s also just how empty I feel. I keep crying at dumb things. I almost cried over a pothole earlier. A pothole, San.”
He grinned. “Baby…”
“It’s my fucking ovulation window. And it’s making me feel like a crazy person.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around you, chest rising and falling against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured after tour. You’re probably tired, and I’m just—” Your voice broke slightly. “I’m just really needy right now.”
San leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.
“You think I wouldn’t want to take care of you?” he whispered.
You blinked at him. His eyes were darker than before, his hands sliding up and down your sides in slow, grounding motions.
“I know this body,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I know what you feel like when you’re ovulating. I can smell it on you, baby.”
You shivered, his voice was like molasses now, deep and slow.
“You’re flushed. Warm. You keep rocking your hips like you’re not even aware of it.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, humiliated by how true it was.
“Don’t be,” he said, brushing your hair back gently. “I think it’s hot.”
Your breath hitched.
“I want you exactly like this,” he said. “Soft. Needy. Out of your mind.”
He kissed your neck low, slow, and purposeful. His hand slid down between your thighs. Pressed softly.
You whimpered.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered, groaning. “Fuck. I’ve barely touched you.”
You couldn’t breathe.
“I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna give your body what it wants.”
You whimpered against his shoulder. The second his fingers pressed against the thin cotton of your shorts, your body shuddered.
San cupped you fully, his palm broad and heavy, and rubbed a slow circle. You felt how embarrassingly slick the fabric had gotten, and the groan that left his chest was hungry.
“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” he murmured. “Let me make it better, sweetheart.”
You nodded.
“Need you to say it, baby.”
“Please,” you whispered. “Touch me. I can’t take it anymore.”
He laid you back gently on the couch, pulling the throw blanket under your hips to cushion you.
His lips kissed down your throat, your collarbones, your chest. Slow, slow, slower, until his fingers caught the waistband of your shorts and peeled them down.
Then there it was, the second your panties came off, San paused. His breath caught. You were dripping, inner thighs damp, the whole couch faintly scented with your arousal.
“Oh, baby…” he exhaled, sinking to his knees between your thighs. “You’re so ready for me.”
He spread your legs wide, running his thumbs through your slick, parting you open.
San dropped to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.
He spread you open with both hands, thumbs gliding through the slick that coated your folds, wet and glossy, stringing between your inner lips and soaking the blanket beneath you.
He let out a guttural groan. “Fuck. You’re not just wet, baby… you’re creamy.”
You flushed hard, hips twitching. “I told you—ovulation makes me—”
“You think I’m complaining?” He slid one finger through your folds, slow, collecting the thick mess coating you. When he pulled it back, it glistened, cloudy, slippery, stretched like honey between his fingers.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought that finger to his mouth and sucked it clean.
Your stomach dropped. He moaned.
“Tastes like you need to be filled,” he growled. “Sweet. Warm. Fucking ripe.”
“San—” you gasped, breath catching as he went back for more. He dipped two fingers in this time slow, twisting, curling deep, and when he pulled them out coated and dripping, he held them out to you.
“Open,” he whispered.
You hesitated, cheeks blazing, but obeyed.
He slid his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them instinctively, tasting yourself thick on his skin.
Salty, slippery, overwhelming. San watched with blown pupils and a smirk so filthy it made your toes curl.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Taste what your body’s begging for. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness. That ache?”
You whimpered, clenching down hard around nothing.
He licked another trail up your thigh and groaned again. “Fucking leaking for it. Dripping down your thighs like your pussy already knows what’s coming.”
Then his mouth was back on you, hot, hungry, greedy. Tongue plunging deep, lips sucking the slick straight from your entrance as if it was the first thing he’d eaten in days.
“You’re making so much of it,” he panted between licks. “You want me to fuck it all back into you, don’t you? Fill you so full it leaks out for hours?”
“Yes,” you choked, writhing. “Please—please, I need it.”
“You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he growled. “But not until I’ve tasted every drop this perfect body’s made for me.”
You broke. Your orgasm hit hard, your body seizing as you clenched around his fingers, thighs squeezing, a loud sob tearing from your throat. You could barely breathe.
The wave dragged on and on, slick pouring out of you, making your inner thighs stick to the blanket.
San kissed you through it. Soft, open-mouthed kisses across your stomach and chest as you came down. His fingers stayed inside you, slow and gentle.
“Hey, hey. I’m right here,” he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. “You don’t have to hold anything in.”
You melted into him again, boneless and trembling...
A tear slid down your cheek before you even noticed you were crying, and San brushed it away without a word.
Your body sagged forward into his chest like you’d been unstrung. Every part of you pulsing and soft, skin too tight for how much emotion buzzed underneath.
You clung to him, breathing him in. Clean sweat, worn cotton, a hint of his shampoo still clinging to the ends of his hair.
Your brain was already slipping into that hormone-drunk haze, the kind that made your ribs ache just from being held.
You barely registered when he started undressing. A shirt peeled over his head, jeans sliding low over his hips.
It was all just movement and warmth and comfort, the room spinning gently while you floated at the center of it.
By the time his clothes hit the floor, you were blinking up at him with glassy eyes, lips parted, thighs pressed together, pliant like your body had already decided what it needed from him before your mouth could ask.
But you did notice the way his cock brushed against your thigh, heavy, thick, already leaking.
You whined.
“Still want me?” he asked, sliding two fingers back into you, checking how open you were. “Still this needy, even after coming so hard?”
You nodded, voice wrecked. “Please, San. Please, I need it deep.”
He kissed your knee. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You were about to promise when he pushed in. Slow, stretching, deep. You both groaned in tandem, your cunt clenching down like he belonged there. Which, truthfully, he did.
“Fuck,” he whispered, folding over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your hip. “You’re so tight.”
“I can’t help it,” you cried. “You feel too good. It’s too much.”
“I know, baby,” he cooed, starting to move—long, grinding thrusts that made your whole body jolt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
His pace quickened. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He fucked you deep, not hard yet, but the angle had your toes curling. Every time he bottomed out, your body tried to take more.
“You want me to ruin this pussy, don’t you?” he growled.
“Your hormones are driving you crazy. You’re clenching like you never want me to leave.”
He grabbed your throat lightly, pressing just enough to make you gasp.
“You want me to come inside you?” he rasped. “Want to feel me leak out of you for hours?”
“Yes, San—please—don’t pull out—”
That was it. His control snapped.
He fucked you harder now—loud, wet slaps of skin on skin, your moans broken and desperate. Your second orgasm hit without warning, your body convulsing, nails digging into his back, sobs escaping as he stuffed you full, over and over and over again.
He came right after, you felt it when he spilled.
Thick, hot, flooding you. His hips stuttered, voice cracking in your ear as he pressed as deep as he could and stayed there.
“Shit,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “So full. You took all of it, baby.”
You didn’t realize you were bleeding until after. Not much, just a faint smear on the inside of your thigh, red-pink and mixed with cum. San noticed it first.
He immediately slowed.
“Hey—hey, you okay?”
You nodded, you felt dazed and fuzzy, just sensitive everywhere.
“Hurts a little,” you whispered. “But in a good way.”
As he pulled out, the mess was immediate. His cum mixed with yours, leaking in thick strings down your thighs, soaking the blanket beneath you.
San paused, staring, chest heaving.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Look at that.”
You glanced down and your face flamed at the sight. The discharge from earlier, now laced with thick streaks of white, clung to your folds like your body was still trying to keep him inside.
He didn’t move for a second—then dipped back down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “It’s dripping out already.”
You squirmed, thighs twitching, too sensitive to do anything about it.
Then he licked it up.
One long, slow drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, scooping up the mess like it was his reward.
You whimpered. “San—”
He moaned into your cunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean you up my way first.”
You hid your face in your hands, torn between embarrassment and the slow curl of heat returning to your gut.
“You’re obsessed,” you whispered.
He smirked, licking his lips. “Damn right I am. You think I could watch my cum dripping out of you and not taste it?”
He was already grabbing a warm towel, muttering apologies as he kissed your temple.
“But still, I should’ve slowed down sooner,” he said softly. “You’re so sensitive right now. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were perfect,” you whispered.
He was careful with the cleanup. Gentle between your thighs. Talking to you the whole time.
“You did so good for me,” he murmured. “Such a pretty girl. Always so sweet when you’re all soft like this.”
You whimpered when the towel grazed your clit, and he immediately soothed you with a kiss to the cheek.
“I’ve got you, baby. Just a little more, and I’ll get you in the bath.”
Once he was done, he helped you into the bathroom, set you in a warm soak with Epsom salts, and sat beside the tub rubbing circles into your calf.
“You’re always like this when you’re ovulating, huh?” he said, smiling gently. “All needy and messy and desperate.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, flushing.
He leaned in and kissed your nose.
“I fucking love it.”
You splashed a bit of water at him with your toes, but your body was too wrecked to hold a proper pout. When he stood and started peeling off his shirt again, you blinked up at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting in. You think I’m letting you float around in here alone?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the weight of the day and of him made the thought of being close again too tempting to resist.
He climbed in behind you, easing your back into his chest with a contented sigh. The water shifted around you both, warmer with his skin against yours.
The sound of his heartbeat against your back slowed, each thud syncing with your breathing.
His body stayed wrapped around you, chest flush to your spine, arm curved protectively over your middle like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers.
San didn’t move right away, he just let you breathe. And you were so grateful because you didn’t have the words yet.
Your body was limp, trembling in the comedown, your thighs sticky with sweat and slick and the warm, wet mess he’d left inside you.
But your chest was tight too, overwhelmed. You blinked, and tears welled again. This time, not from overstimulation, not from pain.
Just from everything. It was too much and not enough, you missed him, needed him, you had him, and it still didn’t feel like enough.
He kissed your shoulder softly.
But eventually, the bath cooled and your skin started to prickle.
He helped you out first, wrapped you in one of his shirts, dried your legs with a towel so gentle it made your eyes sting again.
“Couch?” he murmured.
You nodded, lips too soft and sore to bother forming words. He led you there with a hand at the small of your back, settled down with you tucked between his legs again, a blanket thrown loosely over both of your bodies.
“Hey…” he murmured. “You okay?”
You nodded against the couch pillow, but your throat burned.
Then your voice cracked, so small. “I think I’m gonna cry again.”
“Oh, baby…”
He turned you gently, shifting so he could face you. One hand cupped your cheek, the other sliding up your side, grounding you.
You were blinking fast, tears falling for no reason you could name, and San just held you through it, no judgment, no questions.
“Come here,” he whispered, gathering you into his lap. “S’okay, let it out.”
You curled into him like it was instinct.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you sniffled, nuzzling his neck.
“I just—everything feels so much. Like my body’s on fire, and I want you again, but I’m tired, and I love you, but I also want to scream, and—”
“I know,” he said instantly. “You don’t have to explain it. Hormones are insane. You’re feeling everything at once, and I’m just glad you’re telling me.”
You breathed shakily, nose pressed to his damp skin.
“You’re not mad?”
He chuckled, warm and breathy.
“Mad? Baby, I’m honored I get to hold you like this. I love this part—when it’s just us. After everything. When you’re all soft and sleepy and honest.”
You bit your lip, more tears spilling. “You’re too sweet to me.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “You deserve all of this. I mean it.”
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your damp cheeks.
You curled tighter into him, arms around his neck. “Don’t leave again.”
He smiled against your temple. “You know I have to. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m here. All yours.”
You relaxed with a shaky exhale, and you felt it again.
A pulse low in your belly, a flutter of need, small but insistent.
You whimpered, shifting against his thigh. San froze, then pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed, lips parted.
“…you’re turned on again?”
You blinked, ashamed. “I can’t help it. I think my body’s just—”
He kissed you before you could finish, not hungry or desperate. Just slow, lazy, and familiar.
Then he smirked. “We don’t have to move.”
He slid one hand between your thighs, easily, your folds still soaked, slick still leaking from your entrance.
“Fuck, baby,” he muttered. “You’re dripping down your thighs. I think you really do want a second round.”
You whined, burying your face in his chest. “We can’t. I’m so sensitive—”
“Shh,” he whispered, stroking you gently. “No pressure. Just let me touch you. I’ll be soft this time. No thrusting, no roughness. Just slow circles… like this.”
He rubbed his fingers in slow motion against your clit, barely-there pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch. You squirmed in his lap, helpless, lips falling open.
Your voice was small. “That feels so nice…”
“I know, baby,” he whispered. “That’s all I wanna do. Just give you this. No more tears. Just good things.”
And he kept rubbing, gentle and warm and hypnotic. Your breathing grew heavier, head tipping back against his shoulder as he coaxed you into it.
No demands, no commands. Just yes, baby, good girl, let go for me again.
You came with a soft gasp, legs trembling, toes curling, arms still locked around his neck. This time it didn’t hurt, it just eased something. A calm orgasm, full of warmth and release.
After, he kissed your temple again. “There she is.”
You were silent for a moment—then you mumbled, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this emotionally insane and also completely at peace.”
San laughed quietly. “That’s love, baby.”
You huffed a teary, dazed laugh, then whispered against his collarbone:
“Next time you’re on tour and I’m ovulating, I might die.”
He held you tighter.
“Next time, I’m flying you out.”
You didn’t even register that you were crying until San thumbed another tear from your cheek.
“I got you,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let it all out.”
Every nerve felt raw and stretched thin under the weight of too much pleasure, too much closeness, too much him.
At some point, he cleaned you up again. Grabbed a warm cloth and murmured quiet little things like he always does.
You’re okay, I’m right here, just breathe for me, baby, as he wiped you down and slipped one of his shirts over your head. The soft cotton dragged over your hypersensitive skin like a second set of hands.
Just you in his arms, half-buzzed, cheek pressed to his collarbone as he settled the two of you into the cushions. The night air through the window was cool; his skin was warm against yours.
He curled behind you and draped a new throw blanket over your bodies, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.
“All clingy and messy and fucking desperate.”
You groaned, flushing. “Hush.”
He leaned in and kissed your nose. “My favorite love.”
His heartbeat thudded against your back, slow and steady. You let yourself sink into him, body heavy, brain soft. All of it, the wreckage of pleasure, the gentle care, the calm after, wrapped around you like a cocoon.
A few minutes passed before you mumbled, “…I didn’t even realize it was ovulation week at first.”
San tilted his head down. “You’ve been on the red zone of that app since Wednesday.”
You blinked. “You checked my period app?”
He huffed a laugh. “Babe. You made me download it so I’d stop offering you milkshakes when you’re cramping.”
“…Right.”
You reached for your phone and pulled up the app.
Sure enough: Cycle Day 17. Fertile Window.
A bubble popped up with a cutesy message: 🩷 “You may be extra sensitive, sensual, or emotionally intense today!”
You snorted. “They forgot ‘will sob uncontrollably while getting railed.’”
San peeked over your shoulder. “Oh, I’d swipe right on that.”
Another notification popped up, this time from your group chat.
woowoo:
bitch are you okay??
or just too full of dick to respond???
joongie:
at least confirm you’re ALIVE you were ghosting us mid-tour and now radio silence???
mingithingi:
when u coming back? imy
You started typing through a laugh.
you:
alive. sore. not sorry. imy2 also tell wooyoung i hope he steps on a lego
San took your phone, added:
san:
don’t worry. she’s hydrated, stretched, and fully taken care of. she doesn’t miss u mingi.
Then he tossed it back onto the coffee table and tucked his face against your neck, one hand sliding under your shirt to rest on the warm skin of your belly.
“You good?” he murmured.
You shook your head yes, “Just wrecked.”
“Wanna cry some more?”
“Dunno, maybe.”
“I got you.” He kissed your shoulder. “Always.”
The ovulation app chimed softly in the background, like it knew exactly what it had done.
STRAY KIDS HYBRIDS AU : OT8 STRAYKIDS X HYBRID RAGDOLL CAT FEM READER
Summary : Hybrids is well known to public, and in the entertainment industry, idols owning hybrids wasn’t unusual. Stray Kids have one, a pure ragdoll cat hybrid. Not as a pet, but more like a family, A Pack for her.
Pairing : Stray Kids OT8 x F!Reader
Tags : Angst ( I love angst), and fluff
A/N : This is my first time writing, so advice, tips and critics are helpful :). English isn't my first language so I used tools to help me write.
The next few days passed like it's supposed to. Not perfect. Not fully healed. But smoother.
The tension that had wrapped so tightly around your chest for weeks finally loosened little by little, enough for you to breathe without constantly feeling like something heavy sat over your ribs. The members became warmer again too, whether because they finally noticed the distance growing between all of you or because schedules lately had forced everyone together longer. Either way, the dorm slowly regained fragments of the warmth it used to hold.
And you clung to those fragments desperately.
Every morning started early, sunlight barely touching the windows before you were already awake in the kitchen, wearing one of your oversized hoodies beneath an apron. Your fluffy cream-colored tail swayed lazily behind you as you moved around preparing breakfast while soft music played from your phone speaker. Eggs sizzling quietly. Rice steaming. The comforting smell of soup filling the dorm little by little.
It became your favorite part of the day again. Because mornings felt honest, sleepy and unfiltered.
The members shuffled in one by one with messy hair and tired eyes, naturally gravitating toward you before they were even fully awake. Lee Know always entered first these days.
Somehow already carrying a warm mug for you.
“Drink this first.”
You turned from the stove with a small blink.
Warm milk. Your ears perked slightly.
“You made it for me?”
Minho only shrugged casually while leaning against the counter.
“You forget to take care of yourself when you’re busy.”
The words settled warmly in your chest.
Quiet affection. The kind Minho gave without making a scene. You accepted the mug with both hands, smiling softly.
“Thank you.” His fingers brushed briefly behind your ear as he passed you.
“You look less dead lately.”
You gasped dramatically.
“I did not look dead!”
“You absolutely did.”
And just like that, your laughter filled the kitchen again.
Soon after, the others began piling in noisily. Felix immediately attached himself to your back while you plated food, wrapping both arms around your waist and pressing his face against your shoulder.
“You’re warm.”
“Lixie, I can't move properly if you cling to me like that.”
“I don't wanna Y/n-ah...”
He mumbled through your shoulder then he kissed your cheek absentmindedly before stealing bacon directly from the pan and ran to quickly sat down.
“Yah!” you protested.
Meanwhile Bang Chan sat at the dining table already sipping coffee, eyes following you around the kitchen quietly. There was something unbearably soft about the way Chan looked at you this morning.
Gentler.
Longer.
Like a lovestruck feelings lingered somewhere beneath his eyes.
“You’re staring,” you stated boldly while setting down plates in front of him. Chan smiled immediately. “Can’t help it.”
“Ugh,” Changbin groaned from beside him. “You sound like someone’s husband.”
Chan only grinned wider. “Maybe I am.”
Your ears instantly flattened in embarrassment while everyone burst out laughing, Changbin pretended to vomit. Then Han appeared dramatically out of nowhere.
“Move.”
Han turned you around and wrapped his hand around your waist from the front, hugging tightly while you whined saying that the breakfast still need to be serve.
“My affection now.”
Changbin immediately protested. “Yah, get off!”
Han ignored him entirely, rubbing his cheek dramatically against your shoulder while pouting. “She likes me more anyway.”
