Tattoo Artist!Han Jisung x Reader | He tattoos like an artist and eats like a god. You're ruined. Congratulations.
🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You just wanted a tattoo. What you got was a cocky artist with a praise kink, a filthy mouth, and the ability to make you cum so hard you forget your name. What starts as innocent skin-on-skin becomes texts at 3AM, breathless calls, panties on the floor, and getting ruined over a tattoo chair by a man who calls his dick “emotionally supportive.”
💌a/n: HELLO DEMONS. welcome back to my sin bin. and YES. i spun the wheel of filth™ again because i have too many prompts, too many requests, too many ideas and i am ONE feral braincell away from combusting. this week’s winner of the roulette: jisung x reader, tattoo shop edition. hence why this was posted late — i had no idea what to write and then accidentally birthed a full plotline, two orgasms, a man with separation anxiety, and the best dick of your fictional life. oops 😇
p.s. reblog this or i will haunt your mirrors at 3AM whispering “dumb little slut” in han’s voice.
p.p.s. if you message me your fave skz member, i might drop you a mini filthy tattoo artist!AU ficlet just for them. no promises. only threats.
p.p.p.s. light a candle. hydrate. send this to a friend
The sky is bruising purple with evening haze. You’re standing outside a tattoo parlour in a tucked-away alley—NO SAINT INK—recommended by a friend who said, “Go there. Ask for Han.”
You’re nervous. Not just because it’s your first tattoo—but because your stomach won’t stop twisting with that type of anticipation. The kind you feel when you know something irreversible is about to happen.
The parlour looks nothing like the industrial, hyper-masculine shops you've passed before. It’s dark, yes—but with soft underlighting. Neon signs buzz low in the windows, one glowing "SINNER'S HANDS" in deep red. Another in cursive:
“we only leave beautiful scars.”
You push the door open, bell jingling. It smells like antiseptic and incense. Lo-fi hip hop pulses from hidden speakers. The walls are matte black, scattered with flash art—some delicate, some obscene. A few erotic, one absolutely feral. You step toward the desk—
And then you see him.
Han Jisung.
Slouched in a leather chair behind the counter, legs spread wide, one hand holding a sketchpad, the other spinning a tattoo gun idly between his fingers like a toy.
Dark, slightly wavy hair. A few strands falling into his eyes. Rings on nearly every finger. One silver bar in his eyebrow. Another glinting on his lip.
He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie, arms covered in ink—some intricate, some scrawled like afterthoughts. His forearms flex as he shifts, glancing up at you lazily, and then—
Freeze.
He smirks. Not the kind of smirk you’re used to. This one slides slow across his face like silk on skin—cocky, amused, interested. He sets the sketchbook down and stands, sauntering over.
“You lost, angel?”
His voice is warm gravel. A little teasing. He’s already clocked you as a first-timer.
You swallow. “No. Um… I think I have an appointment? For 5PM?”
He leans against the counter, gloved hand flipping through the schedule.
“Name?”
You give it. He taps the page. “First ink?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.
You nod.
His eyes drag down your form and back up again—like he’s marking you before the needle ever touches you. “Cute.”
A pause.
“Alright. You’re with me.”
The moment he leads you past the curtain, everything quiets. Not literally—there’s still the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing through overhead speakers, and you can hear the soft buzz of a machine in the next booth—but something in the air shifts. You’ve stepped into his space now.
The room is dim, intentionally so. Not cold or sterile, but intimate. The walls are painted a charcoal grey, with scattered framed sketches and flash art displayed like gallery pieces. A small desk against the back wall is cluttered with ink bottles, gloves, stencils, and scribbled notes on napkins. There’s a chair in the center—sleek black leather, mechanical levers gleaming faintly under the spotlight aimed above it. It's positioned deliberately beneath a halo of warm light, like a stage for sin.
Han gestures for you to sit.
You do, heart already hammering harder than you'd like to admit. Your hands grip the armrests automatically, more out of nerves than necessity.
He sanitizes his hands in silence, then slips on a pair of black nitrile gloves with practiced ease. The snap of the first one makes you flinch. He notices.
A flick of his mouth—half amusement, half something darker.
“So. You still sure about it?” he asks, voice calm but low, like smoke over velvet.
You nod, holding out the reference image you brought—a small, simple design. Meaningful. Something you’ve thought about for months. A delicate poppy, petals slightly unfurled…But at the base of the flower, instead of a regular stem, it grows from the open mouth of a tiny anatomical heart.
Han doesn’t look at the paper right away. His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer than they should. Then he takes it gently, fingers brushing yours through the gloves.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from the paper to your face. “Subtle. Clean lines… this’ll look good on you.”
You try to smile, but your throat feels tight. “Thanks.”
“Where do you want it?”
You hesitate. Then, softly: “Ribcage.”
That earns you an arched brow and the barest flicker of a smirk.
“Shy spot. I like that,” he says, turning to prep his materials. You watch the muscles shift as he reaches for a stencil pad. “Okay, shirt off. Just what you need, nothing more. I won’t bite.”
You freeze.
He pauses for a beat. Then tilts his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Unless you beg,” he adds with a wink.
Your cheeks go hot. You laugh—nervously. It feels like your skin is already burning.
You carefully lift your shirt just high enough to expose the side of your torso, tugging the fabric over your bra, folding it under your arm to keep it out of the way. You're acutely aware of how much skin you're showing—even more so under that bright, direct light.
He kneels beside you with the stencil, gaze focused. You expect him to avoid eye contact, to be clinical—but Han is anything but.
His fingers brush your waist, and they stay there, warm through the gloves. His hand spreads slightly, holding your skin steady as he gently presses the cool stencil to your ribs.
“Breathe for me, yeah?” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile. “I’m gonna press it right here…”
You suck in a breath, chest rising.
He places the stencil deliberately. Slowly. His face is close—close enough that you can see the curve of his lashes, the faint sheen of gloss on his lip ring. You smell cedar and musk on his hoodie. His fingers flex slightly against your side.
He looks up.
“You’re already twitchy,” he says softly, voice dropping just enough to make you forget how to breathe. “Gonna be a fun ride.”
You don’t know if he means the tattoo. And neither does he.
He stands and moves to the table beside him, switching out tools like it’s second nature. The machine buzzes to life with a sharp mechanical hum.
You tense.
He catches it immediately.
“First pinch might sting,” he says, voice suddenly gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re good.”
You nod again, trying not to clench your fists.
Then his hand is back on your body.
He anchors you with one palm spread wide over your side, right above your hip. It’s not forceful, but there’s weight to it. A possessive steadiness. The leather chair creaks faintly under the shift of your body.
And then the needle touches. A sharp, sudden sting. You wince.
“Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so well, pretty,” he says, voice a constant hum in your ear. “Your skin takes ink like a dream. Fuck, this is gonna look good.”
You exhale through your nose, trying to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the burn.
It helps. But not in the way it should. Because Han doesn’t shut up. Not once.
“Don’t squirm too much… unless you want me to slip.”
“You’re soft here. So fucking soft.”
“Bet you’re the type who likes being teased, huh?”
You let out a choked laugh, more from panic than humor. He grins, eyes glinting.
The buzz of the machine, the heat of his palm on your skin, the constant commentary—it all blends into a haze. You’re dripping adrenaline and something else entirely. You feel like you’ve been stripped down far deeper than your shirt allows.
After what feels like both a lifetime and a blink, the needle slows. He lifts it. “Almost done. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”
The words land like a slap and a stroke at once.
He sets the machine aside, reaching for a fresh cloth. He wipes your skin slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Every pass of his hand is careful, gentle.
You’re trembling now. Just a little.
He leans back finally and exhales. The air feels different. Like it’s shifted again—thicker.
“There,” he says. “Wanna see?”
You nod, throat dry.
He helps you up—guides you to a mirror near the corner. His hand stays on your back.
You look. And for a second, you forget how to breathe again. The tattoo is perfect. Clean, delicate, exactly how you pictured it. But it’s not just the ink that makes your chest ache—it’s the fact that it’s his. His hands made this. His touch. His art. On your skin.
“My work’s on you now,” he murmurs behind you, voice low and close. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”
You shake your head. You couldn’t if you tried.
The moment you slide your shirt back down, your skin feels… different. Not just because it's slightly tender from the ink, but because his touch still lingers. Like heat soaked into your bones. Like a fingerprint on your soul. You shouldn’t be this affected—he’s just your tattoo artist. Right?
You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, blinking as he finishes cleaning his station. His gloves come off with a snap, and he tosses them into the bin. You glance up, and—yep—he’s watching you.
Leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, hair a little mussed, rings catching the light. Smug as hell.
“You survived,” he says, voice bright with that chaos-riddled lilt again. “Didn’t cry. Didn’t puke. I’m impressed.”
You roll your eyes. “High praise.”