“I literally cooked for all of you,” you laughed.
“Exactly,” Han answered smugly. “Proof of love.”
Changbin looked deeply offended.
And somehow, sitting there listening to everyone bicker over you again felt so painfully domestic your chest almost hurt. Breakfast became slower these days. And longer much to your liking. Nobody rushed to leave immediately anymore.
Seungmin fed you pieces of fruit while pretending he wasn’t.
Jeongin rested his head against your shoulder half-asleep.
Felix complained loudly whenever Minho got more of your attention than him.
At one point, Seungmin suddenly pulled you directly onto his lap while you were trying to clear dishes. You yelped softly in surprise. “Seungmin!”
He only tightened his arms around your waist comfortably.
“You move around too much.”
Felix nearly slammed his spoon down dramatically.
“That’s unfair.”
“She sat on your lap yesterday!”
“And?” Seungmin answered smugly. “Skill issue.”
Your laughter spilled out before you could stop it.
Real laughter.
Not forced.
Not careful.
And hearing it made several members glance toward you instinctively with lightened expressions.
Because they’d missed it too. More than they realized.
Eventually everyone scattered around the dorm preparing for schedules, leaving the kitchen messy with warmth and leftover conversation. Meanwhile you packed essentials carefully into bags while double-checking schedules mentally.
Water bottles.
Medicine.
Extra snacks.
Chargers.
Always prepared.
Always careful.
But when you reached for your tumbler—
It wasn’t there.
You paused.
Blinking slowly.
Weird.
You always carried the same tumbler everywhere. A cream-colored insulated bottle decorated with tiny cat stickers Felix once insisted on buying for you.
You checked your bag again.
Nothing.
The counter.
The sink.
Your room.
Still nothing.
Your brows furrowed deeper the longer you searched.
Because you never lost things.
Especially not daily used things.
And stranger still—
You genuinely couldn’t remember when you last used it. The memory felt blurry somehow. Like trying to grasp smoke. From the hallway Chan’s voice called out. “Baby? What’s taking so long?”
You peeked out from your room.
“I can’t find my tumbler…”
Chan immediately walked over.
“You lost it?”
“I think so…”
Your ears drooped slightly.
“That’s weird.”
Chan stepped inside your room helping you glance around briefly before sighing. “You probably misplaced it at work.”
“I don’t usually forget things…”
“You’ve been busy lately.” Chan gently squeezed your shoulder. “I’ll buy you water later, okay? We gotta go.”
You hesitated. Something about it still bothered you. But eventually you nodded. “Okay.”
The photoshoot studio buzzed with energy all afternoon.
Bright lights.
Music blasting through speakers.
Staff rushing everywhere with makeup kits and clothing racks.
The atmosphere felt exciting rather than stressful though, mostly because the members were in unusually good moods today.
And honestly—
They looked stunning.
Every single one of them.
You sat near the monitors watching the shoot while occasionally snapping photos with your phone whenever the staff got distracted.
Hyunjin looked ethereal beneath the lighting.
Changbin somehow made simple black clothing look devastating.
Felix’s freckles stood out beautifully under soft makeup.
Chan’s smile alone kept making the stylists scream dramatically.
“You guys look too good,” one staff member complained jokingly while reviewing photos.
You nodded immediately. “They really do.”
“Careful,” another stylist teased. “Y/N’s staring too hard.”
Heat instantly crawled into your face.
“Yeah I am...” Too struck with how good looking they are
“You absolutely are.”
The members overheard immediately.
Hyunjin grinned proudly. “Can you blame her?”
“You’re literally flaunting,” Minho sighed. You buried your face behind your phone while everyone laughed.
And for a little while—
Everything felt light again.
“Aren’t you guys looking good today~?”
Your head snapped toward the familiar voice instantly.
Jina.
You hadn’t even noticed her arrive. She stood near the back of the studio smiling pleasantly, coffee cup in hand. But something about her sudden appearance made unease crawl quietly down your spine. Her eyes landed on you almost immediately.
“Oh.” A pause. “You’re here too.” The emphasis on you felt strange.
Subtle.
But noticeable enough your ears twitched slightly. What does she mean by that ?
Still, you smiled politely.
“How’s work going?”
“Good, good.”
Jina approached casually, gaze flickering across you thoughtfully.
“How are you, Y/N?”
Again.
That emphasis.
Like she was testing something invisible.
You laughed awkwardly.
“I’m okay.”
“You’ve looked upset lately.”
The statement caught you off guard.
Not because it was wrong.
But because of the way she said it.
Sweet.
Concerned.
Yet somehow it still made your stomach tighten. Maybe it’s a cat instinct.
“I’m fine,” you answered carefully.
Jina’s brows lifted slightly before she smiled again.
“I’m glad everything’s working out, then.”
Something about the sentence lingered strangely in the air.
You couldn’t explain why.
But suddenly you felt cold.
Jina stood smoothly afterward.
“Well, don’t push yourself too hard.”
Then she walked directly toward the members with effortless familiarity.
Laughing naturally with Chan.
Fixing Hyunjin’s sleeve.
Showing Felix something on her phone.
You watched silently from your seat.
And once again—
That same uneasy feeling settled heavily in your chest.
Because no matter how kind she sounded…
Something always felt wrong around her. Like standing too close to a smile hiding teeth. Maybe it's the cat inside of you, having the instinct and ability to detect bad vibes from people.
“Y/N!”
You startled violently at the sudden voice.
Nearly dropping your phone.
The photoshoot director approached quickly, smiling brightly.
“You scared me…”
“Sorry,” she laughed. “I have an idea. A really great one!”
You blinked. “What idea?”
The director clasped her hands excitedly. “How would you feel about doing your own photoshoot?”
Silence.
Your brain stopped completely.
“…What?”
Several nearby staff members immediately perked up.
“Yes!”
“Oh my god, please say yes.”
“We already have makeup ideas.”
You stared at everyone blankly.
Completely flustered.
“M-Me?”
The director nodded enthusiastically. “The first time I met you, I immediately pictured a concept.”
You blinked again. Still processing nothing.
“You’d fit it perfectly.”
“No, no, I’m not model-like at all—”
“That’s exactly why I want you.”
Your ears flattened shyly.
“What does that even mean…”
The director laughed warmly.
“You have a natural face. Expressive eyes. Soft features. And your hybrid traits make everything visually stunning.” Nearby stylists nodded aggressively in agreement. “We’ve literally talked about this before.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“You’d photograph beautifully.”
Your entire face burned hotter with every word.
“No way…”
“It doesn’t even need to be published,” the director reassured gently. “I just really want to bring this concept to life.”
You hesitated.
Nervous excitement fluttered strangely inside your chest.
A photoshoot?
You?
Before you could fully answer, suddenly—
Han appeared beside you at lightning speed.
“DO IT.”
You yelped as he grabbed both your hands dramatically before kneeling in front of you. “Please!”
“Han—”
“You’ll look gorgeous.” He looked genuinely excited now.
“Like actually insane. STAYs would lose their minds over you.”
Nearby members immediately agreed.
“Facts.”
“Absolutely.”
“You’d break the internet.”
Han tightened his grip dramatically.
“And WE would go crazy too.”
Then he hit you with the full pout.
Big bobba eyes.
Whining voice.
The devastating combination he knew you couldn’t resist.
“Pleaseeeee?”
You stared at him helplessly. Then at the excited staff surrounding you. Then at the members smiling expectantly nearby. Your heart pounded nervously. But underneath the anxiety…
There was excitement too.
A tiny spark of confidence you hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Maybe…
Maybe this could be fun.
Slowly—
You nodded.
“…Okay.”
The entire room exploded immediately.
And somewhere across the studio—
Jina watched silently. Her smile never wavering but her eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
The preparation room buzzed with excitement the moment you stepped inside.
It felt completely different from the loud energy of the studio outside. Softer somehow. Warmer. Filled with overlapping conversations, makeup brushes clicking together, steam from curling irons, and the faint scent of perfume and hairspray lingering in the air. The second the door closed behind you, several staff members immediately surrounded you with bright smiles.
“Thank you for agreeing to this.”
“We’ve wanted to style you forever.”
“You’re literally our dream concept.”
Your ears twitched shyly beneath all the attention.
“I’m really not that special…”
A collective groan immediately filled the room.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do not start that.”
You laughed softly despite yourself while being guided carefully toward the vanity chair.
The makeup artists adored you openly. One gently brushed your fluffy ears while cooing dramatically about how soft they were. Another lightly touched your tail with sparkling eyes.
“You’re seriously adorable.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly.
“Thank you…”
And strangely—
For the first time in a while, the attention didn’t feel heavy.
It felt nice.
Safe.
"You are beautiful, you should always embraced your beauty Y/n-ssi." Her encouragement stuck in you that day.
The stylists chatted excitedly while working around you carefully, fixing your hair into soft waves that framed your face beautifully. Makeup remained natural and light, just enough to brighten your features without hiding them. A soft pink tint dusted across your cheeks and lips, making your eyes appear warmer beneath the lighting.
Every few minutes someone would pause dramatically just to admire you.
“You have such pretty eyes.”
“Your skin is glowing today.”
“That dress is going to look insane on her.”
Your confidence slowly bloomed under all the kindness.
Not arrogance. Just pure confidence in yourself.
Like maybe you really could look beautiful too.
Eventually the dress arrived.
And when they helped you step into it—
You genuinely froze staring at yourself.
It was soft white fabric scattered with delicate pink floral patterns, the kind that looked almost painted beneath the light. Thin straps rested gently against your shoulders while a ribbon tied neatly across the chest area. The material hugged your figure just enough to flatter you naturally without feeling tight or uncomfortable.
You didn’t have the dramatic body proportions models usually did.
But somehow—
The dress made you feel pretty anyway.
Soft.
Bright.
Summery.
Like the kind of person someone would want to remember.
One stylist placed both hands dramatically over her heart.
“Oh my god.”
Another sniffled jokingly.
“She’s so cute I’m emotional.”
You burst out laughing.
When you finally stepped out into the studio—
Everything stopped.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just…
Stopped.
Conversations paused.
Cameras lowered.
Several staff members blinked slowly like they genuinely forgot what they were doing.
And the members—
The members looked stunned.
You froze immediately under the sudden silence.
“...What?”
No one answered for a moment.
Then Han whispered faintly—
“Oh, we’re doomed.”
Laughter instantly broke across the studio.
But even then, the members still stared.
Bang Chan looked completely speechless, coffee cup still halfway lifted toward his mouth.
Hyunjin pressed a hand dramatically against his chest like he’d just witnessed something life-changing.
Felix literally looked ready to cry.
And Changbin stared so openly that heat immediately rushed to your face.
One of the stylists giggled proudly behind you.
“Thank you for the reactions.”
The staff surrounding you looked incredibly satisfied, like your appearance alone validated all their hard work.
Meanwhile you could only laugh shyly while smoothing down the dress nervously.
“You’re all exaggerating…”
“We are absolutely not,” Seungmin answered immediately.
“You look insane,” Jeongin added.
Your ears flattened bashfully, giggling from the compliments.
The director clapped happily.
“Okay! Let’s shoot before they start fighting over her.”
The photoshoot theme centered around summer.
Not glamorous luxury summer.
Not dramatic beach magazine summer.
But warmth.
Sunlight.
Soft happiness.
And somehow—
You fit into it naturally.
The set had picnic blankets, flowers, fruit props, warm lighting, and soft pastel backdrops. The director guided you patiently through poses while constantly reassuring you.
“Relax your shoulders.”
“Think soft.”
“Good— yes, exactly like that.”
At first you felt awkward.
But slowly—
You began enjoying yourself.
Laughing naturally.
Holding flowers while sunlight reflected against your skin.
Playing with your own tail absentmindedly between shots.
The staff kept gasping dramatically whenever the preview images appeared on-screen.
Meanwhile the members watched from the side completely invested in every second.
“You guys are staring too hard,” one photographer teased.
“We can’t help it,” Felix complained.
Changbin didn’t even deny it.
Han took approximately eight hundred behind-the-scenes photos.
And somehow their attention didn’t make you anxious this time.
It made you glow.
After nearly an hour, the director finally smiled.
“Ten minute break.”
You immediately bowed politely.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
Then quietly slipped away toward the restroom.
The bathroom felt cool and silent compared to the busy studio.
You washed your hands slowly while staring at your reflection in the mirror.
And honestly—
You looked happy.
Really happy.
Your cheeks still carried a soft pink flush from smiling too much. Your eyes looked brighter than they had in weeks. Even your ears stood higher. A small smile spread across your lips. You actually did it.
Before you could sink too deeply into the moment, the restroom door opened.
Jina walked in.
“Oh, hey!”
You smiled politely.
“Hi.”
She approached beside you naturally, leaning against the sink facing you.
“You look beautiful today.”
Your ears twitched shyly.
“Thank you…”
Jina gently brushed a strand of hair behind your shoulder.
The gesture felt strangely intimate.
Then casually—
“Maybe hold your stomach in a little more though Y/n-ah.”
You blinked.
“What?”
She smiled lightly like she was giving harmless advice.
“Your tummy rolls are showing a little in the dress.”
And before you could process the words—
She playfully pinched lightly at your side where the fabric rested against your waist. " Look at this, so plumpy !" She giggled.
“I just don’t want anyone making fun of it later.”
Still smiling, sounding sweet, like she genuinely cared.
“Oh.. I didn’t notice.”
Jina smiled sympathetically.
“It’s not a huge deal.”
Then she tilted her head slightly.
“You’re not really model-sized after all.”
The air vanished from your lungs.
Your eyes immediately dropped toward your own body.
The dress suddenly felt tighter.
Your stomach suddenly felt bigger.
More visible.
You instinctively wrapped your arms slightly closer around yourself.
Jina continued casually.
“You’re still cute though.”
“I…” you swallowed quietly.
Jina only waved casually while walking toward one of the stalls.
“Just helping.”
The restroom suddenly felt freezing cold.
When you returned to the studio, something inside you had shifted.
Tiny.
But devastating.
Because now you couldn’t stop thinking about your body.
About how the dress hugged your waist.
About whether everyone noticed the softness there.
About whether the photos looked embarrassing.
You became hyper aware of every movement.
Every pose.
Your confidence drained away quietly.
The director noticed first.
“Relax your shoulders again.”
You tried.
But your body felt stiff now.
Awkward.
Wrong.
The members exchanged small glances from the side. Because only twenty minutes ago you’d been glowing. Now you barely looked at the camera. Finally you lowered your hands awkwardly.
“Can we… pause for a second?”
The director blinked gently.
“Of course.”
Immediately Hyunjin approached towering over you. Concern already visible across his face. “What happened?”
You hesitated.
Because saying it aloud sounded ridiculous.
Still—
Quietly, you admitted—
“I think my stomach looks weird in the dress.”
Hyunjin stared at you blankly.
“What?”
“I’m not a model,” you rambled nervously. “And maybe this concept would fit someone prettier or skinnier or—”
Suddenly—
Hyunjin kissed you.
Right on the lips. With his plump pink lips, that every Stays would die for.
Your brain completely stopped functioning.The studio exploded instantly.
“YAH!”
“That’s cheating!”
“UNFAIR!”
Minho eyes got wide.
Han collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
Meanwhile you stood frozen.
Completely stunned.
Your ears burned so hot you thought you might actually combust.
Hyunjin pulled back only slightly, hands cupping your face gently.
“Love...How can you say that,” he murmured softly, “when every single one of us has been completely obsessed with you all day?”
Your breath caught.
Hyunjin smiled faintly. “Seriously. You’ve got everyone falling in love with you all over again.” Nearby, Chan nodded immediately. “True.” Felix groaned dramatically. “She’s been attacking us since she walked out.”
Your entire face flamed deeper.
“Stop—”
“Some of them are literally malfunctioning,” Hyunjin continued teasingly.
“HYUNNIE.”
“What? I’m serious.”
Han pointed aggressively.
“I forgot how to speak earlier!”
The staff burst out laughing.
Meanwhile you buried your face in your hands.
“I’m never coming out there again…”
Hyunjin gently pulled your hands away.
“Hey.”
His voice softened instantly.
“You’re beautiful.”
Not exaggerated.
Not teasing.
Just honest.
“And you looked happiest when you stopped worrying about being perfect. You are literally an art Y/n.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because maybe—
Maybe that was true.
The director approached carefully afterward.
“Everything okay?”
Hyunjin explained briefly while rubbing comforting circles against your waist.
The director blinked once.
Then laughed softly.
“Oh sweetheart.”
You looked up nervously.
“This shoot isn’t about having a perfect body.”
She gestured around the set.
“It’s about summer.”
You stayed quiet.
“The warmth of it. The brightness. The happiness people remember.”
Her expression softened warmly.
“And you embody that perfectly.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“You don’t look like a model,” she admitted gently. “You look real.”
The staff nodded in agreement immediately.
“Comforting.”
“Warm.”
“Pretty in a way people remember.”
“You feel like sunshine.”
Your breath got caught unexpectedly. Because nobody had ever described you that way before. Not beautiful because you were flawless. Beautiful because you felt warm.
The insecurity loosened slightly.
You smiled softly.
Then bowed deeply.
“I’ll do my best.”
The rest of the shoot turned out even better somehow. Once your confidence returned, everything flowed naturally again. The photos captured laughter.
Movement.
Warmth.
Life.
And when the final images were reviewed afterward—
The entire studio collectively lost their minds.
“Oh my god.”
“These are insane.”
“She looks magical.”
Even you stared speechlessly at the screen.
Because somehow—
You looked genuinely beautiful.
Not edited into perfection.
Just… beautiful.
Warm sunlight against soft smiles.
Wind catching your dress.
Your eyes glowing naturally.
Minho immediately pointed at the screen.
“I want every photo.”
Everyone laughed.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m making an album.”
Felix gasped dramatically.
“That’s actually genius.”
“I want copies too.”
“Me too.”
You laughed helplessly while fanning your burning face with your hands.
The director turned toward you with a pleased smile.
“So?”
You blinked.
“Hm?”
“How does it feel?”
You looked back at the photos slowly.
Then at the staff surrounding you.
The members smiling proudly nearby.
And quietly—
“It feels really precious.”
Your voice cracked slightly from sincerity.
“Thank you so much for letting me experience this.”
The director’s expression softened deeply.
Then carefully—
“How would you feel about publishing them yeah?”
Your eyes widened immediately.
“What?!”
Several staff members nodded excitedly.
“You’d do amazing.”
“People would adore these.”
Instinctively you looked toward the members first. Seeking permission.
Reassurance.
Every single one of them nodded aggressively.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“Please.”
Then you turned nervously toward the managers. One of them smiled.
“If the publisher approves it, we’re okay with it.”
The director laughed confidently.
“They’ll approve it immediately.”
Then with a grin—
“And of course you’ll be paid.”
You froze.
“…Paid?”
The thought hit unexpectedly hard.
Because you’d never really had your own income before.
You lived with the members.
Relied on them.
Everything you had came from them somehow.
But this—
This would be yours.
Your own work.
Your own achievement.
Your eyes lit up instantly.
And before anyone could stop you, you bowed deeply toward every staff member repeatedly.
“Thank you so much! You don’t understand how grateful I am!”