“I’ve had grown men pass out from rib pieces,” he shrugs. “One guy farted. Loud. Mid-linework. I almost dropped the machine.”
You snort despite yourself. “Well, thanks for not comparing me to the Fart Guy until the end.”
He grins, wide and gleaming. “No, no, you’re top-tier,” he says, stepping closer to grab your care sheet. “Didn’t even whimper. Except for that one part where your breath hitched and I thought—y’know, for a second—you might come on the chair.”
You nearly choke. “Excuse me?!”
“Kidding,” he sing-songs. “Unless…?”
Your glare is ruined by the flush racing up your neck. You stand and grab your bag in a hurry, trying to save face. “You’re awful.”
“I’m delightful.”
He leads you back toward the front desk, swaying just slightly with each step, like he’s got too much energy stored in those shoulders. You swear he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s giving feral golden retriever with a tattoo gun and a praise kink.
You hand over your card while avoiding eye contact.
He hums dramatically as he takes it, flipping it over like he’s studying an ancient rune.
“You sure you don’t wanna tip in other ways?” he says, deadpan.
Your jaw drops.
He grins, swipes your card, and taps it dramatically against the reader before handing it back. “Joking, obviously. Unless that wasn't a ‘no,’ in which case, I’m free next week—Tuesday, after 7?”
You grab the receipt from the printer and scowl at him. “You flirt with all your clients like this?”
“Only the pretty ones who shake when I touch their ribs.”
You stare.
He smiles wider.
“Okay, okay—last line, I swear,” he chuckles. Then, softer: “Hey. Can I get your number?”
The way he asks it—it’s not sleazy. It’s bold, sure. But there’s this undercurrent of actual interest, like he’s asking for something more than just your digits.
You blink. “Why?”
“‘Cause I want it?” he says, grinning. “Also, in case your tattoo needs a touch-up. Or emotional support. Or if you just feel like sending me hot selfies. It’s a multi-purpose thing.”
You hesitate. Your pulse says yes before your mouth does. He notices. He always notices. You hand him your phone, and he immediately types his own number in, labelling it:
HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” JISUNG 🖤
He sends himself a text from your phone, winks, then gives it back. “Now we’re connected,” he says “Digitally. Spiritually. Carnally—well, not yet.”
You open your mouth to sass him. “You were so close to being cool,” you say.
“Close is my middle name.”
You snort and shake your head as you step toward the door. “Bye, Han.”
“See you soon, angel.”
You’re out the door.
The texting started immediately. Like, within minutes of you leaving the shop.
What began as tattoo care check-ins (“don’t scratch it or I’ll spank you—unless?”) turned into daily chaos. Then nightly chaos. Then a full-blown flirtationship spiralling out of control.
Han texts like he lives inside your brain—firing off filthy one-liners between jokes that make you wheeze-laugh at 1AM, switching between “you’re my filthy little secret” and “pls tell me I’m cute or I’ll cry.”
You finally cave after he begs you to get ramen at 9PM “as friends who have sexual tension.”
You show up. He’s already sitting cross-legged in the booth, hoodie sleeves rolled up, lip ring glinting, chopsticks twirling in one hand like he’s about to duel someone.
He greets you with: “You look edible. I meant that in a respectful way. Mostly.”
You try to play it cool. He doesn’t let you.
The whole night is full of dumb jokes, spicy noodles, and under-the-table foot nudging that turns into ankle grazing that turns into—
“You keep that up, baby,” he murmurs across the table, “and I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and remind you what these fingers can do.”
You nearly choke on your drink. He laughs, head tilted back, so proud of himself.
You leave flustered. He kisses your cheek in the parking lot. Just your cheek. But his hand lingers at your waist. His mouth is right next to your ear.
“Call me when you can’t sleep,” he says, low. “I’ll make sure you get tired again.”
You almost trip on the curb.
The calls eventually started and slowly became routine. Especially those 1AM phone calls, they were like clockwork. You, in bed, breath heavy as his voice would melt through the speaker.
“You touching yourself yet?”
“You want me to talk you through it?”
“Want me to tell you what I’d do if I had you on my lap right now?”
He moans in your ear when you do what he says.
Filthy. Unfiltered. And when it’s over—when you’re breathless and ruined—he says the softest things:
“Wish I was there to hold you.”
“You’re so fucking hot, but you’re also cute and funny and it’s unfair.”
“You still like me, right?”
It’s not just lust anymore. It's want. Sticky, addictive, confusing want.
It started with a text.
Just one. Sent on a whim while lying in bed late at night, staring at the first tattoo he gave you—delicate black lines peeking from beneath your shirt, still soft to the touch even weeks later.
[You, 11:23PM]
thinking about getting another one
You didn’t expect a fast reply. But Jisung’s name lit up your phone in under two minutes.
[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤, 11:24PM]
oh?? 👀
where
when
how much skin we talking
is it just an excuse to see me again
(pls say yes)
You rolled your eyes. Typed back:
[You]
hipbone
small script
and maybe
what if it was both
His reply came in a blink:
[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤]
come by the shop this friday
after hours
no distractions
just me. you. ink.
doors locked. lights low.
…for professionalism, obviously 🙃
You stared at the screen for a long time before replying.
And then:
[You]
see you friday.
Friday. 9:04PM.
Seoul’s city pulse is just starting to dim when you push open the door to NO SAINT INK for the second time.
The bell doesn’t ring. He told you it wouldn’t.
The neon signs are still lit—SINNER’S HANDS flickering a slow blood-red glow in the window—but the rest of the shop feels different. Empty. Still. Like something waiting to be touched.
The lights are dimmed. Only one small lamp buzzes near the back, casting long shadows across the matte-black walls.
Your steps echo a little as you walk inside. Then—
“Back here, pretty.”
His voice, low and smooth, floats from behind a curtain in the far booth.
You follow it. Pull the curtain aside. And there he is.
He’s already set up.
Tattoo machine prepped, gloves laid out neatly beside his sketch pad. He’s wearing an oversized black tee tucked loosely into ripped jeans, sleeves rolled just enough to show off the ink that curls around his biceps like living things.
He doesn’t look at you at first.
He’s focused on the script you’d sent him earlier—your design. A small phrase, handwritten in your own messy scrawl: “still hungry.”
When he finally glances up, it hits you like the first time all over again.
The way his lip curls. The way his eyes bite first and ask questions later. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Back for more.”
You lean against the booth’s edge, heartbeat already in your throat. “You said professionalism, remember?”
He stands slowly. Walks toward you. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.
“I lied.”
A beat. Then—
“Where’s it going again?”
You lift the hem of your hoodie just a little. Hook your thumb beneath your waistband and tug it down, just far enough to expose the sharp curve of your hipbone.
His gaze drops.
Stays.
He doesn’t speak for a moment too long. Just stares—like he’s trying to memorize you before he ruins you. “That’s dangerous, you know,” he says softly. “Letting me touch you there.”
You try to swallow. Fail. “You’re the one who said no distractions.”
He smiles. “You’re the fucking distraction.”
He gloves up without another word.
You lie back on the chair, heart slamming in your chest, every inch of skin suddenly too hot.
You’re not sure what you expected. Something casual? Familiar? But the moment his gloved hand touches your bare hip—steadying you, fingers spread firm and warm—the entire world narrows to him.
“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, positioning the stencil. “Just like last time. You remember how good you were for me?”
You exhale shakily.
“You gonna behave again tonight, pretty thing?”
You whisper: “Maybe.”
He leans in. His mouth is close to your skin. His voice—barely a breath. “God, I hope not.” He’s still positioning the stencil.
And you? You're laid back on the chair, hoodie bunched beneath your ribs, waistband tugged low, every nerve ending on alert. The soft lamplight paints shadows across his jaw as he kneels between your legs, eyes focused.
And then—
“You know,” he says lightly, pressing the stencil into place, “I’ve seen a lot of hipbones. But this one might be my favourite.”
You snort. “Wow. So original.”
He grins without looking up. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“I’m sure you say that to all your clients.”
“Only the ones who sext me about popsicles and then block me for ten minutes.”
You go still. He finally glances up. Smirks. “Yeah. Thought I forgot about that?”
You mutter, “I hate you.”
“You love me,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact. “You want me to ruin your life. Slowly. Lovingly. With tattoos and aftercare.”
You cover your face. “Shut up.”
He laughs—a low, breathy sound. Then, softly: “I’m starting the line now. Hold still, baby.”
The machine whirs to life.
It’s quieter than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more aware—of everything. The way his gloved hand steadies your hip, thumb dragging along the edge of your waistband. The needle’s sharp kiss. The buzz settling into your bones.
And Han’s voice. God, he never stops talking.
“This spot’s sensitive,” he says, totally casual. “Most people squirm. But I like that.”
You tense. He notices. Of course he does.
“Relax,” he murmurs, dragging the line smooth. “You’re doing perfect.”
Another pause. Then—
“Don’t suppose you’re into pain, are you?”
You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He chuckles under his breath. “God, you so are.”
But then, just like that—his tone shifts. He quiets. Focuses. And the teasing melts into something heavier. “Almost done,” he says, more softly this time. “You’ve been so good for me again. Always are.”
You blink. Your heart skips.
He wipes your skin again, slow and reverent, then leans back to look. He’s still crouched between your thighs, eyes focused, lips parted slightly as he takes it in.
“Fuck.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks up at you. No grin now. Just quiet, open admiration. “It’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like… stupid good.” He presses a kiss to his gloved fingertips and taps them against your skin.
“Still hungry,” he reads aloud. “God, I could write essays on that.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re flushed. Breath shallow. Because now that the needle’s done…
He’s not moving. His hand stays on your waist. His eyes flick to your lips. Then back down. Then—
“You want me to touch you?”
The question lands like a live wire in the room. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t smirk. He just waits. Like he’s offering something sacred. Like he’d back off the second you said no. But you don’t. You can’t.
You nod. Barely.
His fingers tighten on your skin. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Say it. I want to hear it.”
You swallow.
“…Yes.”
“Yes what, baby?”
Your brain short-circuits.
“Jisung—”
“Use your words, pretty thing. Or I’ll stop before I start.”
You suck in a breath, eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”
He moves instantly.
The gloves are still on when he presses his palm flat against your hipbone, fingers spreading possessively. His hand feels huge there—like it was made for this exact spot.
“Fuck. Been thinking about this since the first time you came in,” he mutters, voice dropping into something rough, reverent. “You looked so fucking good in that chair. All nervous and squirmy.”
He bends down.
Kisses the edge of your new tattoo, so soft it almost hurts. “My name’s not even on you,” he whispers, “and I’m still acting like you’re mine.”
Your stomach flips. You whimper.
And he grins, but it’s different now—hungry, not cocky. “Take your pants off.”
You blink.
He meets your eyes. “Let me take care of you.”
You obey—slow, breathless, trembling under his gaze. You slide them down and toss them aside. He leans in again, eyes tracing over the new ink and everything below it, slow and starving.
You’re not wearing much underneath, lacy pink panties, with a very obvious wet spot on your center.
He groans softly. “You’re already wet.”
You gasp when his fingers brush over you, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “All this from a little needle?” he teases. “Or is it the artist?”
“Fuck you,” you breathe.
He laughs. One low, wicked exhale. “Oh, you will. But not yet.”
He leans back, peels his gloves off slowly—dragging each finger loose one by one, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tosses them into the bin without taking his eyes off you once.
Then he lowers himself between your legs.
Spreads your thighs just a little further apart with both hands.
You hear him exhale.
“Fuck. This is gonna kill me.”
He doesn’t touch you yet. Just leans in.
And presses a kiss right above your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Then a little higher. And a little higher.
Your breath hitches when his lips ghost just beside the fabric.
“Soaked through lace,” he murmurs. “That’s so fucking pretty, baby.”
You’re shaking now.
He mouths over the wet spot—not even pulling them down yet. Just letting the heat of his breath and the drag of his lips torture you. You feel the scrape of his lip ring as he kisses you again, open-mouthed, right there.
“Bet you’d cum just from this,” he whispers. “My mouth through your panties. Barely even trying.”
You whimper. One hand fisting the edge of the chair.
His fingers slide over the wet spot next, slow and teasing. Two fingers rub a lazy circle, barely pressing—just enough to make your hips twitch. “I should leave these on,” he says, almost to himself. “Just push them to the side. Make you beg for it.”
You breathe, “Jisung—please—”
That does it.
He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down—slow, deliberate, watching every inch of you get exposed.
He groans loudly the second you’re bare. “Holy fuck.”
Then he’s leaning in again, this time nothing between you. He kisses your inner thigh first. Then lower.
Then—
His tongue drags one long, obscene stripe up your center. You cry out, hips bucking—he presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with an effortless command:
“Stay fucking still.”
Then he goes back in. He licks you like he means it—messy, slow, then fast and deep. His tongue circles your clit with practiced chaos. He moans against you, loud, like you taste like something sacred.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled.
His hands spread you wider, his tongue dipping into your heat, nose pressed right up against your skin.
Then he sucks. Hard.
Your head falls back—gone.
“That’s it,” he purrs. “My perfect little slut. Look at you.”
Your hands tangle in his hair. You tug. He groans again and ruts into the fucking air, desperate for friction while he eats you out like he’s starving.
“You gonna cum on my mouth?” he growls, voice wrecked. “You want me to keep going or make you beg for it?”
You try to answer—can’t.
He pulls back for just a moment, lips and chin shining. “Use your words, baby. You know the rules.”
“Please—fuck—don’t stop, please—Jisung—”
“God,” he groans. “Keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna cum in my fucking jeans.”
Then he dives back in, faster now, tongue fucking into you, hand moving to circle your clit with soaked fingers while he sucks and moans like you’re his last goddamn meal. He’s everywhere—his mouth, his hand, the filthy hum of his moans vibrating straight through your core. He doesn’t pause to tease, doesn’t stop to talk this time. He’s all action now. Starved. Feral.
“Fuck,” he growls between licks, the words hot and wet against your folds. “You taste so fucking good. Gonna make me lose my mind.”
His tongue pushes in again. He flicks it fast, then slow, then sucks at your clit with a deep, wet moan that makes you cry out, back arching clean off the chair.
“There you go,” he pants, not even breaking rhythm. “Just like that. Give it to me, baby. Come on.” His voice is breathless, desperate—like he’s the one about to cum.
You’re shaking. Legs trembling. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Your hands are clutching his hair, holding him right where you need him, and he just groans louder, grinding his face deeper like he wants to live between your legs. His lip ring catches against your clit—again, and again—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.
He just moans into you, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you down as your whole body starts to unravel. You feel it in your spine. In your toes. In the fucking air.
“You close, pretty thing?” he slurs against your clit. “Yeah, you are. You’re fucking dripping—making a mess for me. So fucking perfect. All mine.”
That breaks you.
You cum harder than you ever have in your life—with a sob, a gasp, a full-body spasm that crashes over you like a goddamn tsunami.
You hear yourself. You scream his name.
Jisung.
Jisung.
Jisung.
And he takes it.
He drinks it down like a man possessed, moaning into you like you’re water in the desert, like he’s been waiting his whole life to taste you fall apart. He doesn’t even stop when you cum—he licks you through it, tongue softening only slightly as your body twitches and bucks and pleads for mercy.
It’s too much. It’s so good it hurts.
“J-Jisung—fuck—wait—too much—”
Only then does he pull back, chest heaving, face absolutely wrecked. His mouth, his chin, even the tip of his nose glistens with you. He looks dazed.
Blessed.
He runs a hand down his face and just stares at you—spread out, soaked, shaking, glowing.
Then: “Holy fuck.”
You blink up at him, still gasping, brain static.
He grins—wide, flushed, proud as hell. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Best pussy of my life.” You try to sass him. You really do. But all that comes out is a whimper.
“Aw,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Dumbed you out already?”
He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead. “You okay?”
You nod. Barely.
“You want more?”
You nod. Desperately.
He chuckles, voice thick with affection and wrecked restraint. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” Then he stands up, undoing his belt with shaking hands, and murmurs: “Get comfy. ’Cause I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget your own name.”
You’re still gasping. Still trembling. But your eyes follow the movement of his hands—shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, then the button, then the zipper.
He pushes his jeans down—
And your breath catches. You knew he’d be pretty. But not like this. Not this.
Thick. Flushed. Slight curve to the left.
And not just the look of it—the feel of it, even before he’s inside. You know instinctively it’s going to destroy you. That kind of snug fit that presses into all the right places and leaves no room for secrets.
He strokes himself once, slow and slick, precum already leaking from the tip. “Gonna be good for me, baby?” he asks, voice shaking as he fists his cock. “Let me feel that perfect pussy now?”
You nod. Dumb. Ready. So wet you feel it drip onto the chair beneath you.
He lines up—rubs the head of his cock over your folds, up and down, teasing your clit before circling your entrance. You’re still sensitive. Still twitching. And he feels it. “Still throbbing for me,” he murmurs. “God, you’re unreal.”
He pushes in. Slow. Deep. Too much. Too good.
You cry out—your body arching, your hands gripping the armrest and his forearm and anything you can reach.
Because he fits. Perfectly. Thick enough to make you stretch wide, gasp, feel it in your lungs. But not enough to hurt. No—just enough to ruin you.
“F-fuck,” he groans, head falling forward. “You’re squeezing me so tight—Jesus—don’t move yet, I’ll cum too fast—” He bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He stays there for a second. Still trembling. His cock twitches inside you.
“I’m gonna die,” he whispers. “I’m gonna die in this pussy.”
You laugh—a breathless, broken thing—and he grins like he’s proud.