The room filled with laughter and applause immediately. Everyone looked happy proud.
Everyone except one person.
From the far corner of the studio, Jina sat quietly with crossed legs and a drink resting in her hand.
Watching.
Smiling faintly.
But irritation burned clearly beneath her expression now.
in which your friend felix introduces you to his friend group. you immediately know you're not going to get along with their leader. he's arrogant, controlling and becoming your number one enemy. but neither of you can deny the deep-rooted desire for each other.
mdni!
warnings: heavy sexual themes, enemies, fem reader, jerking off, mentions of porn, name calling (bitch/whore/slut), a little sprinkle of degradation, deep throating (choking on his cock), use of toys (vibrator), oral, fingering, marks (hickeys/bites), bondage, safe words, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding (let me know if i forgot anything), mentions of food
wc: 9.6k
based on this drabble
felix should have warned you before introducing you to his group. instead, he had only grinned the entire drive over, one hand lazily drumming against the steering wheel while saying things like “just don’t let chan scare you off.” as if that could have prepared you for what would happen.
but you understood the second you walked in. the room shifted around him. conversations paused when he spoke. people looked at him before making decisions. even sitting back against the couch with one arm slung over the backrest, chan carried himself like he owned the place and everyone inside it.
and apparently, everyone let him.
your first impression of him settled quickly: arrogant. controlling. the kind of man who expected obedience simply because he existed.
his first impression of you formed just as fast. too observant.
he noticed the way your eyes tracked everything, the way you watched interactions instead of trying to force yourself into them. most people met him and got nervous. eager to please. careful with their words.
you didn’t. worse, you looked at him like something didn't sit right.
felix introduced you with an easy grin, entirely unaware of the tension that sparked the moment chan’s gaze landed on you.
chan leaned back slightly, eyes dragging over you once before he gave a curt nod. “heard a lot about you.” you smiled politely but your tone sounded anything but. “ditto.”
a few people in the room choked on their drinks. felix looked between the two of you like he’d just realised he accidentally lit a match near gasoline.
chan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. and that was the beginning of it.
after that, it became a pattern, predictable in the most irritating way possible. every time you showed up, chan noticed immediately.
it didn’t matter if he was mid-conversation, or across the room pretending not to pay attention, the second you walked in, his focus shifted. like some invisible thread pulled tight between you.
you noticed it too. the way his eyes found you first. always. and somehow, every single interaction between the two of you turned into a fight.
“we’re ordering from rossi’s,” chan announced one night from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his phone. “rossi’s is awful,” you said immediately.
a silence fell over the room. han muttered, “oh, here we go.” chan looked up slowly. “awful?”
“their pasta tastes microwaved.”
“it’s italian. one of the only italian places around here."
“that doesn’t automatically make it good.”
he stared at you for a second too long before scoffing softly. “you always this difficult?”
you leaned against the counter. “you always this bossy?”
his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
that should’ve warned you. because after that, he started seeking you out. deliberately.
if you sat somewhere, suddenly chan needed that exact spot. if you disagreed with something, he’d argue just to keep you talking longer. if someone else interrupted your banter, he looked annoyed by it.
and the worst part? you kept engaging. every single time.
“move,” he told you one evening when you stole his usual seat on the couch. you looked up from your drink. “there are six other places to sit.”
“that’s my spot.”
you scoffed, “sounds made up.” the room went quiet again. felix was already grinning into his drink.
chan stepped closer, towering over the couch while you refused to move even an inch. “you enjoy testing me.”
“you enjoy acting like a fucking dictator.”
“someone has to keep order around here.”
you snorted. “order? how dramatic."
his eyes narrowed. yours sparkled with amusement.
and there it was again, that awful little pull between irritation and entertainment that neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
because no matter how much chan acted annoyed by you, he kept looking for reasons to provoke you. he’d throw comments your way from across the room just to watch you snap back.
he learned exactly what got reactions out of you. the fastest way to make you glare. the quickest way to make you roll your eyes. the comments that made your lips twitch because you were trying not to laugh.
and god, he loved when you laughed. especially if it was usually at his expense.
“you know,” you said one night after he interrupted somebody for the fifth time, “normal people let others finish speaking.”
“normal people have useful things to say.”
you groaned in annoyance, “see? this is exactly why i can’t stand you.”
“funny." he drawled, eyes fixed on you over the rim of his drink, “why do you keep talking to me then?"
your stomach flipped annoyingly hard at that. because he was right. you looked away before anyone noticed the heat crawling into your face.
but later that night, while everyone else talked around him, you caught chan watching you from the other side of the room, completely focused, making it feel far more dangerous than the arguing ever had.
chan realised something was wrong the first time you followed him without actually being there.
he was at the studio, headphones hanging around his neck while he stared blankly at the unfinished track glowing on the monitor in front of him. one hand tapped impatiently against the desk. the bass loop repeated. and repeated. and repeated.
all because his brain kept replaying something stupid you’d said three nights ago. “you always act like you’re in charge even when nobody asked you to be.”
he could still hear the smugness in your voice. could still picture the look on your face when you’d said it.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, dragging both hands over his face. it was ridiculous. you were ridiculous. annoying. argumentative. impossible.
so why the hell was he thinking about you while trying to work? even worse, why did the thought of you make his chest tighten strangely?
he shoved the feeling away immediately. hatred. obviously. that had to be what this was.
except hatred usually didn’t make his pulse jump every time his phone lit up with a message in the group chat, secretly hoping it was you.
hatred shouldn't make his cock hard. and it definitely shouldn't make his thoughts slip to you when he was jerking off.
hatred shouldn’t have made him notice your absence the second he walked into felix’s apartment friday night.
he asked about you before he could stop himself. felix looked up so fast it was almost suspicious. “damn,” he said slowly. “you didn’t even say hi first.”
chan frowned immediately. “i was just asking.” felix smirked at that, “sure you were.”
he ignored the grin spreading across felix’s face and scanned the room again anyway. you weren’t there. and suddenly, the night felt off. quieter, less entertaining. he hated that most of all.
and once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. every room he entered, his eyes searched for you automatically. every conversation felt slightly duller when you weren’t interrupting him halfway through it. every joke landed flatter when it wasn’t making you roll your eyes.
it got worse after that. at the gym, he caught himself thinking about the way you looked at him whenever you argued, so... unimpressed. like you enjoyed challenging him just as much as he enjoyed provoking you.
this was the first time he felt the pressing need to jerk off. to the thought of you.
he rushed home from the gym, cock already half-hard in his pants. had been for the past hour. even an ice-cold shower did nothing.
he dropped his gym back to the floor, making his way to his room immediately, dropping onto his bed. he ran his hands over his face, grabbing his hair.
"fuck you." he said into the empty room before grabbing his hard on through his shorts, squeezing it.
he didn't want to do it, jerking off to you. his pride, his ego, screamed at him to stop. to not do this with you on his mind. he grabbed his phone, unlocking it with one hand while his other slipped into his pants.
porn should do it. watching any other chick, hearing her moans instead of your fucking laugh in his mind. porn used to be his remedy when his mind wouldn't shut up about you. but right now it did nothing. he only saw you. only heard you.
he groaned in frustration, closing the tab on his phone, forcing his hand to stop working his cock. it twitched desperately in his fist, demanding more.
he wanted to text you. to tell you to stop invading his thoughts. tell you how much he hated you. for being so fucking mouthy. for making it impossible for him to jerk off properly. to demand you to do something about it. but he knew you'd only mock him for it.
his thumb moved on its own as it opened his photo gallery. he didn't notice what he was searching for until he found pictures of the last time you hung out with the group.
he loved the shirt you were wearing back then. loved how it made your tits look. fuck. suddenly he was thinking about your tits, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. he imagined you arching your back, leaning into the touch as he grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched your nipples until you were whimpering.
his hand started moving on his cock again without him realising. his mind was too far gone. he thought about swirling his tongue around your nipples, sucking on them, wondering what your moans would sound like.
but he didn't only want to suck your nipples. he wanted to suck the soft flesh surrounding them. sucking, biting until it left a mark. right on your precious tit. he'd cover you in them, leaving marks all over you. fuck, you'd look so beautiful when he was done with you.
he noticed his fist jerking his cock only when he groaned involuntarily, his eyes fixated on the screen, on the picture of you. he wanted you. needed you. so bad it made his balls tighten.
he felt his orgasm approaching. fuck no, he couldn't cum to the thought of you. no matter how many times he thought of you while jerking off, he always managed to distract himself enough, think of anything but you when he found his release.
but right now he couldn't stop. couldn't stop imagining leaving his marks on you. he wanted to spank you until your butt cheeks were all red and covered in his handprints. finally making you realise who was in fucking charge.
the thought of you surrendering to him, to having his way with you, finally made him come undone. he gave his cock a few more strokes, tearing his gaze away from his phone, head thrown back against the pillow. and he blew his fucking load to the thought of you, whispering your name into the dark room.
after that, chan started gravitating towards you unconsciously. if you were in the kitchen, suddenly he needed a drink. if you were outside, he somehow ended up outside too. if you sat on the couch, he’d lean against the wall closest to you without even realising it. and then there was the hugging thing.
god, he hated the hugging thing. you hugged everyone. felix. the other members. friends arriving. friends leaving. everyone except him.
the first time he noticed it, irritation flared so fast it startled him. the second time, it became impossible not to watch.
you’d grin at somebody, arms wrapping around them casually while chan stood nearby pretending not to care. pretending not to notice. pretending he didn’t immediately wonder what it would feel like if you touched him like that. if your tits pressed against him. your scent surrounding him.
it got even worse when someone else made you laugh. especially men.
one night, seungmin had you nearly doubled over at the kitchen counter, laughing so hard you grabbed his arm for balance.
chan felt something ugly twist in his chest. before he even realised what he was doing, he crossed the room. “what’s so funny?” he asked flatly.
your laughter faded slightly as you looked up at him.“nothing you’d enjoy.”
“try me.”
"you don’t have a sense of humor.”
seungmin laughed awkwardly before quickly excusing himself the second chan looked at him.
coward.
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “did you just scare him off?”
“if he got scared that easily, that’s his problem.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“then stop talking to me.” he said quietly, stepping closer.
the words settled heavily between you. your expression flickered for half a second. and christ, that was another problem entirely.
because lately, every time you looked at him, he forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be hatred at all.
a few days later, a heavy summer storm hit the city. and it had gotten bad fast.
rain hammered against the streets hard enough to blur the city lights, thunder rumbling low and heavy overhead while you hurried towards the studio building with your jacket pulled uselessly over your head. you and felix had made plans to go out for dinner after the studio tonight.
by the time security let you upstairs after recognising you as “one of felix’s people,” you were completely soaked. your shoes squeaked against the floor as you pushed open the studio door with an exhausted sigh already forming, only for it to die immediately when you saw who was inside.
chan sat alone in the swivel chair in front of the mixing desk, one arm resting against the armrest while music played quietly through the speakers.
of course. you sighed dramatically. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
he glanced over his shoulder lazily. “nice to see you too.”
“where’s felix?”
“not here, obviously.”
you rolled your eyes, already pulling your phone out.“helpful as always.”
“i try.” but when chan turned fully in the chair, whatever sarcastic response he’d been about to make stopped short.
his eyes dragged over you slowly. rainwater clung to your clothes, your shirt damp enough to stick to your skin, droplets still sliding down your neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. his dick twitched. for once, chan looked genuinely speechless.
your stomach flipped annoyingly at the expression on his face. “take a picture,” you muttered.
his jaw tightened immediately, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. before he could answer, your phone buzzed.
felix: « storm’s too bad. roads are fucked. can’t make it tonight sorry 😭»
you stared at the message in disbelief. “you’re joking.”
“what?”
“felix bailed.”
chan snorted softly. “smartest thing he’s done all week.”
and then the power cut out. the room dropped into darkness instantly. you jumped hard enough to knock your knee against the couch beside you. “shit—”
a laugh echoed through the dark. “you scared of a little darkness?”
“absolutely not.”
“you literally jumped just now.”
a flashlight flicked on a second later, illuminating the room dimly from below as chan leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too entertained by your suffering. the lighting made him look unfairly attractive. which only irritated you further.
“what, no candles around?” you asked dryly. “could make this whole thing a little cosier.”
his brows lifted. “this is a fucking studio.”
“and?”
“not exactly a place that calls for romance.”
you snorted. “pity. you probably bang a lot of chicks here considering you’re basically married to the studio. could’ve at least provided them with ambiance.”
chan barked out a laugh at that. an actual laugh. "trust me,” he said, eyes glinting in the flashlight glow, “i don’t need romance for that.”
“oh, i’m sure your personality alone does all the heavy lifting.”
“you saying i’m charming?”
“i’m saying you’re bossy. probably sucking up to people if you want something.”
he shook his head slowly, still staring at you in that intense way that always made your heartbeat feel uneven.
outside, thunder cracked loudly enough to rattle the windows. you crossed your arms instinctively, suppressing a shiver.
unfortunately, chan noticed immediately. his eyes narrowed slightly as another tremor ran through you. “you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re shaking.”
“wow,” you deadpanned, “your observational skills are incredible.”
he rolled his eyes before reaching behind him blindly, grabbing a black sweater from the couch and tossing it towards you.
it hit your chest. you looked down at it suspiciously. then back at him. “…you own sweaters? wow. didn't expect that with you always running around in your stupid tank tops." you loved the stupid tank tops.
“hilarious.”
you held the sweater between two fingers. “this thing probably reeks of ego.”
“put the fucking hoodie on.”
you snorted softly, still not moving. “i think i’d rather suffer.”
“christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “stop being so fucking stubborn.”
“make me.” the words slipped out too naturally. too easily. and the second they did, the room changed.
chan went still. the flashlight from his phone cast shadows across his face as his eyes locked onto yours with dangerous intensity.
your pulse skipped. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. slowly. oh, he knew exactly how to make you less stubborn.
“careful,” he said quietly. your breath caught despite yourself.
but instead of backing down, you tilted your head slightly. “or what?”
his eyes darkened slightly at that. the storm outside seemed louder suddenly, rain hammering against the windows while the studio sat in near darkness around you.
chan leaned back slowly in the chair, one hand still holding his phone loosely against his thigh. “you really don’t know when to stop talking.”
you clutched the sweater against your chest. “you say that like you aren’t the one constantly starting arguments with me.”
“because you make it easy.”
“or maybe you’re obsessed with hearing yourself speak.”
he laughed quietly under his breath. “see?” he murmured. “there it is.”
“what?”
“that mouth.”
heat crept annoyingly up your neck. you tried to ignore it. “you mean the one that hurts your feelings every other day?” you said sweetly.
“please.” his gaze dragged over you again, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. “if anything, i think you enjoy getting my attention.”
you scoffed immediately. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you came here soaked out of your mind during a storm.”
“to see felix.”
“sure.”
“god, your ego is exhausting.”
“and yet you ended up alone with me.”
the words landed heavier than they should have. you hated that your heartbeat reacted instantly. and chan noticed, your flushed face making him way more aroused than it should.
his eyes narrowed slightly, like he was studying every tiny shift in your expression.
“you know what your problem is?” you said, mostly to regain control of the conversation.
“enlighten me.”
“you think everybody wants you.”
one corner of his mouth pulled upward. “you saying you don’t?”
your breath caught for half a second. just enough. his expression changed immediately the moment he noticed. to satisfaction? or interest? something far more dangerous underneath both.
“wow,” he said softly. “that almost sounded convincing.” you glared at him. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re nervous.”
“i’m cold.”
“right.” his voice dipped lower on the word. you hated the way it affected you. hated the way the flashlight glow caught against his jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on you like he was trying to peel apart every reaction you had.
outside, thunder cracked again. you instinctively stepped closer to him. not close enough to touch. but close enough for him to notice.
a mistake. because chan's gaze dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face.
“put the fucking sweater on,” he said quietly this time. “why? worried about me?”
his eyes held yours. “more than i should be.”
the room went painfully still after that. your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you angry.
you ended up leaving the studio an hour later once the rain calmed enough to be manageable again. not before chan practically shoved the sweater at you a second time after catching you trying to hand it back. “put it the fuck on,” he said flatly.
“wow. so caring.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
you rolled your eyes, but you still wore it out into the storm. and annoyingly enough, by the time you got home, you realised it smelled exactly like him.
cedar wood and clean laundry. you hated that.
hated it even more when you caught yourself pulling the sleeves over your hands and burying your face into the fabric for half a second while kicking your shoes off near the door.
“oh, this is bad,” you muttered to yourself immediately. because now your apartment smelled faintly like chan too.
meanwhile, back at the studio, chan sat alone in the chair staring at his phone like it had personally offended him. the power had returned twenty minutes ago. music played softly through the speakers again. but he hadn’t gotten any work done since you left.
his mind kept replaying the way you looked wearing his sweater. sleeves hanging past your hands.
your hair still slightly damp from the rain.
fuck.
he scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. this was getting ridiculous. you were annoying. stubborn. mouthy. constantly arguing with him.
he did not fucking care whether you got home safe. so why was he still staring at your contact like a man possessed? his thumb hovered over the keyboard. stopped. started again. stopped.
don’t text her. seriously. don’t. you’d never let him live it down.
he tossed the phone onto the desk. picked it back up thirty seconds later. “for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
before he could overthink it again, his fingers moved.
chan: « got home okay? »
he stared at the message the second it sent, immediate regret settling in. what the hell was wrong with him? his phone buzzed less than a minute later. and despite himself, his heart kicked hard against his ribs.
« no actually. died halfway there. »
his mouth twitched instantly. god. there it was again. that stupid rush every time you answered him.
« tragic. hope my hoodie survived though. »
you snorted softly to yourself while curling further into your couch.
« barely. still reeks of your fucking ego. »
he leaned back in the chair, smiling before he could stop himself, like an idiot.
« you still wearing it? »
your eyes narrowed at the message.
« why? you miss it? »
three dots appeared almost immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you stared at your screen way too intently.
« maybe i just don’t trust you with my clothes. »
heat crept into your face annoyingly fast.
« relax. i’m not trying to steal your precious hoodie. »
« already did. »
your stomach flipped. you hated how much you liked this version of him. because somehow, over text, the banter felt even more entertaining. like all his attention narrowed directly onto you. you bit your lip before typing back.
« you this annoying with everyone or am i special? »
this time, his reply took longer. far longer. chan stared at the message for a while, jaw tightening slightly because the answer came too easily.
you’re the only person who talks back.
you’re the only one i think about this much.
you’re the only one who gets under my skin.
instead, he typed:
« don’t let it get to your head. »
a couple days later, you found yourself back at the studio again. mostly because felix had begged you to bring him lunch after claiming he was “seconds away from starving to death.” dramatic.
you sat cross-legged on the couch while felix inhaled noodles beside you, rambling about some artist they'd been working with while music played quietly through the speakers.
you were halfway through making fun of him for nearly setting the break room microwave on fire earlier when the studio door opened.
and immediately, your attention shifted. chan walked in wearing all black, headphones hanging around his neck, one hand pushing through his hair tiredly before his eyes landed on you.
his expression barely changed. but his heartbeat did. fast enough to irritate him instantly. because there you were again, sitting comfortably in his space like you belonged there now. laughing, talking, wearing that exact expression that always made him want to argue with you just to keep your attention on him longer.