Then? He pulls out halfway. And slams back in. Hard. And again. And again. Fast. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby—keep takin’ it—so fucking perfect—”
He’s rambling now. Whimpering.
Each thrust hits so deep you swear you see stars. It’s a rhythm that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be real. Every stroke dragging against your g-spot, every snap of his hips making your thighs quake.
And he’s talking. So much.
“You feel that? Huh? You feel how good you make me?”
“You’re all mine. This pussy? Fucking mine. Say it.”
“Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me who it belongs to—”
You choke out, “You—it’s yours, Jisung—fuck, you’re so deep—”
He moans—wrecked. “God, I’m not gonna last—fuck—you’re too good—you’re too fucking good—” Then he bends down—mouth at your ear, hips still pounding into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.
“One more,” he whispers. “Just one more, yeah? Be my good girl and cum for me again—come on—cum on my cock—let me feel you—”
You barely get the chance to nod. Because then—he changes rhythm.
Not slower. Not gentler. Worse. He fucks you harder. Deeper. Like his body knows exactly how to hit every nerve inside you. Like he’s memorized your walls. And maybe he has. Maybe from the moment he first touched you in that chair, his entire brain rewired for this—for you.
“So fucking tight,” he pants, voice cracked open, almost panicked. “Shit—look at how you take me—look at that, fuck—”
He’s holding your waist again, but carefully—just above the fresh tattoo. His fingers dig into your ribs, grip locked in, not letting you squirm away as he slams into you, pace frantic, unrelenting.
“Can’t touch your hips,” he growls, “so I’m gonna hold you right here—just like this—until you fall apart again.”
Then his hand slides down. Finds your clit. And rubs. Fast. Tight.
You moan loud.
“Tell me what it feels like,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, wild. “Come on, baby—talk to me. You know the rules.”
You try. You try so hard.
“It’s—fuck—Jisung—it’s too much—I-I can’t—”
His hand doesn’t stop. His cock drives up into you like it’s chasing your orgasm, like he can feel it coming and he wants to drag it out of you with his bare hands. “Yes, you can. You’re my good girl, right? My perfect fucking baby—tell me what you feel.”
You sob. “It’s everywhere—it’s so deep—I feel you in my stomach, Jisung—”
That makes him moan—full, wrecked, helpless. “Yeah? That’s it, baby. You feel me stretching you out? You feel how hard you’re clenching around me?”
He’s unhinged. Fucking you like he needs to feel you cum on his cock. Like it’s his only goddamn mission in life.
“Don’t hold back. Let me have it. Show me how good I make you feel.” His fingers tighten, rub faster. His cock keeps slamming up into that perfect, perfect spot.
And you break.
You fall apart on him with a cry that splits the air—your orgasm ripping through you like a detonation, a white-hot snap that makes your whole body lock up and tremble.
You cum hard. Harder than before. Harder than ever.
And he feels it. Feels you clench around him like a vice, walls pulsing, soaked, squeezing every last bit of him until he’s gasping into your throat. “Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—baby—I’m—”
He slams in once, twice more—then stills. Buried deep. Groaning so loud it echoes. And cums. Hot. Fast. Deep. He fills you up with a desperate, whimpering exhale—head falling into the crook of your neck, fingers flexing tight on your waist as he rides it out, hips twitching helplessly inside you.
“Jesus—holy fuck—how are you real—”
You don’t know what you say. You don’t know if you’re breathing. All you know is he doesn’t let go. Not even after. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up to your ribs, the other cupping your jaw gently as he leans in and kisses your forehead.
Sweet. Messy. Possessive.
“I’m so fucking in love with your pussy.” he mumbles against your skin.
You laugh—wrecked and breathless. “You just came in me.”
“I did. I’ll take responsibility.”
“You didn’t even mean to.”
“That’s what makes it romantic.”
But then he goes quiet. Both of you do. Still joined. Still pulsing.
The only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, shallow, shared.
Han’s body is draped over yours, his skin hot and sticky, his face buried in your neck like he might actually die if he moves. He’s not even thrusting anymore—just lying there, full-on koala mode, arms around your waist, cock still twitching inside you like it doesn’t know it's over.
“I think I saw God,” he whispers.
You blink, still boneless and floating.
“Pretty sure she winked at me and said ‘Good job, Jisung.’”
You snort into the crumpled pillow beneath you. “Was she hot?”
He lifts his head just enough to deadpan: “She looked like you.”
A pause.
“Except taller. And clothed. And not full of cum.”
You let out a noise that’s half wheeze, half scream, face flushing as you try to twist away—but he tightens his grip, groaning as his still half-hard cock shifts inside you.
“Nooo, don’t move,” he whines. “You’ll make me hard again and I’ll die. You’re too powerful.”
You roll your eyes. “You just came in me, and now you’re being dramatic?”
He lifts his face, eyes wide. “I’m always dramatic. But now I’m dramatic and post-nut mushy.”
You smack his arm—lightly. He grins and kisses your shoulder like he’s never been happier in his life.
Then, suddenly gentle: “You okay? Need anything?”
You hum. “Water. A towel. A new pelvis.”
“I can offer you one of those things.”
He pulls out slowly, careful. You both wince a little, and he immediately fumbles for the nearest clean towel, muttering, “Shit, sorry, sorry—damn, we really did that, huh?”
He cleans you up softly, thoroughly. Tongue poking out in concentration, hands warm and reverent. You watch him in the dim light—his flushed cheeks, mussed-up curls, that stupid satisfied look on his face like he just won the lottery and the trophy was you.
He helps you sit up, eyes wide looking you over as if wanting to make sure you are okay and not just saying you're okay.
You smile at him, dazed. “That was insane.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then, quieter: “I really like you, by the way.”
You glance at him. He’s suddenly shy—voice small, fingers playing with the hem of the towel. “I mean—I know this was hot and wild and unholy, but like. You’re not just hot and wild and unholy. You’re…”
He scratches the back of his head. “Cool. Funny. Gorgeous. Smart. And you have great pain tolerance and taste in art and—I dunno—your moans live in my soul now.”
You blink at him. He shrugs. “I just think you’re neat.”
You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in, kiss him soft. He melts instantly.
Twenty minutes later, you’re both curled on the couch in the back lounge. Your legs are over his lap. You’re sipping water. He’s holding your hand and doodling hearts on your thigh with a sharpie.
“So,” he says, yawning. “When do you want your third tattoo?”
You give him a look. “Planning ahead?”
He smirks, smug. “Just making sure I get to fuck you again.”
You flick his forehead.
“Ow—okay, okay. For art. Not for horny.”
But you both know the truth. You’re absolutely getting another tattoo. And this man is going to absolutely ruin you again. With love. And dick. And filthy words. And then cuddle you like a little spoon with separation anxiety.
So the answer? Yeah. Yeah you will be seeing more of him. More dates. More dick. More tattoos. Guess it's fate.
❝ Seungmin knows that his worth is wrapped up in his grades, his abilities, his mind. Pretty is not something he’s ever really aspired to be. And yet.
He turns and catches sight of his jawline, the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his waist and hips. His collarbones are more pronounced and sticking out from his chest than they normally are. He looks good, he thinks.
It’s not like he wanted this. He didn't ask for it, but his body is doing it anyway, and the longer he looks the more he realizes that he’s... okay with it? He might even like it. At least a little bit.
Maybe he’s going crazy. ❞
or: seungmin has everything under control. it's not a big deal that he isn't eating the way he used to
pairing: seunglix (seungmin × felix)
wc: 10k+ (ongoing)
content: seungmin-centric, angst, heavy depictions of anxiety and disordered eating, seungmin is also autistic. to me <3 college au, seunglix roommates, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, minor sexuality crisis, happy/hopeful ending. cast is mainly '00 line
a/n: been posting this on ao3 the past week and finally gathered the courage to post here lol. this is just the first few chapters. pls mind the content warnings and do not read if these topics are uncomfortable for you at all 🫶
[read on ao3 here] | [playlist]
—
Is it a bit weird? Sure. But Seungmin isn't doing anything wrong.
He really isn't. There's nothing wrong with looking up the menu of the new restaurant his friends are dragging him out to. He just likes to be prepared.
It's a habit, one that he picked up years ago and never quite shook off. And, really, it's smart. Right? Being prepared? Seungmin doesn't want to inconvenience anyone by taking too long to order when they're at the table. He just wants to know what he's walking into... so he doesn't have to stress.
He's not doing anything wrong. Not trying to look up nutrition facts or anything, even if his eyes flick to the numbers written in tiny script every now and then. But he doesn't really care about them.
…But should he? Would it look bad to order something with an egregious number of calories? Maybe it would be fine as long as he doesn't finish it.
“Seungmin? Hellooo?”
His head snaps up, eyes meeting Felix's curious gaze from the adjacent car seat. The older is waving a hand in front of his face, a bemused smile on his lips.