“look who decided to show up,” you said casually.
“look who keeps invading my studio.”
felix looked between the two of you with immediate interest.
chan dropped into the chair across from you before his eyes narrowed slightly. “did you bring my hoodie?” you blinked innocently. “no.” his brows lifted. “no?”
“that’s what i said.”
“you keeping it now?”
you snorted softly. “maybe i like it.”
his gaze flickered over you slowly. "should i be worried?”
“depends,” you said lightly. “you emotionally attached to it?”
“not usually.”
felix looked absolutely delighted. “jesus christ,” he whispered to himself.
you ignored him. mostly because chan was still staring at you with that infuriatingly focused expression that made you feel overly aware of yourself.
“i can go get it right now if you’re gonna be dramatic about it,” you said.
the smart response would’ve been no. he knew that. he should’ve said: don’t bother. it’s just a hoodie. bring it whenever.
instead, his mouth betrayed him. “go ahead.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing in disbelief. “you are such a fucking pain in the ass.”
“you took my hoodie.”
“you told me to wear it!"
“didn’t say permanently.”
you narrowed your eyes at him while felix openly watched the exchange like live entertainment. “see?” you muttered. “this is exactly what i mean. you always need things your way.”
“and you always pretend you don’t like giving me a hard time.”
“i could think of a million things i'd rather do.”
“sure.” god, that smug look on his face made you want to throw something at him.
instead, you leaned back against the couch dramatically. “well, too bad. i’m not going home right now just because you snapped your fingers.”
his jaw twitched slightly. “fine,” he said after a second. “i’ll pick it up tonight after the studio.”
your heart stumbled instantly, hard enough to genuinely piss you off. because suddenly all you could think about was chan standing inside your apartment. wearing that look, talking to you in that low voice, being alone with you again.
you forced yourself to stay casual. “fine.” but the word came out thinner than you intended.
his eyes stayed on you for one extra second too long before the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly, satisfied. like he’d already figured out exactly what that idea did to you too.
a little after eight, your phone buzzed. you stared at the notification longer than necessary.
« address. »
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard while your heartbeat steadily picked up speed. this was a bad idea. letting chan into your apartment, alone, at night, after whatever the hell had been happening between you lately, felt objectively stupid.
his hoodie sat freshly washed and perfectly folded on your desk like evidence of a problem you refused to acknowledge. you should’ve just brought it to the studio earlier.
after another minute of overthinking, you sent him your address anyway. the three dots appeared almost immediately.
« be there in thirty. »
your stomach flipped. “this is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself. and yet you still fixed your hair before he arrived. fucking pathetic.
exactly thirty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. of course he was punctual. you had no idea why the smallest thing about him annoyed you this much.
you grabbed the hoodie quickly before opening the door just enough to shove it towards him immediately. “here. now leave.”
chan looked down at the folded sweater in your hands before slowly lifting his eyes back to your face. “cute welcome.”
“you came for the hoodie. here it is."
instead of taking it right away, he leaned one arm against the doorframe casually. his gaze stayed fixed on you while he finally took the sweater from your hands. and then he noticed it. the scent. your detergent.
his fingers tightened slightly around the fabric. fuck. he hated how much he liked it. hated the immediate thought that crossed his mind.
you narrowed your eyes. “why are you looking at it like that?”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally glaring at your own hoodie.”
“i’m thinking.”
“dangerous hobby for someone like you.”
his mouth twitched. there it was again. that tiny almost-smile that only ever seemed to appear around you. “you washed it.”
“obviously.”
“didn’t think you had it in you.”
you scoffed immediately. “god, you’re annoying.”
“you say that every time you see me.”
“because it remains true every time i see you.”
he laughed quietly under his breath before his eyes drifted past you briefly into your apartment. “you gonna make me stand out here all night?”
“that was actually the plan.”
“rude.”
“you'll survive.” but despite the sarcasm, you stepped aside anyway.
the second chan walked past you, the atmosphere shifted. you shut the door quickly behind him before you could overthink the fact that you were now alone with him again.
his eyes landed on you again almost immediately. “you nervous?” he asked suddenly. you blinked. “what?”
“you keep fidgeting.” you immediately stopped moving out of spite. “you’re imagining things.”
“am i?”
“yes.”
he hummed softly, unconvinced. “interesting.”
“what is?”
“you only get defensive when i’m right.”
“and you only talk this much when you want attention.” his brows lifted slightly. "you think i want your attention?”
you laughed once in disbelief. “please. you practically orbit around me at this point.”
that hit harder than intended. you could tell immediately by the way his expression shifted.
chan stepped closer slowly, enough to make your pulse spike.
“careful,” he said quietly. “you’re sounding very confident for someone whose heart is racing right now.”
your breath caught. “you’re insufferable.”
“you already said that.”
“because you keep proving it.”
“then tell me why,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “you still let me in?"
the tension snapped tighter instantly.
“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, though your voice came out weaker than intended. “you came here for a hoodie.”
“right.” the way he said it made heat spread low in your stomach. because suddenly it very much did not feel like this was about the hoodie anymore.
the room felt unbearably small now. every sarcastic comment, every lingering glance, every argument between you two over the past weeks suddenly sat heavy in the air between you.
chan stayed close. close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw every time you opened your mouth again. which, naturally, only made you want to push him further.
“you know,” you said lightly, even though your pulse was completely betraying you now, “for someone who supposedly can’t stand me, you spend an awful lot of time in my personal space.”
his eyes narrowed. “you think this is me trying to be close to you?”
“i think you’re obsessed with annoying me.”
a humourless laugh left him. “trust me,” he murmured, “if i wanted to annoy you, you’d know.”
your stomach tightened hard at the tone of his voice. but you still crossed your arms stubbornly. “wow. terrifying.”
chan couldn't help but stare at your arms crossed over your tits. those goddamn tits. “you should be scared.”
“of what?”
his gaze locked onto yours completely. “of how much i’m trying not to lose my patience with you right now.”
the words hit like a physical thing, your breath catching slightly. his expression darkened. “there it is,” he said quietly. you swallowed once. “there’s what?”
“that look.”
“what look?”
“the one you get when you stop pretending you hate this.”
heat flooded your face instantly. “you’re delusional.”
“am i?” he stepped even closer. your back nearly brushed the edge of the counter behind you now. every instinct screamed at you to move. you didn’t. because despite the tension winding painfully tight in your chest, despite how impossible he was, you wanted him close.
“you talk too much,” chan muttered suddenly, eyes fixed on your mouth now instead of your eyes.
you scoffed softly, though it came out shakier than intended. “yet you’re always listening.”
“that’s the problem.” your heartbeat stumbled at his low voice. “do you have any idea,” he said slowly, “how fucking badly i want to shut that smart mouth of yours?”
silence crashed between you. your breath came shallow now. because suddenly all the tension between you two finally had a name. and judging by the way chan looked at you, he’d stopped trying to deny it entirely.
you should’ve stepped away. should’ve said something sarcastic. something sharp. something safe.
instead, your eyes flicked briefly to his lips before you whispered, far too softly: “what’s keeping you then?”
that was it. whatever restraint chan had left snapped instantly. his hand caught your jaw almost desperately before he crashed his mouth against yours. like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally lost the fight.
the kiss was all heat and frustration and ruined patience. you kissed him back immediately, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his other hand braced against the counter beside you.
and god, chan kissed exactly how he argued: intense and demanding. like he tried to be in control even in the heat of the moment.
a quiet sound caught in his throat when you pulled him closer, like he couldn’t quite believe this was finally happening either.
his forehead pressed briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe, both of you visibly affected now. and then the idiot actually muttered: “still think i’m annoying?”
you let out a breathless laugh despite yourself. “the most annoying."
his mouth curved against yours again. “yeah,” he murmured, already kissing you again, “but you kiss me anyway?"
you snorted against his lips. "just trying to see whether your ego is justified."
a dark chuckle escaped chan's throat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, his erection pressing against your lower belly.
"think you can impress me with a hard cock?" chan's hands twitched at that. he wanted to smack that smug expression of your face so badly. wanted to make you shut that goddamn mouth of yours.
instead, he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "watch it." he said through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto his last bit of self control.
"or what?" you replied confidently, looking up at him, smiling way too sweetly. chan's breaths came out heavier, his hips grinding against you instinctively.
"or i will show you exactly what this cock is capable of doing to you. and spoiler alert, you're not gonna like it."
you snorted at that. actually snorted, right in his face. "yeah? think you're gonna break me, channie?" the soft nickname on your lips were his complete undoing. his cock twitched, you felt it through the fabric. he placed his hands on the counter on either side of you, pulling back but caging you in. he could no longer be this close to you, he had to get his cock away from you. because he was about to snap.
"you have no idea what you're doing to me." he spoke, voice rough. a smug expression crossed your face, you leaned forward, breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "what if i know exactly what i'm doing to you?"
his hand shot up, grabbing your hair so hard it hurt, tilting your head back. you couldn't help yourself but moan out, legs clenching together. chan smirked, grip tightening in your hair, "you fucking like that? being manhandled? where's your fucking smugness now?"
you stared at him, hating how your body betrayed you. "fuck you, chan." you muttered. but that only encouraged him. he knew he had you.
"that the only comeback you can think of?" he mocked, his other hand now grabbing your jaw, holding your head in place. he pressed his body against you again. "c'mon, put that smart mouth to work. i dare you."
but you remained silent, breaths coming out in puffs as you tried to calm your racing heart. "where did your attitude go, hm?" he asked, pushing his leg between yours. he pressed his thigh against your core, making your breath hitch, looking at you with mocking eyes.
"you asked me if i think i can break you? yes, i can. tell me to stop and i will leave right through that door. but if you say yes to this, i will make sure you forget your own fucking name."
he waited. patiently. for any answer. for a simple yes or no. you blinked up at him, mind racing, until you finally nodded your head confidently. "is that a yes?" he asked, tone still mocking. "use your fucking words." his tone was commanding as ever. but he needed to hear it, needed your verbal consent.
"yes—" you choked out. and after that, all hell broke loose.
a low sound escaped chan's throat, his grip on your hair tightening, yanking your away from the counter and towards the couch. it hurt, the way he was handling you. he pushed you towards the sofa, finally letting go of your hair. "undress." he said, standing tall in front of you, arms crossed as he watched you. "i'm not gonna ask again."
your fingers trembled slightly as you started undressing yourself, eyes never leaving his. "for fuck's sake." chan muttered, clearly impatient. he smacked your hands away, basically ripping your clothes away. his hands roamed over your body, feeling your warm skin against his fingertips. you felt better than he could have ever imagined. he groaned, his mouth suddenly back on yours. the kiss was laced with desperation as his hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them through your bra before taking it off with skilled fingers. "fucking perfect." he muttered more to himself than you.
he pinched your nipples hard, needing to know how you react to it. you hissed, biting your lip, gaining a smirk from chan.
he pushed you down on the couch, standing tall in front of you. his thumb traced over your lower lip. "open." he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back. "tongue out." your jaw clenched slightly, not wanting to obey him, wanting to challenge him. but when his grip in your hair tightened painfully, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. chan leaned forward, spitting into your mouth before sliding two fingers along your tongue. he moved them further into your mouth, his cock twitching in his pants.
"i'm gonna show you how to put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" he muttered as he started sliding his fingers in and out of you. you wrapped your lips around them, looking up at him. he pulled your hair harder, tilting your head further, retrieving his fingers from between your lips and smacking your cheek hard. "fucking answer when i'm talking to you."
your breath caught in your throat, eyes watering the slightest bit. "well right now, you're all big words and no fucking action." your snappy response earned you another slap against your cheek, coating it with your saliva that was still on his fingers.
"you fucking bitch." chan just shook his head, unable to believe that you still had the audacity to talk back. he yanked your hair. hard. moving you to lie on your back, head on the armrest of the couch. he pulled you further until your head was hanging over the edge.
he was already working on his pants, pulling them down, freeing his cock, right over your face. he gave it a few strokes, watching you. he didn't waste another second, tapping it against your lips. you smelled him, the saltiness of his precum coating his tip.
he didn't push in, not yet. he smeared his precum over your lips. "tap my thigh three times in a row if it gets too much. understand?" he asked, growing more impatient by the minute. you nodded. fucking nodded. "words, sweetheart." he said through gritted teeth.
"i understand." you said.
"good girl."
"don't fucking call me that. i'm not your good girl."
chan only grinned at that. "you'd rather i keep insulting you?"
"i'd rather you finally put that cock to use." you snapped back. he smacked your tit, making you flinch. "yeah, i fucking should. shut that goddamn mouth of yours for once."
and with that, he pushed his cock past your lips, his hips snapping involuntarily, shoving his length down your throat. "fuck—" he cursed loudly, watching your throat, how it took shape of his length. "holy—"
you immediately gagged around him, not having expected him to just shove his entire length in with no further warning.
and he fucking kept it there, making you choke, cutting off your air supply. you tapped his thigh three times, and he immediately pulled back, realising that he got caught in the moment. you immediately took a deep breath, coughing.
"you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then fucking take it like one."
"you're a fucking asshole, bang chan, you know that?"
a dark chuckle erupted from somewhere deep inside him. "yet you still take my fucking cock like you're my own personal slut." and before you could say anything, he rammed his cock back into your mouth, deep down your throat.
his hips moved in quick little thrusts, fucking your mouth till you couldn't breathe, pulling back to let you get some oxygen before repeating his movements. his hand reached for your throat, squeezing it, feeling the pressure of his own hand around his cock buried deep down.
you choked. hard. your body started jolting until he finally pulled out, a long strip of saliva still connecting your mouth to his cock.
"you're trying to fucking choke me to death?" your voice sounded hoarse, your throat so raw it hurt to talk. chan just grinned down at you, his fingers smearing your own saliva all over your pretty lips. you caught his finger, biting it.
"fuck! you bitch!" chan called in surprise, withdrawing his hand, connecting it to your cheek with a hard smack. and of all possible things you could have done, you fucking moaned at his action. "you're un-fucking-believable." chan muttered through gritted teeth.
"on your hands and knees." he ordered, voice way too calm for the storm inside him. you snorted. "don't fucking boss me around like that."
chan was losing his patience. he grabbed you, handled your body with a strength that left you breathless as he flipped you over on your stomach. "don't make me tie you the fuck up."
you snorted again. fuck, it drove him wild. he wanted to punish you for fucking breathing. "be my guest. i don't own any ropes."
a slow, wicked grin spread on chan's face. "oh, trust me. i can get very creative." and with that, his hands left you and you heard him wander off. you turned your head to the side, watching him waltz around your apartment like he fucking owned the place.
"what the fuck are you doing?" you snapped, already shuffling to get up.
"if you dare move even a fucking inch, i'm gonna spank your ass till it's burning red." your breath hitched at his words. but that still didn't stop you from rising to your feet and following him. who did he even think he was?
you found him in your bedroom, picking up a belt that was stored neatly in one of your drawers. he looked ridiculous. going through your stuff, half naked, his stupid cock still glistening with your saliva.
you stood there, butt naked, crossing your arms over your chest. "stop fucking going through my stuff."
"why? hiding something you don't want me to find?"
you snorted, "no. just don't like fucking assholes going through my things."
he walked past your bed, opening the drawer of your nightstand. "oh my god! you have no fucking respect!"
you knew what he would find. and you couldn't care less. he held up your pink vibrator a few seconds later, grinning like he found a precious treasure. "cute." he muttered.
"oh wow, blame a girl for owning a goddamn vibrator."
chan turned around, standing in front of you, vibrator in one hand, belt in the other. "you get yourself off with this thing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"yes." you replied confidently but couldn't suppress the soft flush spreading from your neck to your face. chan grin only widened. his eyes travelled past you, landing on a light scarf hanging over the back of your desk chair. "perfect." he muttered, walking past you to grab it. "remember how i told you not to fucking move?"
you rolled your eyes, "remember how i told you not to boss me around?"
chan came up behind you. you could feel the heat radiating from his body. he threw the vibrator and the scarf on the bed. your eyes followed the items. "you know, that scarf is actually my favourite, if you ruin it—"
"don't care." he cut you off, grabbing your wrists, yanking them behind your back harshly. he tied the belt around them, making you gasp.
"and the only thing i plan on ruining," he moved his hands up your arms, fingertips ghosting over the skin, giving you goosebumps. "is you."
his lips connected to your shoulders, leaving a few kisses till he reached your neck. his arms snaked around you from behind, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard against your butt. he bit your neck hard, making you hiss, before sucking the flesh, making sure to leave a fucking mark.
he pulled back slightly, watching the skin change colour, grinning in satisfaction, before repeating it a little further up. your ass ground against his cock, making him suck your skin harder.
"fuck, you like getting marked like a fucking whore?" he whispered against your skin, his hands squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you moan. "chan—"
you moaning his name like that was his complete undoing. he needed more. needed more of you moaning his name, screaming it.
he grabbed the small vibrator from the bed, turning it on and guiding it over your hardened nipples. you pressed yourself harder against him, soft moans now constantly leaving your lips. he started grinding his hard cock against you, moving the vibrator down to your cunt, running it over your clit lazily. you arched your back, your hips starting to move against the toy. "chan, please—" you couldn't suppress the soft whimper, no idea where the sudden needy tone came from. but it made him lose his mind.
he threw you on your bed, yanking your ass up before you could even gather yourself, your hands still tied tightly behind your back.
he started wrapping your scarf around your thighs in figure 8s, tying them together. once he was done, he took a step back, admiring the view. you turned your head to the side, pressed against the mattress, ass in the air. you tried to get a glimpse of him. he stood there, swallowing hard, just... watching you.
"you're a fucking weirdo, bang chan."
his eyes didn't move away from your bare core, "shut up or i will gag you." he said as his eyes finally met yours. he moved closer to the bed, leaning forward, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your face. "if anything gets too much, you use the word 'red' and i will stop immediately, okay?" you blinked at him a few times. the fact that he still ...cared, despite the hatred, despite you riling him up constantly, made something warm settle in your chest. "okay."
his hand started caressing your butt cheeks, way too softly. the serious expression on his face was replaced by a smirk. and then he smacked you. hard. you couldn't move, hands tied together, thighs tied together. all you could do was flinch.
"you should learn to fucking listen. if i tell you not to move, you don't fucking move." another smack. you opened your mouth, wanting to protest. he cut you off with another deliberate slap. "don't you fucking dare talking back right now." he said, making you grin. fucking grin.
"god—" he shook his head, his next smack making you wince from the sting. and then his finger just entered you with no fucking warning. you moaned out loud in surprise, moving back against his touch.
chan let out a dark chuckle. "you're so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." he said, his finger moving in and out of you with ease. "so fucking wet."
his free hand slapped your ass again, so hard it left a handprint. he added a second finger, curling them inside you, making you moan involuntarily. "fuck, chan—"
his cock twitched at you moaning his name again. fuck, that did things to him. "again." he muttered, teeth clenched, trying to keep any bit of self-control. "moan my fucking name again." he pumped his fingers faster, curling them at just the right spot, his name leaving your lips in soft moans, driving him insane.
he dropped to his knees, pulling his fingers out of you and burying his face into your cunt. "fuck!" you cried out, body jolting forwards. he grabbed your hips harshly, holding you in place as he fed on you like a man starved.
"tastes so fucking good." he groaned against you, his tongue swirling around your clit a couple of times before licking up to your entrance, pushing inside you. he reached for the vibrator again, turning it on, bringing it to your clit, while his tongue moved in and out of your hole.
you ground your cunt against him, moaning shamelessly as you felt your orgasm build up. "chan—" you moaned and he knew. he wanted to deny you the orgasm, wanted to edge you, to make you feel as desperate as you always made him feel. but he couldn't. not when you were moaning so sweetly. not when your cunt was grinding against his face so desperately.
your legs started trembling and he threw the vibrator away. it scattered on the floor somewhere as chan grabbed your hips harder, fingers digging into you so hard, they'd leave bruises. he held you in place, burying his face deeper inside you.
"just fucking come on my face already." he murmured into you, big hands moving to your ass, squeezing the cheeks harshly.
you tried to hold back your orgasm, not wanting him to feel even the slightest amount of pride for making you come. and he noticed. noticed the way you tried to hold back.
"for fuck's sake!" he groaned, pushing two fingers back inside you, curling them right where you needed them, making you cry out.
"stop being so fucking stubborn." his fingers pumped into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot again and again, making you see stars, head spinning. until you finally could no longer hold back. with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, you came undone. he guided you through your orgasm and you could feel his fucking grin against your cunt.
"that's it." he murmured, clearly satisfied with himself. "just shut the fuck up." you snapped. bad idea. he smacked your cunt so hard, it made you lose balance, collapsing onto the mattress. with your legs and hands still tied, you couldn't lift yourself up, legs still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.
chan just chuckled darkly behind you, giving his cock a few pumps, watching you being completely at his mercy. he's been dreaming about this, fantasising about it. his eyes wander over your body, spotting every goddamn mark he left. bites, hickeys, fingerprints. he loved it. but he needed more.
he reached forward, grabbing your hair and yanking you back. his breath was hot against your ear, his cock pressing against your ass. "i'm gonna fuck you now, yeah? fill that pretty little cunt. mark you properly."
he gave you a few seconds to protest, but you didn't. you were still catching your breath, body still trembling. he let go of your hair, starting to undress himself. you didn't want to look. you knew he was handsome as fuck, didn't need a proof of that. but you couldn't help turning your head, watching him over your shoulder. fuck.
"stop staring." he said, not even looking up as he neatly placed his clothes over the chair at your desk. your eyes traced his toned body, all the way to his perfect ass. goddamnit.
"don't fucking flatter yourself." you snorted, but your words lacked any bite. chan ignored it, standing behind you, cock fucking throbbing and all. "ass up." he ordered. you struggled against the restraints, trying to move back onto your knees.
"fucking pathetic." chan murmured as he gripped your hips and pulled you up. his hands sprawled over your butt cheeks, squeezing them. you hissed. they still hurt from earlier.
chan just watched you for a while, with you getting impatient. "stop staring." you repeated the words he just threw at you, grinning to yourself. his hands flinched against your butt cheeks, ready to smack the shit out of you, but he took a deep breath instead.
he spit down on his cock, using one hand to spread his saliva over it, before pushing inside you with no further warning. "fuck!" you cried out, jolting forwards. "godfuckingdamnit chan!"
you were so fucking wet, he just slid right in, all the way. he gritted his teeth, trying not to think too much about how fucking good you actually feel. trying not to think about how he actually, finally, has his cock buried inside your fucking cunt. trying not to think about— fuck. his cock twitched inside you, realising how your walls are clamping down on him.
it pissed him off. how good you felt. how warm you were. how fucking wet. how much he wanted you, even though he finally had you.
he grabbed your hair, wrapping it around his hand, yanking you back forcefully, his cock buried to the hilt. he yanked until you were pressed against his chest. "i'm not gonna last long if you keep clenching your fucking walls around me."
your soft moans turned into a snort. "who's pathetic now? you haven't even fucked me properly, channie."
he lost it at the sweet nickname on your lips. his free hand smacked your ass. hard. grabbing your hips. the grip in your hair tightened as he started moving. his hips snapping brutally, each thrust into your sensitive cunt making you whimper.
"you drive me fucking insane." he murmured against your neck before biting down hard, making you cry out in surprise. he groaned against your skin, keeping a steady rhythm. you cried out his name again, and again, making his head spin.
he let go of your hair, forcing you to fall onto the mattress, grabbing your hips, fucking deeper into you. his pace brutal and intense. until your legs could no longer hold you up. they shook so violently, you collapsed onto the mattress.
but he didn't stop. he adjusted to the changed angle within seconds, pushing your hips further down, hips slamming against you, fucking you into the mattress. he moved one hand between your shoulder blades, the other staying on your hip, almost his entire weight holding you down.
"chan—" everything was overwhelming and the familiar knot started tightening in your stomach. his cock rubbed against that sweet spot deep inside you, making your walls clench violently around him as you came hard.
chan cursed under his breath, your orgasm triggering his own. his thrusts become sloppy, desperate to fill your cunt with his load. desperate to fucking breed you.
with a guttural groan, he stilled deep inside you. his arms shook slightly as he emptied himself into you. you felt it, his thick load warm inside you. "fuck, that's it." he murmured almost inaudible, his hips doing small micro thrusts.
he removed his hands from you, placing them on the mattress beside you. but he didn't pull out. not yet. he reached for the belt around your hands, undoing it, freeing you.
you were both breathless, panting heavily. chan's hand reached for your face, swiping some loose strands away. "you okay?"
your body was sore. you were hyper aware of every mark he left on you, your skin burning. but you nodded. the intensity of both your orgasms was enough to make up for the soreness.
he pulled out slowly, sitting back, watching you. your legs were still tied together, looking absolutely perfect to him.
when his cum started dripping out of you, his eyes widened, addicted to the view. "fuck," he groaned, fingers catching the thick liquid, smearing it over your cunt. when more started dripping out, he groaned.
he collected every drop, pushing two fingers inside you. "chan?!" you called out in surprise, but his name died on your lips, turning into a moan. his mind was fucking gone, as he started fucking his cum right back into you with his fingers.
"fucking appreciate the load i gave you." he said, voice dark. he smacked your ass, fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing his cum back inside.
"don't lose a single fucking drop or i'll have to fill you up again."
and right then, fucking his seed back into your cunt, having you whimper at his touch, moan his name with a broken voice, one thing became perfectly clear to him. that he didn't want this to be a one time thing. already too obsessed with the way your body reacts to his.
𖦹 방찬 x fem!reader 𓂃 wc. unprotected sex. use of pet names. established relationship. daddy kink. somnophilia (con) minors DNI ﹒⋆
⧽ word count ⫶ 1.9k
no matter how many times you told him to stop staying at the studio until ungodly hours, your boyfriend just wouldn’t listen. the man was a total workaholic, always pushing himself to the absolute limit, which meant his usual arrival time back at your shared apartment was anywhere between 2 and 3 am.
tonight was no different.
by 2:35 am, you were already tucked safely under the heavy comforter, dressed in your favorite soft pajamas, enjoying the quiet warmth of the bed. you had fully intended to stay awake to give him a proper scolding—and maybe get some cuddles—but your heavy eyelids had won the battle, pulling you into a deep, peaceful sleep.
you didn’t even hear the front door open, the quiet thud of his bag hitting the floor, or the sound of the shower running in the guest bathroom so he wouldn't disturb you.
when chan finally slipped into the bedroom, he was only wearing his gray boxers, his skin still smelling faintly of body wash and the cool night air. he crawled into bed carefully, trying his best not to disturb your sleep. he pulled the comforter up, settling himself right behind you.
for a long time, he just laid there in the dark.
he didn't move, but he wasn't sleeping either. the heavy silence of the bedroom was filled only by your soft, even breathing. chan stared at the back of your head, his thoughts running wild after a long, stressful day of producing. his eyes adjusted to the dark, taking in the curve of your hip underneath the blanket. his hand automatically found your waist, his thumb rubbing small circles through the fabric of your pajamas.
the simple touch was driving him crazy. he was completely exhausted, but his body was wired, aching for the comfort only you could give him. he shifted closer, pressing his chest right against your back. his length, already thick and hard inside his boxers, nudged against your backside. he laid there for another ten minutes, just breathing you in, fighting the urge to wake you, his heart hammering against his ribs from the sheer desire building up in his lower half.
finally, the friction of his heavy breathing and the growing heat pressing into you started to pull you out of your deep slumber. you stirred weakly, shifting your hips a bit.
that small movement was his breaking point.
chan leaned over you, his chest flattening against your back as a comforting, heavy warmth started pressing directly against your lower half.
“ ‘m sorry, did i wake you up baby?” chan’s voice was a low, raspy whisper in your ear. he didn't stop moving, his hips already grinding in a slow, heavy circle right against your core through your pajama pants.
“channie...” you started, the sudden friction causing an involuntary, breathless moan to slip past your lips. you tried to turn your head to look at him, your brain foggy, but his large palm moved to your hip, holding you firmly in place as he continued to roll his pelvis against you.
“need you so bad, baby. please,” he whined softly, the sound muffled as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of warm, desperate kisses along your sensitive skin.
you were so tired, your limbs feeling like lead. “chan, it’s late...”
“jus’ the tip, yeah?” he murmured, his voice thick with need, his lips brushing your earlobe. “i promise. just the tip.”
you knew better. every single time chan promised he would only put the tip in, it was a complete lie.
the man simply had no self-control when it came to you, especially after a long, exhausting day at work. but right now, you were too drained to put up a real fight, and the heavy ache starting to build between your own thighs from his heavy grinding was getting hard to ignore.
“mhh, ‘kay baby... but make it quick,” you mumbled sleepily, your hips automatically bucking back against him just a fraction to match his rhythm.
“yeah, baby, ‘ll make it so quick you wont have to do anything,” he said, his breathing getting faster and more frantic.
his large hands worked quickly, sliding under the waistband of your pajamas and pushing both your pants and panties completely to the side, leaving your bare bottom fully exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. you heard the sharp, distinct sound of fabric shifting as he quickly freed his cock from his boxers.
without waiting, he pressed his bare length between your thighs from behind, grinding his thick head directly against your swollen, sensitive folds. your natural moisture quickly coated him, the wet, friction-filled sliding sound filling the quiet spaces of the room and making chan let out a heavy groan.
you whimpered, your body still too heavy and tired to properly keep up with the pace he was setting, your hands grasping blindly at the pillows in front of you.
then, he aligned himself perfectly and pushed the big, mushy tip of his cock just slightly past your entrance.
both of you let out a simultaneous, loud moan that echoed in the quiet bedroom.
chan paused for a second, letting out tiny, needy whimpers as he began to slide just the head in and out of you, testing your wetness. “fuck, baby... you’re gripping me so good already,” he groaned, his fingers digging firmly into your hips, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was holding you.
the rhythm quickly picked up. inch by inch, he started pushing a little deeper with every single slide. you could feel the thick stretch of him opening you up, the slick friction of his skin against yours becoming louder and wetter. just as your sleepy brain realized what was happening and you opened your mouth to protest, chan gave one heavy, determined drive of his hips.
he entered you fully, plunging all the way in until his hip bones slammed hard against your backside.
you moaned his name loudly, your hands instantly flying behind you to find his hips, trying to push him back to get some relief from the sudden, intense fullness.
“you said jus’ the tip!” you cried out, your voice a mix of a whine and a gasp.
“fuck, yeah... ‘m sorry baby, i jus’ need your pussy so bad,” he panted, entirely unbothered by his broken promise, his chest heaving against your back.
before you could even process the stretch, chan halted his movements entirely. keeping his cock buried deep inside you, he gripped your waist with immense strength and carefully positioned you on top of him, your back sitting on his chest. your front was completely exposed now. he grabbed your thighs, pushing them wide apart and holding them open, his thick cock splitting you completely open from the new angle as he slid back in.
“channie!” you cried out his name.
“ ‘ll make you feel real good, i promise,” he said, his eyes dark and completely dilated as he breathed down your neck from behind. he widened your thighs even more, his grip leaving dark marks on your skin. “i jus’ can’t resist this pussy,”
chan brought his feet flat onto the mattress, using the leverage to lift his lower body slightly before he started hammering into you with a fast, heavy pace.
your moans became loud and unfiltered, your mouth open as you cried his name out into the dark room. the sheer pace of his thrusts was relentless, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every single thrust, sending waves of intense pleasure straight to your core. the mattress creaked rhythmically under the force of his movements.
“fuckin’ needed this. fuck. needed this pussy so bad,” he whimpered, his teeth gritting together as he imagined your face twist with pleasure.
he wrapped his strong forearm completely around your waist, lifting you up slightly against his pelvis so you couldn't move or escape the depth of his thrusts. with his free hand, he reached down between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit and beginning to flick and rub at it with a fast, wet rhythm.
“keep your legs open f’me, baby,” he ordered roughly, his thumb working magic on your core while his cock continued to stretch you wide open, bottoming out inside you.
the burning ache in your thighs from being held open so wide was bittersweet, completely overwhelmed by the double stimulation. your head lolled backward into his shoulder, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your entire body began to tremble. an intense, tight warmth was rapidly building deep in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter with every heavy thud of his hips.
“channie! please!” you sobbed, trying to shift your hips to slow him down, but he was completely unstoppable, his skin slick with sweat as he kept up the pace.
his hand moved back to your thighs, pushing them almost all the way back to your chest, angling your pelvis perfectly so he could get even deeper, the wet friction making you completely lose your mind.
“shiiit, pussy milkin’ me soo good,” he growled in a low, husky tone, completely pussy drunk and lost in the feeling of your tight walls pulsing around him.
all you could think about was him, how his cock was splitting you open, the burn of your thighs, and the warm feeling inside your belly that was about to snap.
he noticed the change in your breathing, the way your inner muscles were starting to spasm violently around his length.
“come on my cock, baby... c’mon,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning down to press his lips right against your ear, your back rubbing against his bare chest. “you wanna come all over daddy’s cock, yeah? do it f’me.”
“oh god yes! yes! channie—”
a loud, shattered moan tore from your throat as the knot in your belly finally snapped. your body seized up completely, your walls clenching around him in a tight, desperate grip as you squirted all over him like a fountain. the sudden, hot rush of fluid drenched his thighs, wetting the bedsheets and your joined bodies completely.
chan watched from behind you in absolute amusement and hunger, his breath catching in his throat as his pupils dilated to the absolute edge.
the sheer intensity of your orgasm pulled him right over the limit. your body collapsed limply against his chest, your legs trembling uncontrollably, but chan didn't stop. he let out a guttural, deep growl, driving his hips into you two more times, burying himself as deep as he could go.
“such a good girl... made a big mess for daddy, hm?” he choked out, his whole body shuddering violently as he spilled his hot seed deep inside you, overloading your pulsing walls.
he reached your face, his fingers gently turning your chin toward him so he could force you to lock eyes with him while he finished coming inside you, his length twitching deep within your core. tears of pure exhaustion and pleasure prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you could only nod weakly against his hand.
chan leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a soft, slow, remarkably tender kiss that contrasted completely with how rough he had just been.
after spending some time quietly cleaning both of you up with some tissues, he crawled back under the comforter, pulling your back tightly against his chest. he wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you into a protective embrace and whispering sweet, lazy nothings into your ear until the rhythm of his breathing slowed down, guiding you both back into a deep, heavy slumber.
a/n ⋮ naughty channie alert !! currently working on making more detailed smuts soo stay tuned 😛
in which your friend felix introduces you to his friend group. you immediately know you're not going to get along with their leader. he's arrogant, controlling and becoming your number one enemy. but neither of you can deny the deep-rooted desire for each other.
mdni!
warnings: heavy sexual themes, enemies, fem reader, jerking off, mentions of porn, name calling (bitch/whore/slut), a little sprinkle of degradation, deep throating (choking on his cock), use of toys (vibrator), oral, fingering, marks (hickeys/bites), bondage, safe words, spanking, unprotected sex, breeding (let me know if i forgot anything), mentions of food
wc: 9.6k
based on this drabble
felix should have warned you before introducing you to his group. instead, he had only grinned the entire drive over, one hand lazily drumming against the steering wheel while saying things like “just don’t let chan scare you off.” as if that could have prepared you for what would happen.
but you understood the second you walked in. the room shifted around him. conversations paused when he spoke. people looked at him before making decisions. even sitting back against the couch with one arm slung over the backrest, chan carried himself like he owned the place and everyone inside it.
and apparently, everyone let him.
your first impression of him settled quickly: arrogant. controlling. the kind of man who expected obedience simply because he existed.
his first impression of you formed just as fast. too observant.
he noticed the way your eyes tracked everything, the way you watched interactions instead of trying to force yourself into them. most people met him and got nervous. eager to please. careful with their words.
you didn’t. worse, you looked at him like something didn't sit right.
felix introduced you with an easy grin, entirely unaware of the tension that sparked the moment chan’s gaze landed on you.
chan leaned back slightly, eyes dragging over you once before he gave a curt nod. “heard a lot about you.” you smiled politely but your tone sounded anything but. “ditto.”
a few people in the room choked on their drinks. felix looked between the two of you like he’d just realised he accidentally lit a match near gasoline.
chan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. and that was the beginning of it.
after that, it became a pattern, predictable in the most irritating way possible. every time you showed up, chan noticed immediately.
it didn’t matter if he was mid-conversation, or across the room pretending not to pay attention, the second you walked in, his focus shifted. like some invisible thread pulled tight between you.
you noticed it too. the way his eyes found you first. always. and somehow, every single interaction between the two of you turned into a fight.
“we’re ordering from rossi’s,” chan announced one night from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his phone. “rossi’s is awful,” you said immediately.
a silence fell over the room. han muttered, “oh, here we go.” chan looked up slowly. “awful?”
“their pasta tastes microwaved.”
“it’s italian. one of the only italian places around here."
“that doesn’t automatically make it good.”
he stared at you for a second too long before scoffing softly. “you always this difficult?”
you leaned against the counter. “you always this bossy?”
his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
that should’ve warned you. because after that, he started seeking you out. deliberately.
if you sat somewhere, suddenly chan needed that exact spot. if you disagreed with something, he’d argue just to keep you talking longer. if someone else interrupted your banter, he looked annoyed by it.
and the worst part? you kept engaging. every single time.
“move,” he told you one evening when you stole his usual seat on the couch. you looked up from your drink. “there are six other places to sit.”
“that’s my spot.”
you scoffed, “sounds made up.” the room went quiet again. felix was already grinning into his drink.
chan stepped closer, towering over the couch while you refused to move even an inch. “you enjoy testing me.”
“you enjoy acting like a fucking dictator.”
“someone has to keep order around here.”
you snorted. “order? how dramatic."
his eyes narrowed. yours sparkled with amusement.
and there it was again, that awful little pull between irritation and entertainment that neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
because no matter how much chan acted annoyed by you, he kept looking for reasons to provoke you. he’d throw comments your way from across the room just to watch you snap back.
he learned exactly what got reactions out of you. the fastest way to make you glare. the quickest way to make you roll your eyes. the comments that made your lips twitch because you were trying not to laugh.
and god, he loved when you laughed. especially if it was usually at his expense.