“Hey, we're here. You good?”
Seungmin blinks, looking around. Sure enough, Hyunjin and Jisung are standing outside, shutting their doors behind them with a resounding thud. He hadn't even heard them get out of the car.
“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, I'm good,” Seungmin replies awkwardly, his voice cracking a bit through the words. “Just checking the menu.”
He holds up his phone as proof, showing the open webpage to Felix before distantly wondering if the other will find it weird or strange. But Felix just chuckles. “Yeah? You were zoning out pretty hard there.”
Seungmin shrugs and unbuckles his seatbelt, avoiding Felix's gaze. He knows the older boy doesn't mean anything by it, but he can't help the slight prickle of unease at the observation. It's nothing. He opens the door.
“Took you long enough,” Hyunjin says when he steps out, playfully attacking Seungmin with weird claw-like hands. “Too busy texting your secret girlfriend?”
Seungmin rolls his eyes, batting away Hyunjin’s hands. He’s used to the teasing by now; it comes with being the youngest in the group. But it's still annoying. “Shut up. I was not texting a girl.”
Jisung slings an arm over Seungmin's shoulders, grinning widely. “Oh? Then who were you texting?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“I was not texting anyone,” he amends.
Felix chooses this moment to emerge from the backseat, ruffling Seungmin’s hair. “Yeah, our Seungminnie doesn't really talk to anyone but us.”
Seungmin scowls, trying to look annoyed and hide the slight flush he knows must be on his ears. “I talk to plenty of people.”
Hyunjin snorts. “Yeah, sure. Us, your sister, your parents, and your professors. Riveting conversations you’re having there.”
Seungmin flicks him in the forehead, which just earns him another laugh. Jisung chimes in from his other side, his grin growing even wider. “Come on, perfect reason for me to introduce you to my music guys!”
Right. Jisung's new friends. Upperclassmen, and the reason Seungmin is so anxious about this dinner — he's comfortable enough with his friends, but strangers? He bounces on his toes nervously.
“They’re gonna love you dude,” Jisung continues as they make their way to the entrance. “They don’t believe that I actually know someone with the voice of an angel.”
“Please,” Seungmin scoffs, even as he ducks his head, pursing his lips to fight a smile.
Felix smiles up at him. “Don’t worry, they’re really cool,” he assures, linking their arms together.
The restaurant is lively and bright. They’re led to a booth, and Seungmin silently thanks the gods it’s one of the more secluded ones. It's bad enough his nerves were already frayed just from the idea of this; he doesn’t need other people's eyes on him on top of it.
Felix pulls Seungmin along by the wrist and gestures for him to slide in before following suit, his knees bumping against Seungmin’s under the table. He belatedly realizes he's squished against the window. Great. No escape.
Hyunjin and Jisung take seats on the opposite side of the booth, already chatting animatedly about some drama Hyunjin is currently obsessed with.
Seungmin is suddenly very aware of the close proximity, the feeling of Felix's knee against his making him hyper-conscious of every move he makes. He tries to shift, but there's really not much room for manoeuvre.
Felix pats his knee. “You okay?” he asks quietly, so the others wouldn't hear.
Seungmin shoots him a smile and nods. “I'm fine.” He's being stupid, he should loosen up.
The sound of approaching footsteps has Seungmin’s head snapping up as two unfamiliar faces approach their table. Jisung grins and waves them over. The first one, dressed in all black, smiles back and slides into the booth next to Jisung, ruffling the younger’s hair in greeting. The second one, shorter with sharp features, takes the seat next to Felix and pinches his cheek, causing Felix to yelp and whine in complaint.
Jisung launches into the introductions, his excitement palpable. “Guys, this is Changbin hyung and Chan hyung; both are older than us and do music with me.” He gestures to each of them in turn.
Changbin salutes. “Sup, kids.”
“This is Hyunjin,” Jisung continues, pointing next to him, “And this is Seungmin.”
Hyunjin waves cheerfully, and Seungmin nods, putting on a polite smile.
Chan's eyes light up in recognition. “Jisung talks about you guys a lot.”
Hyunjin snorts and mutters something along the lines of “I'm sure he does”. Seungmin feels his face heating up, his smile turning a shade more sheepish. “Good things, I hope?”
Chan chuckles. “Only the best, don't worry.”
Changbin leans across the table with a grin. “He's been hyping up your vocals. Says you've got some insane range.”
Seungmin blinks, feeling a bit self conscious in front of these people he's never met. He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Ah, I don't know about that…”
Jisung shoots a smile his way. “He's humble too.”
Thankfully, they don't stay on the topic for long; the conversation flows from music to classes to the new video game Felix is dying to get everyone to play with him. Despite the hint of nerves still buzzing under his skin, Seungmin finds himself warming up to the older boys. There's something comfortable about them, both of them so charming and easy-going. For a moment he relaxes. Everything is fine.
That is, until a menu is placed in front of him and his chest suddenly feels tight, like someone's wrapped a hand around his lungs and is squeezing.
Seungmin glances down at the laminated sheet, feeling a wave of unease creeping up his spine, the urge to run away. It's silly. It’s just a menu, he's done this a million times before. But it feels suddenly much more daunting in a new place, with new people. The text swims before his eyes, blending together and making it impossible to concentrate.
He takes a slow, deep breath through his nose, trying to steady himself. It's fine. This is why he already looked at the menu, already prepared for this.
The problem is that his brain, for some reason, immediately spirals into worrying about what the others will think of what he eats, that they'll comment on it, or somehow judge him for it. Of course, it's probably irrational, no one would really care, but…
The others are still talking, but he barely hears them, too focused on running his order through his mind, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears.
He doesn't even care. He doesn't.
He breathes in, out, and manages to order one of the options he decided on in the car — something safe, light, that he knows he'll like, and that won't be too messy. And… nothing happens, no one looks at him weirdly and the world doesn't implode on itself. Of course it doesn't.
He forces his muscles to relax, taking another slow, silent breath. Easy. Why was he so stressed?
The conversation has continued without him; he's grounded back into it when Felix breaks into laughter and leans into him, head falling onto his shoulder as he shakes with barely restrained giggles.
Seungmin looks down, notices the way the dim lighting casts shadows across Felix’s face, the way his eyes crinkle stupidly when he smiles like this.
“Oh my god,” Felix laughs, peering up at him. “Seungmin. Tell Hyunjin he's an idiot.”
“Hey!” the other protests. “Not fair. You're on my side, right Seungmin?”
Seungmin raises an eyebrow. He has no idea what this is about, but does he really need to? “You're an idiot,” he says dryly.
“See!” Felix shouts, and the rest of the table follows his laughter. Hyunjin slumps and makes a show of looking pouty and betrayed.
Felix continues giggling, still leaning on Seungmin's shoulder. He's close enough that Seungmin can feel his breath on his neck. It's kind of distracting.
He doesn't mind, though. It feels warm.
The food arrives soon afterwards. It looks delicious, but he can't help but stare down at it, the thought of actually eating making him uneasy.
But he has to. He can’t let the others know how weird he is about this. And he’s hungry.
He takes a deep breath in, then out, and starts picking at his food.
Jisung and Hyunjin are bickering again, and Chan seems to be chiding them, but Seungmin’s head is buzzing with static. It's good. He's fairly sure it's good, at least. He doesn't really taste anything — It's a bit difficult to focus on the taste, or the conversation happening around him for that matter, everything blurring around him. His attention is focused solely on not drawing attention to himself. He actually quite likes being in the corner of the booth, now that he thinks about it.
Sure, Seungmin's always been a bit highly strung; there's always been a vague sense of needing to be proper, decorous in front of others — but it's rarely so overwhelming. Right now just the thought of taking each bite feels like a monumental task.
It's stupid. It's stupid and silly and embarrassing. He doesn't even understand where the feeling is coming from right now. All he knows is he wants to look good in front of his friends.
It doesn't feel like a lot of time passes, but it must be too much because he realizes everyone else is finishing up and — he looks down — he still has over half a plate full. What the hell? How did they eat so quickly?
He slowly pushes his plate a couple inches forward, not wanting to be the only one eating. Then everyone would definitely stare at him.
Across from him, Hyunjin of course notices. “Seungminnie, you weren't hungry?”
“Uhh… Nah, not really,” he says, even though he is still a little hungry. It's fine. He can just get a box for it. “I had a big lunch, I guess.”
He doesn't really know why he said that. It just… came out, but the others nod and a strange thrill runs through him at how easy it was to lie. Sure, it's not over anything consequential, but still. Seungmin doesn't tend to lie about anything. It's kind of exhilarating, he realizes.
“That’s crazy,” Jisung says. “Lunch feels like forever ago, man.”
Seungmin shrugs. “I guess.” He glances down at the table without thinking too much of it.
...Felix is looking at him.
Seungmin can't really read his expression. Felix doesn't seem to suspect anything though, just smiles easily at him when their eyes meet.
Not long after, they say their goodbyes, Seungmin walking out of the restaurant with a box of leftovers and invitations from the two upperclassmen to keep in touch for opportunities to do some vocals for a few songs.
In the car, Hyunjin and Jisung start chattering again, but Seungmin tunes them out, eyes glued out the window, watching the world go by. The sky is just starting to go dark, night falling later each day as summer draws near.
Felix nudges him. “You’re quiet.”
Seungmin glances over. Felix looks so bright. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” Felix replies, a slight smirk on his face. “You’ve got the classic Kim Seungmin look.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He taps his chin, as if considering it. “The blank face. The wide eyes. The thousand-yard stare.”
Seungmin huffs out a laugh, torn between amusement and indignation. “I do not have a look.”
“Okay, my bad,” Felix grins, holding his hands up. “But, did you not have a good time?”
“No, I did. It was fun.”
Felix relaxes. “Good. I hope they wanna work with you. I think you’d hit it off.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he nods. “They seem pretty good.”
Felix hums, then gives him a sidelong glance. “You were being very agreeable tonight. It was kind of weird.”
Seungmin bristles at the suggestion. “...I’m always polite.”
“Sure,” Felix teases. “But not to that extent. Usually you're way more annoying.”
Seungmin shrugs, still feeling oddly detached. “You're annoying.”
Felix laughs. He shifts in his seat, tilting his head a bit, eyeing Seungmin closely. His gaze is a bit too keen, and Seungmin turns away, eyes fixed back on the blurring world outside.
“Did you get enough to eat?”
The question takes him by surprise, and he glances back over, his grip on the box in his lap tightening. “Of course,” he replies quickly.
It slides off his tongue a little too easily. He didn't even get to think about it before it came out. His heart thumps against his ribcage, guilt prickling his gut. He knows he should feel bad about lying, but there's also that weird rush in his chest again, like… adrenaline, or dopamine or something.
“Okay,” Felix smiles.
Luckily, before he has to say anything else, Jisung's attention is drawn to a song that fades in over the radio, and he starts scream-singing at the top of his lungs.
Hyunjin groans and starts shouting at him that he's being distracting and, “if we crash it's not my damn fault” — and the rest of the drive is drowned in the loud, comfortable noise of his friends.
—
Things go back to normal after that. He was just having a weird night.
Seungmin’s routine has always been a steady, measured thing. He wakes up, goes to class, studies, hangs out with his friends. Normal.
And he eats, too. Usually. If he starts missing meals here and there, it's only because classes are ramping up and he doesn't have time to meet up with his friends for meals as often.
It's absolutely nothing to do with the feeling of a thousand eyes on him any time he enters the dining hall.
Things are fine. Everything's fine, he tells himself, even when he ends up skipping lunch a few days in a row because he's too anxious to go into the cafeteria. It's not that big of a deal, it's just lunch. And it's not like he hasn't skipped meals before. Like, he's fine, he's healthy. Everyone skips meals, they eat later, it's not a big deal.
Of course, he wants to eat. But his brain is just as capable of coming up with reasons not to, and he's learned that he can usually go a while before it becomes difficult. And, to be honest, it's not like he minds being hungry. It gives him a strange sense of satisfaction that he doesn't really understand himself.
He supposes, in a way, it's almost a relief. His mind has more space to focus on school. And even on other things — Jisung managed to convince him to record some vocals for a couple songs he and the upperclassmen he met have been working on. So, he's been hanging around the studios in the music department these days too. It's enough to keep himself distracted.
His friends are busy too, of course. There are tests and assignments and group projects and finals looming in the distance, and it's natural enough for Seungmin to decline their occasional invitations to go out. They know he isn't the most extroverted person anyway.
He sees Felix daily though, seeing as they live together. Seungmin, to his own annoyance, feels almost paranoid around him. It's a bit ridiculous, he thinks, to feel that way. Felix isn't looking too closely. There's no reason for him to be. Seungmin eats in front of him; it’s easier when it’s just the two of them.
He mostly eats alone though, tries to find time in the mornings before class, or brings food to his room during the day.
He keeps telling himself he's not really skipping meals, just waiting to eat, and it's not a lie; it's not like he's starving himself or anything. He eats. He’s eating right now, sitting in the kitchen having breakfast, when Felix pads into the kitchen.
“Mornin’,” Felix mumbles, not quite fully awake yet and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Seungmin watches from the corner of his vision as Felix approaches; he looks adorable, and Seungmin lets his gaze drift over him — Felix's hair is rumpled from sleep, the morning light from the window making his skin glow, highlighting the sharp angle of his collarbones, the slender line of his throat. He yawns, eyes squeezing shut as his arms stretch out, causing his shirt to ruck up, revealing a strip of smooth stomach.
Seungmin swallows thickly and quickly looks away. “Morning.”
Felix pours himself a glass of banana milk and drops in the seat across from Seungmin, resting his chin on his hand and yawning softly.
Seungmin glances at him, then down at his cereal, stirring the spoon around idly.
“What’re you up to today?” Felix asks.
“Not much. I have a math quiz,” Seungmin says, taking a bite of cereal and trying to chew as normally as possible.
Felix nods sleepily and sips his milk. His eyes are still half-lidded, but he watches Seungmin closely, head tilted to the side.
Seungmin finds it difficult to hold his gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. Is he being normal? He feels like he’s being weird.
“You look tired,” Felix mumbles. “When did you sleep? You've been at the studio a lot.”
Seungmin shrugs, forcing another spoon of cereal into his mouth. “Not that late.”
Felix eyes him, expression unreadable. “Are the guys working you real hard?” he persists.
Seungmin snorts. “I don't think they're trying to work me to death. It's fun,” he says. “And it's nice to be busy.”
“Oh god,” Felix huffs out a laugh. “You sound like Chris. Please don't become a workaholic like him. I'm trying to get you to be less uptight.”
Seungmin rolls his eyes. “I won't,” he promises.
Felix continues to stare at him and Seungmin tries to keep up the pretense of normalcy, but he feels on edge, like he needs to escape. Please stop looking at me.
After another beat of silence, Felix stands up, stretching and yawning again. “'Kay,” he sighs, and Seungmin feels like he can breathe again. “I gotta get ready. I'll see you later, yeah? Good luck on your quiz.”
Seungmin gives a distracted nod. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”
His body sags with relief when Felix leaves the room. He starts to get a weird feeling in his stomach — guilt almost, at the possibility that Felix could tell something’s up. But Seungmin’s not doing anything wrong, he reminds himself, and after a moment of staring into the cereal bowl, now undoubtedly soggy, he pushes it back and stands up to clear everything away.
—————
If Seungmin’s being honest with himself, which has been getting increasingly difficult lately, he’s not even trying not to eat. It’s not like he actively tries to skip meals. It’s just easy, is all. It’s effortless. He's been waking up later, struggling to roll out of bed until he doesn’t really have time in the morning for breakfast anymore, and then he’s usually busy studying around lunchtime so he skips that, too. It’s a good thing, really, because the school's cafeteria food is garbage anyway.
And if he starts losing weight — well, it's not like he couldn't stand to lose a few pounds. He doesn't really keep track of his weight either way.
He doesn’t think it’s particularly noticeable anyway; his friends don’t question it much. Just occasionally suggest that he should eat, or complain that he never has meals with them anymore, and he laughs it off, claims he’s busy or not hungry. He doesn’t think Felix notices anything either — the most his roommate ever does is give him a little pout when Seungmin starts turning down his offers to order food at night, but he lets it go too.
He feels better than he used to, at least he thinks he does. He feels lighter. And he likes it. But mostly, he likes feeling like he's in control of himself, his routines, his actions. It's grounding. It keeps him focused.
He spends a majority of his time alone, but he doesn't mind. His life is very precise. His class schedule is consistent, the places he goes, the hours he goes, every hour accounted for. If anything, not eating has opened up hours of his day; hours that could be better spent doing more important things. Literally anything else.
Still, when the hunger gets a bit too much, he figures he should try to meet with his friends for lunch. It helps to keep up appearances, to seem normal — even if his own sense of normal has drastically changed.
It's nothing to worry much about, he thinks, forcing himself to meet with the others in the dining hall.
Felix has a slice of pizza in front of him and Hyunjin pokes him and complains, “If you’re not going to eat that—”
Felix tries to shield it, slapping Hyunjin’s hand away. “Get your own! Get your own food, you goblin!”
Seungmin watches the scene unfold silently, a half-eaten sandwich in his grip and a faint smile on his face.
The cafeteria seems louder than usual today, too much commotion around him. The thought of eating in front of everyone is enough to make him nauseous, and he has to consciously go through the movements, taking the smallest little bites, and tries his best to swallow around the lump in his throat.
His friends are here, and it’s been a while since he’s had lunch, and he's hungry. He wants to eat.