“you know,” you said one night after he interrupted somebody for the fifth time, “normal people let others finish speaking.”
“normal people have useful things to say.”
you groaned in annoyance, “see? this is exactly why i can’t stand you.”
“funny." he drawled, eyes fixed on you over the rim of his drink, “why do you keep talking to me then?"
your stomach flipped annoyingly hard at that. because he was right. you looked away before anyone noticed the heat crawling into your face.
but later that night, while everyone else talked around him, you caught chan watching you from the other side of the room, completely focused, making it feel far more dangerous than the arguing ever had.
chan realised something was wrong the first time you followed him without actually being there.
he was at the studio, headphones hanging around his neck while he stared blankly at the unfinished track glowing on the monitor in front of him. one hand tapped impatiently against the desk. the bass loop repeated. and repeated. and repeated.
all because his brain kept replaying something stupid you’d said three nights ago. “you always act like you’re in charge even when nobody asked you to be.”
he could still hear the smugness in your voice. could still picture the look on your face when you’d said it.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, dragging both hands over his face. it was ridiculous. you were ridiculous. annoying. argumentative. impossible.
so why the hell was he thinking about you while trying to work? even worse, why did the thought of you make his chest tighten strangely?
he shoved the feeling away immediately. hatred. obviously. that had to be what this was.
except hatred usually didn’t make his pulse jump every time his phone lit up with a message in the group chat, secretly hoping it was you.
hatred shouldn't make his cock hard. and it definitely shouldn't make his thoughts slip to you when he was jerking off.
hatred shouldn’t have made him notice your absence the second he walked into felix’s apartment friday night.
he asked about you before he could stop himself. felix looked up so fast it was almost suspicious. “damn,” he said slowly. “you didn’t even say hi first.”
chan frowned immediately. “i was just asking.” felix smirked at that, “sure you were.”
he ignored the grin spreading across felix’s face and scanned the room again anyway. you weren’t there. and suddenly, the night felt off. quieter, less entertaining. he hated that most of all.
and once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. every room he entered, his eyes searched for you automatically. every conversation felt slightly duller when you weren’t interrupting him halfway through it. every joke landed flatter when it wasn’t making you roll your eyes.
it got worse after that. at the gym, he caught himself thinking about the way you looked at him whenever you argued, so... unimpressed. like you enjoyed challenging him just as much as he enjoyed provoking you.
this was the first time he felt the pressing need to jerk off. to the thought of you.
he rushed home from the gym, cock already half-hard in his pants. had been for the past hour. even an ice-cold shower did nothing.
he dropped his gym back to the floor, making his way to his room immediately, dropping onto his bed. he ran his hands over his face, grabbing his hair.
"fuck you." he said into the empty room before grabbing his hard on through his shorts, squeezing it.
he didn't want to do it, jerking off to you. his pride, his ego, screamed at him to stop. to not do this with you on his mind. he grabbed his phone, unlocking it with one hand while his other slipped into his pants.
porn should do it. watching any other chick, hearing her moans instead of your fucking laugh in his mind. porn used to be his remedy when his mind wouldn't shut up about you. but right now it did nothing. he only saw you. only heard you.
he groaned in frustration, closing the tab on his phone, forcing his hand to stop working his cock. it twitched desperately in his fist, demanding more.
he wanted to text you. to tell you to stop invading his thoughts. tell you how much he hated you. for being so fucking mouthy. for making it impossible for him to jerk off properly. to demand you to do something about it. but he knew you'd only mock him for it.
his thumb moved on its own as it opened his photo gallery. he didn't notice what he was searching for until he found pictures of the last time you hung out with the group.
he loved the shirt you were wearing back then. loved how it made your tits look. fuck. suddenly he was thinking about your tits, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. he imagined you arching your back, leaning into the touch as he grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched your nipples until you were whimpering.
his hand started moving on his cock again without him realising. his mind was too far gone. he thought about swirling his tongue around your nipples, sucking on them, wondering what your moans would sound like.
but he didn't only want to suck your nipples. he wanted to suck the soft flesh surrounding them. sucking, biting until it left a mark. right on your precious tit. he'd cover you in them, leaving marks all over you. fuck, you'd look so beautiful when he was done with you.
he noticed his fist jerking his cock only when he groaned involuntarily, his eyes fixated on the screen, on the picture of you. he wanted you. needed you. so bad it made his balls tighten.
he felt his orgasm approaching. fuck no, he couldn't cum to the thought of you. no matter how many times he thought of you while jerking off, he always managed to distract himself enough, think of anything but you when he found his release.
but right now he couldn't stop. couldn't stop imagining leaving his marks on you. he wanted to spank you until your butt cheeks were all red and covered in his handprints. finally making you realise who was in fucking charge.
the thought of you surrendering to him, to having his way with you, finally made him come undone. he gave his cock a few more strokes, tearing his gaze away from his phone, head thrown back against the pillow. and he blew his fucking load to the thought of you, whispering your name into the dark room.
after that, chan started gravitating towards you unconsciously. if you were in the kitchen, suddenly he needed a drink. if you were outside, he somehow ended up outside too. if you sat on the couch, he’d lean against the wall closest to you without even realising it. and then there was the hugging thing.
god, he hated the hugging thing. you hugged everyone. felix. the other members. friends arriving. friends leaving. everyone except him.
the first time he noticed it, irritation flared so fast it startled him. the second time, it became impossible not to watch.
you’d grin at somebody, arms wrapping around them casually while chan stood nearby pretending not to care. pretending not to notice. pretending he didn’t immediately wonder what it would feel like if you touched him like that. if your tits pressed against him. your scent surrounding him.
it got even worse when someone else made you laugh. especially men.
one night, seungmin had you nearly doubled over at the kitchen counter, laughing so hard you grabbed his arm for balance.
chan felt something ugly twist in his chest. before he even realised what he was doing, he crossed the room. “what’s so funny?” he asked flatly.
your laughter faded slightly as you looked up at him.“nothing you’d enjoy.”
“try me.”
"you don’t have a sense of humor.”
seungmin laughed awkwardly before quickly excusing himself the second chan looked at him.
coward.
you narrowed your eyes immediately. “did you just scare him off?”
“if he got scared that easily, that’s his problem.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“then stop talking to me.” he said quietly, stepping closer.
the words settled heavily between you. your expression flickered for half a second. and christ, that was another problem entirely.
because lately, every time you looked at him, he forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be hatred at all.
a few days later, a heavy summer storm hit the city. and it had gotten bad fast.
rain hammered against the streets hard enough to blur the city lights, thunder rumbling low and heavy overhead while you hurried towards the studio building with your jacket pulled uselessly over your head. you and felix had made plans to go out for dinner after the studio tonight.
by the time security let you upstairs after recognising you as “one of felix’s people,” you were completely soaked. your shoes squeaked against the floor as you pushed open the studio door with an exhausted sigh already forming, only for it to die immediately when you saw who was inside.
chan sat alone in the swivel chair in front of the mixing desk, one arm resting against the armrest while music played quietly through the speakers.
of course. you sighed dramatically. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
he glanced over his shoulder lazily. “nice to see you too.”
“where’s felix?”
“not here, obviously.”
you rolled your eyes, already pulling your phone out.“helpful as always.”
“i try.” but when chan turned fully in the chair, whatever sarcastic response he’d been about to make stopped short.
his eyes dragged over you slowly. rainwater clung to your clothes, your shirt damp enough to stick to your skin, droplets still sliding down your neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. his dick twitched. for once, chan looked genuinely speechless.
your stomach flipped annoyingly at the expression on his face. “take a picture,” you muttered.
his jaw tightened immediately, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. before he could answer, your phone buzzed.
felix: « storm’s too bad. roads are fucked. can’t make it tonight sorry 😭»
you stared at the message in disbelief. “you’re joking.”
“what?”
“felix bailed.”
chan snorted softly. “smartest thing he’s done all week.”
and then the power cut out. the room dropped into darkness instantly. you jumped hard enough to knock your knee against the couch beside you. “shit—”
a laugh echoed through the dark. “you scared of a little darkness?”
“absolutely not.”
“you literally jumped just now.”
a flashlight flicked on a second later, illuminating the room dimly from below as chan leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too entertained by your suffering. the lighting made him look unfairly attractive. which only irritated you further.
“what, no candles around?” you asked dryly. “could make this whole thing a little cosier.”
his brows lifted. “this is a fucking studio.”
“and?”
“not exactly a place that calls for romance.”
you snorted. “pity. you probably bang a lot of chicks here considering you’re basically married to the studio. could’ve at least provided them with ambiance.”
chan barked out a laugh at that. an actual laugh. "trust me,” he said, eyes glinting in the flashlight glow, “i don’t need romance for that.”
“oh, i’m sure your personality alone does all the heavy lifting.”
“you saying i’m charming?”
“i’m saying you’re bossy. probably sucking up to people if you want something.”
he shook his head slowly, still staring at you in that intense way that always made your heartbeat feel uneven.
outside, thunder cracked loudly enough to rattle the windows. you crossed your arms instinctively, suppressing a shiver.
unfortunately, chan noticed immediately. his eyes narrowed slightly as another tremor ran through you. “you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re shaking.”
“wow,” you deadpanned, “your observational skills are incredible.”
he rolled his eyes before reaching behind him blindly, grabbing a black sweater from the couch and tossing it towards you.
it hit your chest. you looked down at it suspiciously. then back at him. “…you own sweaters? wow. didn't expect that with you always running around in your stupid tank tops." you loved the stupid tank tops.
“hilarious.”
you held the sweater between two fingers. “this thing probably reeks of ego.”
“put the fucking hoodie on.”
you snorted softly, still not moving. “i think i’d rather suffer.”
“christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “stop being so fucking stubborn.”
“make me.” the words slipped out too naturally. too easily. and the second they did, the room changed.
chan went still. the flashlight from his phone cast shadows across his face as his eyes locked onto yours with dangerous intensity.
your pulse skipped. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. slowly. oh, he knew exactly how to make you less stubborn.
“careful,” he said quietly. your breath caught despite yourself.
but instead of backing down, you tilted your head slightly. “or what?”
his eyes darkened slightly at that. the storm outside seemed louder suddenly, rain hammering against the windows while the studio sat in near darkness around you.
chan leaned back slowly in the chair, one hand still holding his phone loosely against his thigh. “you really don’t know when to stop talking.”
you clutched the sweater against your chest. “you say that like you aren’t the one constantly starting arguments with me.”
“because you make it easy.”
“or maybe you’re obsessed with hearing yourself speak.”
he laughed quietly under his breath. “see?” he murmured. “there it is.”
“what?”
“that mouth.”
heat crept annoyingly up your neck. you tried to ignore it. “you mean the one that hurts your feelings every other day?” you said sweetly.
“please.” his gaze dragged over you again, slow enough to make your stomach tighten. “if anything, i think you enjoy getting my attention.”
you scoffed immediately. “you’re unbelievable.”
“you came here soaked out of your mind during a storm.”
“to see felix.”
“sure.”
“god, your ego is exhausting.”
“and yet you ended up alone with me.”
the words landed heavier than they should have. you hated that your heartbeat reacted instantly. and chan noticed, your flushed face making him way more aroused than it should.
his eyes narrowed slightly, like he was studying every tiny shift in your expression.
“you know what your problem is?” you said, mostly to regain control of the conversation.
“enlighten me.”
“you think everybody wants you.”
one corner of his mouth pulled upward. “you saying you don’t?”
your breath caught for half a second. just enough. his expression changed immediately the moment he noticed. to satisfaction? or interest? something far more dangerous underneath both.
“wow,” he said softly. “that almost sounded convincing.” you glared at him. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re nervous.”
“i’m cold.”
“right.” his voice dipped lower on the word. you hated the way it affected you. hated the way the flashlight glow caught against his jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on you like he was trying to peel apart every reaction you had.
outside, thunder cracked again. you instinctively stepped closer to him. not close enough to touch. but close enough for him to notice.
a mistake. because chan's gaze dropped briefly to your bare legs before lifting back to your face.
“put the fucking sweater on,” he said quietly this time. “why? worried about me?”
his eyes held yours. “more than i should be.”
the room went painfully still after that. your pulse stumbled hard enough to make you angry.
you ended up leaving the studio an hour later once the rain calmed enough to be manageable again. not before chan practically shoved the sweater at you a second time after catching you trying to hand it back. “put it the fuck on,” he said flatly.
“wow. so caring.”
“don’t flatter yourself.”
you rolled your eyes, but you still wore it out into the storm. and annoyingly enough, by the time you got home, you realised it smelled exactly like him.
cedar wood and clean laundry. you hated that.
hated it even more when you caught yourself pulling the sleeves over your hands and burying your face into the fabric for half a second while kicking your shoes off near the door.
“oh, this is bad,” you muttered to yourself immediately. because now your apartment smelled faintly like chan too.
meanwhile, back at the studio, chan sat alone in the chair staring at his phone like it had personally offended him. the power had returned twenty minutes ago. music played softly through the speakers again. but he hadn’t gotten any work done since you left.
his mind kept replaying the way you looked wearing his sweater. sleeves hanging past your hands.
your hair still slightly damp from the rain.
fuck.
he scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. this was getting ridiculous. you were annoying. stubborn. mouthy. constantly arguing with him.
he did not fucking care whether you got home safe. so why was he still staring at your contact like a man possessed? his thumb hovered over the keyboard. stopped. started again. stopped.
don’t text her. seriously. don’t. you’d never let him live it down.
he tossed the phone onto the desk. picked it back up thirty seconds later. “for fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
before he could overthink it again, his fingers moved.
chan: « got home okay? »
he stared at the message the second it sent, immediate regret settling in. what the hell was wrong with him? his phone buzzed less than a minute later. and despite himself, his heart kicked hard against his ribs.
« no actually. died halfway there. »
his mouth twitched instantly. god. there it was again. that stupid rush every time you answered him.
« tragic. hope my hoodie survived though. »
you snorted softly to yourself while curling further into your couch.
« barely. still reeks of your fucking ego. »
he leaned back in the chair, smiling before he could stop himself, like an idiot.
« you still wearing it? »
your eyes narrowed at the message.
« why? you miss it? »
three dots appeared almost immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you stared at your screen way too intently.
« maybe i just don’t trust you with my clothes. »
heat crept into your face annoyingly fast.
« relax. i’m not trying to steal your precious hoodie. »
« already did. »
your stomach flipped. you hated how much you liked this version of him. because somehow, over text, the banter felt even more entertaining. like all his attention narrowed directly onto you. you bit your lip before typing back.
« you this annoying with everyone or am i special? »
this time, his reply took longer. far longer. chan stared at the message for a while, jaw tightening slightly because the answer came too easily.
you’re the only person who talks back.
you’re the only one i think about this much.
you’re the only one who gets under my skin.
instead, he typed:
« don’t let it get to your head. »
a couple days later, you found yourself back at the studio again. mostly because felix had begged you to bring him lunch after claiming he was “seconds away from starving to death.” dramatic.
you sat cross-legged on the couch while felix inhaled noodles beside you, rambling about some artist they'd been working with while music played quietly through the speakers.
you were halfway through making fun of him for nearly setting the break room microwave on fire earlier when the studio door opened.
and immediately, your attention shifted. chan walked in wearing all black, headphones hanging around his neck, one hand pushing through his hair tiredly before his eyes landed on you.
his expression barely changed. but his heartbeat did. fast enough to irritate him instantly. because there you were again, sitting comfortably in his space like you belonged there now. laughing, talking, wearing that exact expression that always made him want to argue with you just to keep your attention on him longer.
“look who decided to show up,” you said casually.
“look who keeps invading my studio.”
felix looked between the two of you with immediate interest.
chan dropped into the chair across from you before his eyes narrowed slightly. “did you bring my hoodie?” you blinked innocently. “no.” his brows lifted. “no?”
“that’s what i said.”
“you keeping it now?”
you snorted softly. “maybe i like it.”
his gaze flickered over you slowly. "should i be worried?”
“depends,” you said lightly. “you emotionally attached to it?”
“not usually.”
felix looked absolutely delighted. “jesus christ,” he whispered to himself.
you ignored him. mostly because chan was still staring at you with that infuriatingly focused expression that made you feel overly aware of yourself.
“i can go get it right now if you’re gonna be dramatic about it,” you said.
the smart response would’ve been no. he knew that. he should’ve said: don’t bother. it’s just a hoodie. bring it whenever.
instead, his mouth betrayed him. “go ahead.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing in disbelief. “you are such a fucking pain in the ass.”
“you took my hoodie.”
“you told me to wear it!"
“didn’t say permanently.”
you narrowed your eyes at him while felix openly watched the exchange like live entertainment. “see?” you muttered. “this is exactly what i mean. you always need things your way.”
“and you always pretend you don’t like giving me a hard time.”
“i could think of a million things i'd rather do.”
“sure.” god, that smug look on his face made you want to throw something at him.
instead, you leaned back against the couch dramatically. “well, too bad. i’m not going home right now just because you snapped your fingers.”
his jaw twitched slightly. “fine,” he said after a second. “i’ll pick it up tonight after the studio.”
your heart stumbled instantly, hard enough to genuinely piss you off. because suddenly all you could think about was chan standing inside your apartment. wearing that look, talking to you in that low voice, being alone with you again.
you forced yourself to stay casual. “fine.” but the word came out thinner than you intended.
his eyes stayed on you for one extra second too long before the corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly, satisfied. like he’d already figured out exactly what that idea did to you too.
a little after eight, your phone buzzed. you stared at the notification longer than necessary.
« address. »
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard while your heartbeat steadily picked up speed. this was a bad idea. letting chan into your apartment, alone, at night, after whatever the hell had been happening between you lately, felt objectively stupid.
his hoodie sat freshly washed and perfectly folded on your desk like evidence of a problem you refused to acknowledge. you should’ve just brought it to the studio earlier.
after another minute of overthinking, you sent him your address anyway. the three dots appeared almost immediately.
« be there in thirty. »
your stomach flipped. “this is so fucking stupid,” you muttered to yourself. and yet you still fixed your hair before he arrived. fucking pathetic.
exactly thirty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. of course he was punctual. you had no idea why the smallest thing about him annoyed you this much.
you grabbed the hoodie quickly before opening the door just enough to shove it towards him immediately. “here. now leave.”
chan looked down at the folded sweater in your hands before slowly lifting his eyes back to your face. “cute welcome.”
“you came for the hoodie. here it is."
instead of taking it right away, he leaned one arm against the doorframe casually. his gaze stayed fixed on you while he finally took the sweater from your hands. and then he noticed it. the scent. your detergent.
his fingers tightened slightly around the fabric. fuck. he hated how much he liked it. hated the immediate thought that crossed his mind.
you narrowed your eyes. “why are you looking at it like that?”
“nothing.”
“you’re literally glaring at your own hoodie.”
“i’m thinking.”
“dangerous hobby for someone like you.”
his mouth twitched. there it was again. that tiny almost-smile that only ever seemed to appear around you. “you washed it.”
“obviously.”