He glances up, eyes scanning the room quickly.
No one's looking. No one cares. But it feels like a million eyes are on him. His stomach ties itself up in knots. Like the moment he takes a bite, everyone in the room will look at him, knowing what he's doing.
Which is stupid, obviously. But even still… “I'm not too hungry,” he says, and finds that it's not even a lie. His appetite seems to have diminished as quickly as the time it takes him to wrap up the sandwich and put it in his bag for later. He's sure he'll finish it later. When there's less eyes on him.
Felix looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t eat much,” he observes.
He was watching. Seungmin swallows. “I’ll eat later. Not really in the mood right now.”
It really doesn't feel like a lie, but Felix's gaze seems like it's piercing straight through him. Seungmin quickly interrupts whatever the other might have been about to say with a clear of his throat as he slides his chair back and stands. “I actually have to… Uh, I wanted to hit office hours real quick. Chem, y'know.”
The words fly out easily, surprising Seungmin even as he says them. Hyunjin frowns and says, “Boo,” disappointedly; Jisung glances up from the game on his phone for a split second to say, “Nerd,” before returning his attention back down.
Seungmin rolls his eyes. “At least I'm not failing any of my classes,” he retorts. Jisung just flips him off without looking up from his screen.
Felix laughs and he leans back in his seat. “Okay, nerd,” he agrees. “See you later?”
“Yeah.”
He waves a vague goodbye and grabs his bag off the table, trying to ignore the twisting, guilty feeling in his stomach. He leaves the cafeteria, faintly hearing Hyunjin shriek, “Wait, Han Jisung, you're failing—” before he's out of earshot. He moves as quickly as possible without actually running, and he only manages to pass a couple buildings before he ends up with his back against the side of one, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
He’s sweating and his face is hot. Why does it feel like he just ran a lap?
He lets his head fall back against the brick. This is ridiculous. He knows it’s silly, he really does, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’d almost been… what, caught?
He takes a few deep breaths, trying to get a grip. It's fine. He’s fine. Nothing is wrong. He just lied again, sure, but it’s not like it was a big deal. A white lie. The kind that doesn't matter.
…God, he is awful.
Not because his friends know something. Because they don't, and Seungmin has somehow managed to trick them — to lie, like it's nothing. And he actually feels relieved to have gotten away with it.
Seungmin can’t say he’s proud of himself. How has it come to this? He used to be honest.
He used to be normal.
He swallows. It's been a weird couple weeks. He’s just stressed. It’s his first year at university and he needs to finish strong. He has a lot of work to do. Finals are approaching, and… yeah.
He pushes himself off the brick, grateful for the fact that it's not between classes right now so no one's really around. Well, it's not like he can actually go to the science building, unless he just wants to waste time. He heads for the library instead.
The cool air inside is a relief, and he ducks into a secluded corner table and sits down, letting himself relax. He pulls out his laptop, figuring he can at least get some work done while he's here, and his half-eaten sandwich stares at him from inside his bag.
Oh. He should eat it. That was the plan. He unwraps the sandwich and stares down at it.
He’s hungry. He is. The pangs in his stomach from earlier are still lingering, and the sandwich looks like the only thing in the world he wants right now, and yet…
He should eat the sandwich. He needs to eat it.
His fingers wrap loosely around the wrapper. And then he’s just sitting there, staring. His stomach feels weird. Acid swirls uncomfortably. This isn’t right.
The surroundings seem to close in on him; the soft sounds of people talking, pages rustling, the clicking of keyboards. He’s still in a secluded area, but the library is hardly an empty place. And people might be looking at him, noticing, judging the fact that he’s just sitting here with food in his hands and not eating it, they’re all staring—
He lets the sandwich slip from his grip and folds his arms on the table to bury his head into. He squeezes his eyes shut for a few moments and just tries to focus on his breathing, on the feeling of air in his lungs and of his chest expanding with each inhale. His own voice in his head is so loud. He doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to think about anything but the air filling his lungs. He wishes it was enough to fill his stomach too.
He doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Probably just minutes. He manages to lift his head eventually, blinking away the black spots left behind his eyelids.
He's fine. He's just a bit off these days. He'll get it together.
He packs the sandwich back up and shoves it in his bag, then leaves the library. He cannot miss class.
It's fine. It's fine. He will eat later, he promises himself.
—
The rest of the week slips by. He goes to class. He works on assignments. He eats enough to get by.
He does not eat lunch in the cafeteria anymore.
It’s just… a bit uncomfortable these days. It’s gotten to the point that he feels too awkward to eat even in front of his friends. He doesn’t like the weight of Felix’s eyes on him, as if he’s scanning every little movement Seungmin makes.
So he eats usually in his own room, when he can, and lets everyone get used to him eating less. After a while, no one bats an eye when he doesn't finish anything, when he turns down snacks and invites.
No one cares. They’re all distracted with their own coursework and assignments and preparing for exams. Seungmin is just like everyone else. Busy. Stressed. Overworked. Normal.
At least, he thought so. But of course, Felix is too damn observant for his own good. Which is why it probably shouldn't be a surprise that, as Seungmin settles down on the couch next to him with a book and a glass of water, he brings it up. He keeps his tone casual, his eyes trained on the video game he’s playing, almost like it’s an afterthought.
“Are you dieting?”
Seungmin nearly chokes on his water. He coughs for a moment and shoots him a bewildered look. “What?”
“Are you dieting,” he repeats, eyes still fixed on the game, fingers tapping rapidly at the buttons on his controller.
Seungmin swallows. How does he even respond to that? Denial seems pointless, Felix isn’t stupid. But admitting it feels even worse.
“...It's fine if you are, I guess,” Felix continues. “Not that you need to, like at all. I was just curious. I feel like I never see you eat anything these days.”
Seungmin frowns at that, because, “You do.”
“Barely,” Felix responds. He glances at Seungmin for a few moments, and Seungmin can’t stand it. “So, are you? Dieting?”
Felix notices how little he eats. He cringes. But also… Felix notices how little he eats. There's something electrifying at the thought of his self-control being appreciable to others. Because he is. In control, that is. He is in control and he's fine.
“I'm not,” he says, the words coming out a bit more curt than he intended. Even though he really isn't, not intentionally at least, it still feels wrong to say. He doesn't like that word. Dieting. It makes it sound… intentional. Voluntary. Something done with a reason, and a goal in sight.
“You're not?”
He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “No,” he says, more quietly this time. “It's just… finals are coming up so…”
The character dies on screen, and Felix lets out a disappointed sigh at the loss of progress. He finally lowers his controller, turning his gaze towards Seungmin.
“I know you’re busy,” he says. “But don’t overwork yourself, okay? You should always make time to eat.”
“Okay.” Seungmin has to fight off a wave of irritation. He does eat, he doesn't need to be lectured. He's fine. He’s got everything under control.
There’s a long silence. Then, he hears the quiet clatter of a controller being put down and feels the couch shift as Felix turns to look at him.
“Seungmin-ah.”
He’s not sure if he’s thankful or terrified of the way Felix’s voice has softened the slightest bit. It’s difficult to look at him like this. He’s all big eyes and concern, and Seungmin both hates it and craves it so intensely that it feels like his heart might explode out of his chest.
“What,” he says, voice strained.
Felix’s expression is too soft. He reaches out and tugs Seungmin closer, wrapping his arms around him before he can react.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Seungmin,” he says with a sigh.
Seungmin can’t even find it in himself to struggle or pull away. He just sits there and lets Felix hold him, feels the way his heart is slamming against his ribs. Feels the way he suddenly doesn't want to be anywhere other than this, the safe circle of Felix’s arms, surrounded with warmth and a feeling like maybe there's something good in the world.
“Just…” Felix hesitates. “Just take care of yourself, okay? That’s all. And don’t forget to eat before your classes, yeah? Don’t just go on caffeine all day like Jisung. He's an idiot.”
Seungmin manages a weak laugh, still caught in the prison of Felix’s arms. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”
Felix holds him for another few seconds before he leans back and pats Seungmin’s head, grinning. “Good.” Seungmin almost misses the feel of Felix’s skin, but he pushes the thought away.
Felix grabs his controller, attention turning back to the screen as he loads his save. “Well, I'm glad if you're not dieting,” he says after a bit. “Come have lunch with us tomorrow. I miss you. I can only watch Jisung endlessly grind at his gacha games so much.”
Seungmin knows it’s a terrible idea. Knows it, knows he’ll regret it, and yet… “Okay,” he mumbles. Then, to change the topic, he glances at the game. “Can I try?”
Felix blinks, then grins at him. “What, you think you can do better than me?”
Obviously not. Still— “Sure as hell can't do worse,” he says, reaching out, and Felix laughs and pushes the controller into his hands before grabbing another for himself.
“Let’s do co-op. Maybe we'll actually have a fighting chance together.”