“didn’t think you had it in you.”
you scoffed immediately. “god, you’re annoying.”
“you say that every time you see me.”
“because it remains true every time i see you.”
he laughed quietly under his breath before his eyes drifted past you briefly into your apartment. “you gonna make me stand out here all night?”
“that was actually the plan.”
“rude.”
“you'll survive.” but despite the sarcasm, you stepped aside anyway.
the second chan walked past you, the atmosphere shifted. you shut the door quickly behind him before you could overthink the fact that you were now alone with him again.
his eyes landed on you again almost immediately. “you nervous?” he asked suddenly. you blinked. “what?”
“you keep fidgeting.” you immediately stopped moving out of spite. “you’re imagining things.”
“am i?”
“yes.”
he hummed softly, unconvinced. “interesting.”
“what is?”
“you only get defensive when i’m right.”
“and you only talk this much when you want attention.” his brows lifted slightly. "you think i want your attention?”
you laughed once in disbelief. “please. you practically orbit around me at this point.”
that hit harder than intended. you could tell immediately by the way his expression shifted.
chan stepped closer slowly, enough to make your pulse spike.
“careful,” he said quietly. “you’re sounding very confident for someone whose heart is racing right now.”
your breath caught. “you’re insufferable.”
“you already said that.”
“because you keep proving it.”
“then tell me why,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “you still let me in?"
the tension snapped tighter instantly.
“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, though your voice came out weaker than intended. “you came here for a hoodie.”
“right.” the way he said it made heat spread low in your stomach. because suddenly it very much did not feel like this was about the hoodie anymore.
the room felt unbearably small now. every sarcastic comment, every lingering glance, every argument between you two over the past weeks suddenly sat heavy in the air between you.
chan stayed close. close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw every time you opened your mouth again. which, naturally, only made you want to push him further.
“you know,” you said lightly, even though your pulse was completely betraying you now, “for someone who supposedly can’t stand me, you spend an awful lot of time in my personal space.”
his eyes narrowed. “you think this is me trying to be close to you?”
“i think you’re obsessed with annoying me.”
a humourless laugh left him. “trust me,” he murmured, “if i wanted to annoy you, you’d know.”
your stomach tightened hard at the tone of his voice. but you still crossed your arms stubbornly. “wow. terrifying.”
chan couldn't help but stare at your arms crossed over your tits. those goddamn tits. “you should be scared.”
“of what?”
his gaze locked onto yours completely. “of how much i’m trying not to lose my patience with you right now.”
the words hit like a physical thing, your breath catching slightly. his expression darkened. “there it is,” he said quietly. you swallowed once. “there’s what?”
“that look.”
“what look?”
“the one you get when you stop pretending you hate this.”
heat flooded your face instantly. “you’re delusional.”
“am i?” he stepped even closer. your back nearly brushed the edge of the counter behind you now. every instinct screamed at you to move. you didn’t. because despite the tension winding painfully tight in your chest, despite how impossible he was, you wanted him close.
“you talk too much,” chan muttered suddenly, eyes fixed on your mouth now instead of your eyes.
you scoffed softly, though it came out shakier than intended. “yet you’re always listening.”
“that’s the problem.” your heartbeat stumbled at his low voice. “do you have any idea,” he said slowly, “how fucking badly i want to shut that smart mouth of yours?”
silence crashed between you. your breath came shallow now. because suddenly all the tension between you two finally had a name. and judging by the way chan looked at you, he’d stopped trying to deny it entirely.
you should’ve stepped away. should’ve said something sarcastic. something sharp. something safe.
instead, your eyes flicked briefly to his lips before you whispered, far too softly: “what’s keeping you then?”
that was it. whatever restraint chan had left snapped instantly. his hand caught your jaw almost desperately before he crashed his mouth against yours. like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally lost the fight.
the kiss was all heat and frustration and ruined patience. you kissed him back immediately, fingers gripping the front of his shirt as his other hand braced against the counter beside you.
and god, chan kissed exactly how he argued: intense and demanding. like he tried to be in control even in the heat of the moment.
a quiet sound caught in his throat when you pulled him closer, like he couldn’t quite believe this was finally happening either.
his forehead pressed briefly against yours when he pulled back just enough to breathe, both of you visibly affected now. and then the idiot actually muttered: “still think i’m annoying?”
you let out a breathless laugh despite yourself. “the most annoying."
his mouth curved against yours again. “yeah,” he murmured, already kissing you again, “but you kiss me anyway?"
you snorted against his lips. "just trying to see whether your ego is justified."
a dark chuckle escaped chan's throat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, his erection pressing against your lower belly.
"think you can impress me with a hard cock?" chan's hands twitched at that. he wanted to smack that smug expression of your face so badly. wanted to make you shut that goddamn mouth of yours.
instead, he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "watch it." he said through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto his last bit of self control.
"or what?" you replied confidently, looking up at him, smiling way too sweetly. chan's breaths came out heavier, his hips grinding against you instinctively.
"or i will show you exactly what this cock is capable of doing to you. and spoiler alert, you're not gonna like it."
you snorted at that. actually snorted, right in his face. "yeah? think you're gonna break me, channie?" the soft nickname on your lips were his complete undoing. his cock twitched, you felt it through the fabric. he placed his hands on the counter on either side of you, pulling back but caging you in. he could no longer be this close to you, he had to get his cock away from you. because he was about to snap.
"you have no idea what you're doing to me." he spoke, voice rough. a smug expression crossed your face, you leaned forward, breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "what if i know exactly what i'm doing to you?"
his hand shot up, grabbing your hair so hard it hurt, tilting your head back. you couldn't help yourself but moan out, legs clenching together. chan smirked, grip tightening in your hair, "you fucking like that? being manhandled? where's your fucking smugness now?"
you stared at him, hating how your body betrayed you. "fuck you, chan." you muttered. but that only encouraged him. he knew he had you.
"that the only comeback you can think of?" he mocked, his other hand now grabbing your jaw, holding your head in place. he pressed his body against you again. "c'mon, put that smart mouth to work. i dare you."
but you remained silent, breaths coming out in puffs as you tried to calm your racing heart. "where did your attitude go, hm?" he asked, pushing his leg between yours. he pressed his thigh against your core, making your breath hitch, looking at you with mocking eyes.
"you asked me if i think i can break you? yes, i can. tell me to stop and i will leave right through that door. but if you say yes to this, i will make sure you forget your own fucking name."
he waited. patiently. for any answer. for a simple yes or no. you blinked up at him, mind racing, until you finally nodded your head confidently. "is that a yes?" he asked, tone still mocking. "use your fucking words." his tone was commanding as ever. but he needed to hear it, needed your verbal consent.
"yes—" you choked out. and after that, all hell broke loose.
a low sound escaped chan's throat, his grip on your hair tightening, yanking your away from the counter and towards the couch. it hurt, the way he was handling you. he pushed you towards the sofa, finally letting go of your hair. "undress." he said, standing tall in front of you, arms crossed as he watched you. "i'm not gonna ask again."
your fingers trembled slightly as you started undressing yourself, eyes never leaving his. "for fuck's sake." chan muttered, clearly impatient. he smacked your hands away, basically ripping your clothes away. his hands roamed over your body, feeling your warm skin against his fingertips. you felt better than he could have ever imagined. he groaned, his mouth suddenly back on yours. the kiss was laced with desperation as his hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them through your bra before taking it off with skilled fingers. "fucking perfect." he muttered more to himself than you.
he pinched your nipples hard, needing to know how you react to it. you hissed, biting your lip, gaining a smirk from chan.
he pushed you down on the couch, standing tall in front of you. his thumb traced over your lower lip. "open." he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back. "tongue out." your jaw clenched slightly, not wanting to obey him, wanting to challenge him. but when his grip in your hair tightened painfully, you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. chan leaned forward, spitting into your mouth before sliding two fingers along your tongue. he moved them further into your mouth, his cock twitching in his pants.
"i'm gonna show you how to put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" he muttered as he started sliding his fingers in and out of you. you wrapped your lips around them, looking up at him. he pulled your hair harder, tilting your head further, retrieving his fingers from between your lips and smacking your cheek hard. "fucking answer when i'm talking to you."
your breath caught in your throat, eyes watering the slightest bit. "well right now, you're all big words and no fucking action." your snappy response earned you another slap against your cheek, coating it with your saliva that was still on his fingers.
"you fucking bitch." chan just shook his head, unable to believe that you still had the audacity to talk back. he yanked your hair. hard. moving you to lie on your back, head on the armrest of the couch. he pulled you further until your head was hanging over the edge.
he was already working on his pants, pulling them down, freeing his cock, right over your face. he gave it a few strokes, watching you. he didn't waste another second, tapping it against your lips. you smelled him, the saltiness of his precum coating his tip.
he didn't push in, not yet. he smeared his precum over your lips. "tap my thigh three times in a row if it gets too much. understand?" he asked, growing more impatient by the minute. you nodded. fucking nodded. "words, sweetheart." he said through gritted teeth.
"i understand." you said.
"good girl."
"don't fucking call me that. i'm not your good girl."
chan only grinned at that. "you'd rather i keep insulting you?"
"i'd rather you finally put that cock to use." you snapped back. he smacked your tit, making you flinch. "yeah, i fucking should. shut that goddamn mouth of yours for once."
and with that, he pushed his cock past your lips, his hips snapping involuntarily, shoving his length down your throat. "fuck—" he cursed loudly, watching your throat, how it took shape of his length. "holy—"
you immediately gagged around him, not having expected him to just shove his entire length in with no further warning.
and he fucking kept it there, making you choke, cutting off your air supply. you tapped his thigh three times, and he immediately pulled back, realising that he got caught in the moment. you immediately took a deep breath, coughing.
"you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then fucking take it like one."
"you're a fucking asshole, bang chan, you know that?"
a dark chuckle erupted from somewhere deep inside him. "yet you still take my fucking cock like you're my own personal slut." and before you could say anything, he rammed his cock back into your mouth, deep down your throat.
his hips moved in quick little thrusts, fucking your mouth till you couldn't breathe, pulling back to let you get some oxygen before repeating his movements. his hand reached for your throat, squeezing it, feeling the pressure of his own hand around his cock buried deep down.
you choked. hard. your body started jolting until he finally pulled out, a long strip of saliva still connecting your mouth to his cock.
"you're trying to fucking choke me to death?" your voice sounded hoarse, your throat so raw it hurt to talk. chan just grinned down at you, his fingers smearing your own saliva all over your pretty lips. you caught his finger, biting it.
"fuck! you bitch!" chan called in surprise, withdrawing his hand, connecting it to your cheek with a hard smack. and of all possible things you could have done, you fucking moaned at his action. "you're un-fucking-believable." chan muttered through gritted teeth.
"on your hands and knees." he ordered, voice way too calm for the storm inside him. you snorted. "don't fucking boss me around like that."
chan was losing his patience. he grabbed you, handled your body with a strength that left you breathless as he flipped you over on your stomach. "don't make me tie you the fuck up."
you snorted again. fuck, it drove him wild. he wanted to punish you for fucking breathing. "be my guest. i don't own any ropes."
a slow, wicked grin spread on chan's face. "oh, trust me. i can get very creative." and with that, his hands left you and you heard him wander off. you turned your head to the side, watching him waltz around your apartment like he fucking owned the place.
"what the fuck are you doing?" you snapped, already shuffling to get up.
"if you dare move even a fucking inch, i'm gonna spank your ass till it's burning red." your breath hitched at his words. but that still didn't stop you from rising to your feet and following him. who did he even think he was?
you found him in your bedroom, picking up a belt that was stored neatly in one of your drawers. he looked ridiculous. going through your stuff, half naked, his stupid cock still glistening with your saliva.
you stood there, butt naked, crossing your arms over your chest. "stop fucking going through my stuff."
"why? hiding something you don't want me to find?"
you snorted, "no. just don't like fucking assholes going through my things."
he walked past your bed, opening the drawer of your nightstand. "oh my god! you have no fucking respect!"
you knew what he would find. and you couldn't care less. he held up your pink vibrator a few seconds later, grinning like he found a precious treasure. "cute." he muttered.
"oh wow, blame a girl for owning a goddamn vibrator."
chan turned around, standing in front of you, vibrator in one hand, belt in the other. "you get yourself off with this thing?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"yes." you replied confidently but couldn't suppress the soft flush spreading from your neck to your face. chan grin only widened. his eyes travelled past you, landing on a light scarf hanging over the back of your desk chair. "perfect." he muttered, walking past you to grab it. "remember how i told you not to fucking move?"
you rolled your eyes, "remember how i told you not to boss me around?"
chan came up behind you. you could feel the heat radiating from his body. he threw the vibrator and the scarf on the bed. your eyes followed the items. "you know, that scarf is actually my favourite, if you ruin it—"
"don't care." he cut you off, grabbing your wrists, yanking them behind your back harshly. he tied the belt around them, making you gasp.
"and the only thing i plan on ruining," he moved his hands up your arms, fingertips ghosting over the skin, giving you goosebumps. "is you."
his lips connected to your shoulders, leaving a few kisses till he reached your neck. his arms snaked around you from behind, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard against your butt. he bit your neck hard, making you hiss, before sucking the flesh, making sure to leave a fucking mark.
he pulled back slightly, watching the skin change colour, grinning in satisfaction, before repeating it a little further up. your ass ground against his cock, making him suck your skin harder.
"fuck, you like getting marked like a fucking whore?" he whispered against your skin, his hands squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you moan. "chan—"
you moaning his name like that was his complete undoing. he needed more. needed more of you moaning his name, screaming it.
he grabbed the small vibrator from the bed, turning it on and guiding it over your hardened nipples. you pressed yourself harder against him, soft moans now constantly leaving your lips. he started grinding his hard cock against you, moving the vibrator down to your cunt, running it over your clit lazily. you arched your back, your hips starting to move against the toy. "chan, please—" you couldn't suppress the soft whimper, no idea where the sudden needy tone came from. but it made him lose his mind.
he threw you on your bed, yanking your ass up before you could even gather yourself, your hands still tied tightly behind your back.
he started wrapping your scarf around your thighs in figure 8s, tying them together. once he was done, he took a step back, admiring the view. you turned your head to the side, pressed against the mattress, ass in the air. you tried to get a glimpse of him. he stood there, swallowing hard, just... watching you.
"you're a fucking weirdo, bang chan."
his eyes didn't move away from your bare core, "shut up or i will gag you." he said as his eyes finally met yours. he moved closer to the bed, leaning forward, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your face. "if anything gets too much, you use the word 'red' and i will stop immediately, okay?" you blinked at him a few times. the fact that he still ...cared, despite the hatred, despite you riling him up constantly, made something warm settle in your chest. "okay."
his hand started caressing your butt cheeks, way too softly. the serious expression on his face was replaced by a smirk. and then he smacked you. hard. you couldn't move, hands tied together, thighs tied together. all you could do was flinch.
"you should learn to fucking listen. if i tell you not to move, you don't fucking move." another smack. you opened your mouth, wanting to protest. he cut you off with another deliberate slap. "don't you fucking dare talking back right now." he said, making you grin. fucking grin.
"god—" he shook his head, his next smack making you wince from the sting. and then his finger just entered you with no fucking warning. you moaned out loud in surprise, moving back against his touch.
chan let out a dark chuckle. "you're so fucking desperate, it's pathetic." he said, his finger moving in and out of you with ease. "so fucking wet."
his free hand slapped your ass again, so hard it left a handprint. he added a second finger, curling them inside you, making you moan involuntarily. "fuck, chan—"
his cock twitched at you moaning his name again. fuck, that did things to him. "again." he muttered, teeth clenched, trying to keep any bit of self-control. "moan my fucking name again." he pumped his fingers faster, curling them at just the right spot, his name leaving your lips in soft moans, driving him insane.
he dropped to his knees, pulling his fingers out of you and burying his face into your cunt. "fuck!" you cried out, body jolting forwards. he grabbed your hips harshly, holding you in place as he fed on you like a man starved.
"tastes so fucking good." he groaned against you, his tongue swirling around your clit a couple of times before licking up to your entrance, pushing inside you. he reached for the vibrator again, turning it on, bringing it to your clit, while his tongue moved in and out of your hole.
you ground your cunt against him, moaning shamelessly as you felt your orgasm build up. "chan—" you moaned and he knew. he wanted to deny you the orgasm, wanted to edge you, to make you feel as desperate as you always made him feel. but he couldn't. not when you were moaning so sweetly. not when your cunt was grinding against his face so desperately.
your legs started trembling and he threw the vibrator away. it scattered on the floor somewhere as chan grabbed your hips harder, fingers digging into you so hard, they'd leave bruises. he held you in place, burying his face deeper inside you.
"just fucking come on my face already." he murmured into you, big hands moving to your ass, squeezing the cheeks harshly.
you tried to hold back your orgasm, not wanting him to feel even the slightest amount of pride for making you come. and he noticed. noticed the way you tried to hold back.
"for fuck's sake!" he groaned, pushing two fingers back inside you, curling them right where you needed them, making you cry out.
"stop being so fucking stubborn." his fingers pumped into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot again and again, making you see stars, head spinning. until you finally could no longer hold back. with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, you came undone. he guided you through your orgasm and you could feel his fucking grin against your cunt.
"that's it." he murmured, clearly satisfied with himself. "just shut the fuck up." you snapped. bad idea. he smacked your cunt so hard, it made you lose balance, collapsing onto the mattress. with your legs and hands still tied, you couldn't lift yourself up, legs still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.
chan just chuckled darkly behind you, giving his cock a few pumps, watching you being completely at his mercy. he's been dreaming about this, fantasising about it. his eyes wander over your body, spotting every goddamn mark he left. bites, hickeys, fingerprints. he loved it. but he needed more.
he reached forward, grabbing your hair and yanking you back. his breath was hot against your ear, his cock pressing against your ass. "i'm gonna fuck you now, yeah? fill that pretty little cunt. mark you properly."
he gave you a few seconds to protest, but you didn't. you were still catching your breath, body still trembling. he let go of your hair, starting to undress himself. you didn't want to look. you knew he was handsome as fuck, didn't need a proof of that. but you couldn't help turning your head, watching him over your shoulder. fuck.
"stop staring." he said, not even looking up as he neatly placed his clothes over the chair at your desk. your eyes traced his toned body, all the way to his perfect ass. goddamnit.
"don't fucking flatter yourself." you snorted, but your words lacked any bite. chan ignored it, standing behind you, cock fucking throbbing and all. "ass up." he ordered. you struggled against the restraints, trying to move back onto your knees.
"fucking pathetic." chan murmured as he gripped your hips and pulled you up. his hands sprawled over your butt cheeks, squeezing them. you hissed. they still hurt from earlier.
chan just watched you for a while, with you getting impatient. "stop staring." you repeated the words he just threw at you, grinning to yourself. his hands flinched against your butt cheeks, ready to smack the shit out of you, but he took a deep breath instead.
he spit down on his cock, using one hand to spread his saliva over it, before pushing inside you with no further warning. "fuck!" you cried out, jolting forwards. "godfuckingdamnit chan!"
you were so fucking wet, he just slid right in, all the way. he gritted his teeth, trying not to think too much about how fucking good you actually feel. trying not to think about how he actually, finally, has his cock buried inside your fucking cunt. trying not to think about— fuck. his cock twitched inside you, realising how your walls are clamping down on him.
it pissed him off. how good you felt. how warm you were. how fucking wet. how much he wanted you, even though he finally had you.
he grabbed your hair, wrapping it around his hand, yanking you back forcefully, his cock buried to the hilt. he yanked until you were pressed against his chest. "i'm not gonna last long if you keep clenching your fucking walls around me."
your soft moans turned into a snort. "who's pathetic now? you haven't even fucked me properly, channie."
he lost it at the sweet nickname on your lips. his free hand smacked your ass. hard. grabbing your hips. the grip in your hair tightened as he started moving. his hips snapping brutally, each thrust into your sensitive cunt making you whimper.
"you drive me fucking insane." he murmured against your neck before biting down hard, making you cry out in surprise. he groaned against your skin, keeping a steady rhythm. you cried out his name again, and again, making his head spin.
he let go of your hair, forcing you to fall onto the mattress, grabbing your hips, fucking deeper into you. his pace brutal and intense. until your legs could no longer hold you up. they shook so violently, you collapsed onto the mattress.
but he didn't stop. he adjusted to the changed angle within seconds, pushing your hips further down, hips slamming against you, fucking you into the mattress. he moved one hand between your shoulder blades, the other staying on your hip, almost his entire weight holding you down.
"chan—" everything was overwhelming and the familiar knot started tightening in your stomach. his cock rubbed against that sweet spot deep inside you, making your walls clench violently around him as you came hard.
chan cursed under his breath, your orgasm triggering his own. his thrusts become sloppy, desperate to fill your cunt with his load. desperate to fucking breed you.
with a guttural groan, he stilled deep inside you. his arms shook slightly as he emptied himself into you. you felt it, his thick load warm inside you. "fuck, that's it." he murmured almost inaudible, his hips doing small micro thrusts.
he removed his hands from you, placing them on the mattress beside you. but he didn't pull out. not yet. he reached for the belt around your hands, undoing it, freeing you.
you were both breathless, panting heavily. chan's hand reached for your face, swiping some loose strands away. "you okay?"
your body was sore. you were hyper aware of every mark he left on you, your skin burning. but you nodded. the intensity of both your orgasms was enough to make up for the soreness.
he pulled out slowly, sitting back, watching you. your legs were still tied together, looking absolutely perfect to him.
when his cum started dripping out of you, his eyes widened, addicted to the view. "fuck," he groaned, fingers catching the thick liquid, smearing it over your cunt. when more started dripping out, he groaned.
he collected every drop, pushing two fingers inside you. "chan?!" you called out in surprise, but his name died on your lips, turning into a moan. his mind was fucking gone, as he started fucking his cum right back into you with his fingers.
"fucking appreciate the load i gave you." he said, voice dark. he smacked your ass, fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing his cum back inside.
"don't lose a single fucking drop or i'll have to fill you up again."
and right then, fucking his seed back into your cunt, having you whimper at his touch, moan his name with a broken voice, one thing became perfectly clear to him. that he didn't want this to be a one time thing. already too obsessed with the way your body reacts to his.
martin x bsf!reader
⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖Martin has been watching you get treat like shit by your boyfriend for months, just waiting for a chance to treat you better. But, what happens when he finally gets the chance?. ݁‧₊˚⋆ִֶָ
previous warnings: cursing
sorry for the late update, i was sick. But, we up and helthy now!!!!! #nevergiveup #thisforeverybodygoingthroughtoughtimes #believemebeentheredonethat #dale
chan’s hips have been snapping against yours for the latter half of the hour tonight. really, you shouldn’t have done what you did. it was a quick, off handed, self deprecating remark about yourself, and just like that, chan had enough.
he was already feeling on edge from the studio. and now he felt like he failed you to not reassure you enough. that’s how you got yourself here.
you can’t apologize. not because you’re being a brat or doing anything on purpose, but rather because chan has you laid prone on your stomach as his hips feverishly snap against your ass. making it quite literally impossible to reply outside of breathy moans being punched from your lungs. repeated motions that have had you crying into the pillow your face is sunken into.
“c’mon baby, you can do it… say “i’m sorry channie”… f-fuckin’ hell!”
chan’s body slowly comes down onto yours, his chest flush against your back as his arms ensnare around your shoulder. his head drops to the back of yours, his voice a low rasp of heavy breathing. his hips slow to grind against the plush of your ass, rocking and rutting into the wetness of your arousal. his panting turns into a low growl at your refusal.
“pretty girl… sweet baby, say it. say it and i’ll make you cum so good.”
meanwhile, you’re just a mess under him. head turned slightly as his bicep wraps under your chin, hands clawing at his strong arms. eyes bleary and wet with tears from how good it feels every time he quickly bottoms out and fills you so right. the sounds are obscene, salacious squelches as he drags every drop out of you. and you’ll do just the same to him if you keep fluttering around him like that.
“‘m s-sorry, cha— haah— channie! it feels so good, so good, please don’t stop!”
chan smiles to himself as he drags out a moan from his chest, laughing in a way that pinches off at the end in a high whine. his brows furrow and eyes close, slowing his movement down to fuck himself deeper.
“that wasn’t so h-hard now, was it, pretty thing…?” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch himself from drooling down your back. his hands pin your lower back down to the bed, forcing a nasty arch that makes you sob in equal parts relief and overstimulation.
“who’s my good girl, yeah? is that you? am i fucking my good girl stupid right now? huh? m-my beautiful good girl…”
chan’s sentences are punctuated with deep strokes, feeling his pelvis thrust and rock against you in languid motions. his words are overwhelming but that’s what he wants. you were just being so mean to the woman he loves, which is you.
“are you going to keep fighting with yourself or let me fuck you good, gorgeous?” chan heaves out, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades as he kisses into your hair. he ducks his head to lick a stripe up your spine to your neck, and chuckles a moan when he feels how squirmy and whiny you get. your moans are almost sobs from how his plush mushroom tip is kissing against that sensitive spot inside.
“sweetheart,” he drawls out, almost in a singsong voice. “you’re so… very precious… perfect girl, yeah? thank you f-for— fuck— sharing this perfect body.”
those deep strokes are reciprocated with your pussy squeezing him so tight chan swears he might be able to taste the stars. and because chan knows how to elevate your orgasm…
“sh-shit baby, breathe… breathe, just breathe, let it happen babygirl—”
a few inhales and exhales, and chan is wrapping that bicep around to grab your face. he loves that teary look in your eyes, like it feels too good to do anything but cry. your pussy is clenching on him like a vice, the sweet slapping and mixing of fluids…
he can’t help it, chan brings his lips hovering over yours, whispering, “i love you, sweetheart… cum for me.”
there’s a ringing in your ears when it happens, the churning of the knot builds so quick, you don’t even have time to think. chan’s groan bleeds into a whimper the second he feels your tight cunt shudder with shocks, milking him and causing his own release. the hiccuped sobs of moans you release have him praying the walls are thick enough to hide from neighbors. chan wants them all to himself.
he presses as deep as he can to flood you with hot cum, kissing all over your face from tears. your skin is tacky with sweat and stunning in the afterglow. chan runs his hands over your sweat slicked forehead, pushing back anything still sticking to you.
“don’t ever say that stuff again, baby… yeah…? you did such a good job, sweetheart… such a perfect and sweet girl…”
chan smacks a kiss to your temple, laying his weight down on your back. your eyes are already drooping from contentedness while he traces patterns onto your hip. his initials. little hearts. swirls that never end.
“i’m here to protect you from all of that… always.”
—
author's note: well… this is unexpected! thank you for 900 followers i love you guys so much :’) final exams are biting my ass right now
☆.ㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍.ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ your boyfriend takes you to his studio during a snowstorm and somehow makes it the most romantic date ever.
ᯓ ࣪ ˖ ִ ★ pairing ── martin edwards, f reader.
wc: 3,2k
a/n: hey guyss, just wanted to say that martin is bias wrecking me hard rn so i made this, enjoy ᯓ★ — thanks a lot for the support ily ‹𝟹 ‹𝟹 kisses
Big soft flakes fall slowly outside your window, covering the streets in white while the sky stays pale and cloudy above the city. For a few seconds you just stay under your blanket watching it quietly, your phone still resting beside your pillow where Martin’s last message waits unread.
wear something warm btw
it’s freezing outside
A small smile pulls at your lips immediately.
You text him back while still half asleep, then force yourself out of bed to start getting ready.
Dates with Martin are never boring.
That is probably your favorite thing about him.
Some boyfriends just ask where you want to eat and call it a day, but Martin somehow turns every small outing into something memorable without even trying. One night he drags you through empty streets at midnight because he sees a cute dog he wants to take home. Another night he randomly buys instant cameras and spends hours taking ugly pictures of you just to keep them inside his phone case afterward.
He acts casual about everything too, like none of it matters that much, but you notice the details anyway.
The way he always walks on the side closest to the road.
The way he remembers every tiny thing you mention once.
He is romantic without admitting he is romantic.
You pick a warm cream colored sweater, a skirt with tights underneath, your prettiest scarf, and after fixing your hair carefully, you stare at yourself in the mirror for a second longer than necessary.
Martin always looks good.
And somehow that always makes you nervous before dates even after months together.
By the time he texts you that he arrived, your stomach already feels warm with excitement.
You hurry downstairs and instantly spot him, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket while snowflakes collect in his hair.
The second he sees you, his entire face changes. Like it always does around you.
“There you are,” he says quietly when you walk closer.
You smile immediately. “You’ve been waiting long?”
“Like thirty seconds.” He looks at you for another second before tilting his head slightly. “You look cute.”
Your face warms instantly.
“You say that every time.” you respond, pushing his chest slightly.
“Yeah but I always tell the truth.”
You look away automatically while he grins to himself like he enjoys embarrassing you more than anything else.
The cold air hits your cheeks immediately once you both start walking down the street together, snow crunching softly under your shoes while the city around you glows with blurred lights and warmth from cafés and stores.
It feels peaceful.
Martin walks beside you casually at first, listening while you talk about something random you saw online earlier, occasionally laughing quietly at your dramatic storytelling.
Then after a few minutes, without saying anything, he reaches for your hand.
You expect him to hold it normally.
Instead, he slips your joined hands directly into his jacket pocket.
The warmth surprises you instantly.
Your words stop for half a second as his fingers lazily intertwine with yours inside the pocket, hidden away from the cold.
Martin keeps walking like he did not just make your heart completely melt.
“And then she literally said—” you continue awkwardly, trying to focus again.
“Mhm,” he hums, listening carefully.
His thumb brushes slowly against your fingers while you talk.
You glance at him quietly.
“What?”
“You’re cold too,” you point out.
“I’ll survive.”
“But your hand is freezing.”
He shrugs lazily. “It’s fine, we’re getting warmer together.”
Snowflakes continue falling around you quietly while the city slowly gets brighter as night settles in completely. Every now and then Martin squeezes your hand gently inside his pocket while listening to you talk, occasionally throwing teasing comments just to see your reactions.
You genuinely think there is nobody easier to exist around than him.
Even silence with Martin never feels awkward.
At some point you both stop near a small café window to look at the desserts displayed inside, your attention immediately caught by a strawberry cake near the front.
Martin notices, obviously.
“You want it?”
“No.”
“You keep staring at it, so should I buy it?”
“Babe I said no, it’s fine!”
“That’s code for wanting it.”
You laugh quietly while he opens the café door before you can protest further.
“Martin—”
“Relax. I’m literally buying cake, not a house.”
The warmth inside wraps around both of you immediately and while you wait near the counter, Martin casually brushes melting snowflakes from your hair.
His fingers move carefully through the strands.
“You’re getting snow all over your head.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah but I’m not the pretty one.”
You stare at him for a second in complete disbelief.
He just smirks casually afterward like he did not say anything insane.
You genuinely do not know how he says things like that so naturally.
A little while later, holding the drinks and the cake packed away, you continue walking through the snowy streets together while Martin talks about music this time.
About a project he has been working on for days.
About a track that keeps annoying him because it still does not sound right.
You listen carefully even when half the technical terms make no sense to you, mostly because you love hearing him talk about things he cares about.
His whole face changes when he talks about music.
“You know what,” he suddenly says after a pause.
“What?”
“Come to the studio with me.”
You blink in confusion. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t we on a date?”
“We still are.”
You laugh softly. “Martin, you’re literally asking me to watch you work.”
“And?”
“I don’t understand why you need me there.”
He looks at you for a second like the answer should be obvious.
“Because I want you there.”
The words hit you embarrassingly hard.
You look away immediately while he smiles to himself.
“You can sit on the couch looking pretty while I work. That’s basically your job.”
“That’s not a real job.”
“It is to me, so please come.”
Eventually you agree, mostly because saying no to Martin when he looks at you like that feels impossible.
The walk toward the studio gets colder the longer it goes.
The snowfall slowly grows heavier, wind pushing flakes against your coats while the streets become softer and quieter under layers of white. Your scarf barely helps anymore and you laugh quietly when snow lands directly in your face.
“This is your fault,” you complain.
“How?”
“You made us walk in a snowstorm.”
“It’s fine babe, we’ll survive.”
You shake your head while trying to brush snow out of your hair, but before you can, Martin suddenly steps closer.
Then he lifts both arms above your head awkwardly.
You stare at him in confusion.
“…What are you doing?”
“Protecting your hair.”
You burst into laughter instantly.
His sleeves hang over part of your face while he walks beside you like a human umbrella, trying very seriously to shield your hair from the snow.
“Martin, this looks ridiculous.”
“I know you spent like two hours doing it.”
“Only one hour.”
“Exactly. I’m preserving the investment.”
Your laughter gets louder while he keeps one arm stretched over your head dramatically, snow collecting all over his jacket instead.
“You’re getting covered in snow!”
“Yeah, because somebody has to survive in this relationship.”
You smile so hard your cheeks start hurting.
Even while complaining dramatically, he keeps checking your face every few seconds to make sure you are warm enough, slowing down whenever streets get slippery.
At one point your boots nearly slide on ice and his hand grabs your waist instantly before you can even react.
“You okay?”
You nod quickly, slightly embarrassed.
“Careful,” he murmurs softer this time.
By the time you both finally reach the studio building, your shoes are covered in snow and your cheeks hurt from the cold.
Martin unlocks the door quickly before pulling you inside with him, warmth immediately wrapping around both of you. The sudden heat makes you sigh quietly in relief while snow melts slowly from your coats onto the floor.
“Oh my god,” you mumble, laughing softly while fixing your scarf. “I can’t feel my face anymore.”
Martin closes the door behind you before looking over at you immediately.
“You freezing?”
“A little.”
Without even answering, he steps closer and places both hands against your cheeks for a second, warming them gently. His fingers are cold too, but somehow it still feels comforting.
“There,” he says quietly.
You smile automatically. “That doesn’t help.”
“It absolutely helps.”
“It literally doesn’t.”
He grins before leaning down and kissing you softly anyway, cutting off your complaints immediately.
The kiss is warm and slow compared to the freezing weather outside, and one of his hands slides behind your neck carefully while he checks your reaction like he always does. Martin kisses like he has all the time in the world, never rushed, always making you feel like you are the only thing he is thinking about.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.
His studio feels cozy tonight.
Dim lights glow softly around the room while speakers, wires, notebooks, and random half empty coffee cups clutter almost every surface. The familiar scent of Martin’s cologne mixed with warm electronics fills the air, and somehow the place already feels comforting to you now after spending so many nights there with him.
You both shrug off your coats before settling onto the couch near his setup.
Martin immediately gets comfortable, opening his laptop and placing it across his lap while you sit curled beside him with your legs tucked under yourself. A few seconds later, without even looking away from the screen, he rests one arm lazily across your legs like it belongs there.
Which it kind of does.
Music quietly fills the room while he starts working again, focused almost instantly.
You watch him for a little while before giving up and checking your phone instead.
Honestly, you have tried understanding what he does multiple times.
But after five minutes of watching him move random things around on a screen full of confusing audio tracks and tiny buttons, your brain always stops trying.
So eventually your attention drifts toward social media instead while Martin continues editing something carefully.
A few minutes pass quietly like that.
Then suddenly his hand squeezes your leg lightly.
“Hey.”
You hum absentmindedly, still scrolling.
“Focus here.”
You look up in confusion only to find him already staring at you instead of the laptop.
“I am focusing.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am babeee.”
“You’ve been ignoring me for ten minutes.”
You laugh softly. “Martin, I literally don’t understand anything you’re doing.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He tilts his head slightly while looking at you in that unfairly soft way that always makes you nervous.
“You’re supposed to sit there and watch me while I work.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “You’re insane.”
You shake your head while smiling despite yourself and he just watches you for another second before suddenly leaning closer.
Then he kisses you again.
Quick this time. Just enough to completely distract you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs quietly against your lips afterward.
Your stomach flips instantly.
You pull back slightly, already embarrassed. “I hate you.”
That only makes his smile grow.
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, he sounds extremely confident about it too.
You hide part of your face inside your sleeve while he laughs softly before finally turning back toward his laptop again, clearly pleased with himself.
Snow continues falling heavily outside the studio windows while soft instrumentals play quietly through the speakers. Martin works for a while longer, occasionally mumbling frustrated things under his breath whenever something annoys him, and every time you laugh at him for it, he gives you the same dramatic offended look before going back to work.
At some point you stop checking your phone completely and just start watching him instead.
Watching the way his brows pull together when he focuses.
The way his fingers tap absentmindedly against your leg while thinking.
The way he quietly mouths lyrics to himself before typing something down quickly.
He looks so naturally cool doing literally anything that it almost annoys you.
Eventually he closes the laptop with a tired sigh before letting it slide onto the couch beside him.
“Done?”
“For tonight.”
You smile softly. “Proud of you.”
His expression changes immediately at that.
He moves closer until his shoulder presses against yours before lifting one hand toward your hair absentmindedly. His fingers slide slowly through the strands while he leans back against the couch, exhaustion finally replacing his earlier focus.
You stay quiet while he plays with your hair gently.
Then after a few seconds, he starts mumbling random lyrics under his breath.
Soft melodies barely above a whisper.
You look up at him quietly while he stares somewhere ahead thoughtfully, fingers still moving slowly through your hair without realizing it.
And suddenly your chest feels painfully full because he looks so adorable. You smile to yourself quietly.
Honestly, sometimes Martin feels too perfect to be real.
You love the way he takes care of you without making it obvious and the way he somehow notices everything about you all the time.
Even now, while half distracted and exhausted, one of his hands still keeps pulling the blanket higher over your legs every time it slips down slightly.
He notices you staring eventually.
“What?”
You shake your head softly. “Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Just say it.”
You laugh quietly while moving closer until your head rests properly against his shoulder.
“I’m just so in love with you.”
Your words come out softer than expected.
Martin goes quiet for a second, then his fingers slide gently under your chin, tilting your face up toward him.
“Well that’s good,” he murmurs softly before kissing your forehead. “Because I’m kinda obsessed with you.”
I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔
The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war.
Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚
Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty.
What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️
I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍
If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support.
Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨
vaporwave
areudirty
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
janainaart