They fail, of course — over and over again, because Felix isn't very good at the game either and keeps getting distracted by the need to complain about the things they keep dying to, how they’re clearly flaws in the game design. Which is literally everything, apparently. But it's nice.
When he looks over, Felix’s smile is like the sun, and Seungmin has to look away, feeling like he might actually disappear entirely under that light, melt into a puddle and drown in it; or fully ignite, like a big ant caught under a tiny magnifying glass.
—————
Seungmin ends up skipping lunch the following day anyway.
He tries to go. He wakes up feeling decent, like it’ll be fine, and he even skips breakfast in preparation. But then he thinks about the cafeteria and all of the other students and he's starting to feel a bit…
He distracts himself in classes and schoolwork but gets so caught up in it that time just seems to pass him by, and suddenly it's afternoon and the hunger is a dull, gnawing ache he’s managed to successfully ignore.
He remembers the day with the sandwich in the library. That was out of his routine. If he just sticks to his routine, everything will be fine.
Definitely.
A knock on his door startles him out of his homework. He glances up at the clock and realizes hours have passed, the sun outside his window already beginning to sink, making the shadows grow longer. His stomach growls.
“Seungmin?”
He blinks, hesitating for a second before calling back, “Yeah?”
Felix peeks his head through the door, smiling when he sees Seungmin. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says. “What's up?”
Felix strolls into the room and lets the door fall shut behind him. “I was looking for you,” he says, dropping onto Seungmin’s bed. He grins and stretches out across the surface, arms splayed out, as if it’s his own bed.
Seungmin doesn’t think he’d mind if Felix decided to claim it as his own, honestly. “Looking for me?”
Felix nods, hands pillowing the back of his head, stretching the fabric of his shirt around his waist. Seungmin doesn’t know why his eyes decide to focus on that.
“Yeah,” Felix says, tilting his head back so he’s looking at Seungmin upside down. “I didn’t see you at lunch.”
Seungmin tries to maintain a blank expression, but he’s pretty sure he pales a bit at that. Stupid. He should have gone.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Felix hums and Seungmin waits for the inevitable question that he won't have an answer to. Why didn't you show up? Or, why aren’t you eating? Or even, are you okay?
But Felix just says, “It was boring without you.”
“Oh.”
The bedsprings creak a bit as Felix rolls over and props himself up on his elbows. “Hyunjin’s schedule finally allowed him to make it on time, which would’ve been nice but he and Jisung kept arguing like an old married couple.” He sighs theatrically. “It was hell.”
Felix pouts. Seungmin swallows nervously, but manages to roll his eyes. “Sounds like it.”
“I'm serious, it wouldn't have been nearly as painful if you were there,” Felix says, and he sounds sincere, as if his day was truly miserable because of Seungmin’s absence. It’s so ridiculous and yet… it does make him smile. “You’re, like, the glue, you know. We’re falling apart without you.”
Seungmin lets out a breath of laughter. “Are you trying to guilt me?”
Felix grins at him. “Is it working?”
It’s working so well. Felix is looking at him with those dumb sincere eyes, and Seungmin can almost taste the guilt, heavy like syrup, on his tongue.
“Maybe,” he admits quietly.
Felix’s expression softens. He pats the spot next to him on the bed. “C’mere.”
Seungmin frowns. “What?”
Felix pats the bed more incessantly. Seungmin stares. “You’re wrinkling my sheets,” he says weakly, not moving.
Felix just shrugs, making grabby hands at him
Seungmin hates that he gives in almost instantly. Why does he always do what Felix wants? He stands up from his chair and walks over, not sitting yet. Felix looks up at him for a moment, then grabs Seungmin’s arm and drags him down.
“Dude—” he starts to protest, but Felix is stronger than he looks and Seungmin loses his balance, falling onto the mattress, half on top of Felix.
Felix laughs — a bright, beautiful thing — and slings an arm around him, trapping him. He smells like vanilla.
Seungmin tries to pull away, but Felix’s grip is tight. “Felix,” he grumbles, “Let me go.”
“No. You’re mine now.”
Felix grins and his free arm circles around Seungmin’s waist, pulling him closer, and Seungmin feels his heart stop for a moment. This is terrible. Felix is so close and warm and Seungmin is so tired. “Stop.” He puts a hand on Felix’s chest and tries to push himself up but Felix just tightens his hold.
“Nuh-uh. Stay.”
Seungmin glares. “I’m not a damn dog.”
Felix laughs and Seungmin starts to squirm a little, to no avail. “But you’d be such a cute puppy,” Felix coos.
“You’re annoying.” Seungmin’s face is probably very red. “Let me go.”
Felix shakes his head. “Only if you come to dinner with us tonight.”
Seungmin falters. He’s still pressed against Felix, and Felix’s arms are wrapped around him, keeping him locked into place. His heart is beating way too fast and he’s definitely too close, he’s about to just shove him away but then Felix says, “Please?”
It’s too much. Felix is looking at him with those big, wide eyes and he’s smiling his soft smile and Seungmin’s resolve is already cracking. He swallows.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Come on,” Felix pleads. “You never eat lunch anymore, and you weren’t at dinner the last few times either. It’s been, like, forever. I miss you.”
Seungmin sighs. Tries to pretend that hearing Felix say he missed him doesn’t have his heart pounding, make him feel like he’s flying. “...Alright.”
Felix grins, as if Seungmin has just given him the greatest gift in the world. “Yeah?”
He finally relaxes his grip, freeing Seungmin to push himself up. Felix stays laying back on the bed, though, and he looks so pretty with the fading evening sunlight painting his skin golden.
“Yeah.”
Seungmin can’t believe he actually let Felix convince him to go. He just feels worn down, so, so tired, and giving in means he doesn’t have to lie or make up excuses anymore. At least for one night. He can do this.
And he does really miss spending time with his friends.
“Oh my god. He lives!” Jisung whoops and hollers when Seungmin and Felix approach Hyunjin’s car, as if he didn’t already know Seungmin was coming from their group chat.
“Hey, loser.” Hyunjin grins at him when they get to the car. “I was beginning to think you fell into a black hole.”
Seungmin sighs. “Please don’t say things like that.”
He gets into the backseat. Felix takes the seat beside him, immediately leaning over to rest his head on Seungmin’s shoulder. It’s supposedly only a short drive, which is good, because Seungmin’s pretty sure that if he has to sit through the feeling of Felix pressed against his side for very long he’ll actually snap.
Felix hums along to the radio. Occasionally his fingers trace random patterns over the hem of Seungmin’s shirt or down his arm absentmindedly. Seungmin just lets it happen, lets his brain be filled with buzzing pleasant static.
He feels warm. He could close his eyes and fall asleep like this…
Felix taps his forehead. “Wake up, sleeping beauty."
Huh? Seungmin blinks his eyes open. “I… wasn’t sleeping.”
Felix gives him a dubious look. Jisung twists around from the passenger seat to grin at him. “You sure looked like you were.”
“He definitely was,” Hyunjin chimes in.
He’s about to tell them both to shut up and mind their own business, but then Felix says, “You’re cute like this,” and Seungmin’s words die in his throat.
He stares at Felix, because what is that supposed to mean, but Felix is just smiling at him. He feels his ears warming up. “Shut up,” he grumbles, and Felix giggles, poking his cheek.
“Are you blushing?”
Seungmin does not blush. He’s not blushing. He lifts his head and looks away; the parking lot outside the window is absolutely riveting.
Felix just laughs again and leans forward to grab Jisung’s shoulder. “He’s blushing,” he whispers loudly.
Jisung cackles. “Oh my god, cute.”
Why are all of Seungmin’s friends losers. “I hope you all fall off a cliff.”
“Wow! That’s so sweet of you, Seungie,” Jisung coos.
Felix pats Seungmin’s head as if he really is a damn dog. “You’re just too cute. Our sleepy maknae.”
Seungmin huffs and pushes his hand away. “Stop it.”
Felix grins. “So touchy.”
“Can we please,” Hyunjin groans. “Please all get out before I actually decide to run us off a cliff?”
Thank god for Hwang Hyunjin. Seungmin sighs and gets out, only to have Felix skip up to his side and link their arms together as soon as he approaches. Seungmin looks down at the place their skin is touching — Felix’s arm looped around his own, warm and firm. His heart is doing that thing it shouldn’t do and Felix is smiling, but Seungmin feels strangely hollow all of a sudden. His brain just feels slow. Tired. He wants to sit down.
“Sorry,” Felix suddenly says.
Seungmin blinks. “What? For what?”
He grins sheepishly. “For embarrassing you.”
Oh. “That’s not— It’s fine.”
Felix smiles and gives Seungmin’s arm a squeeze. “C’mon.”
Seungmin lets himself be pulled forward. The restaurant is one Seungmin’s not sure he’s ever been to, and he wishes he hadn’t been so stupid as to fall asleep in the car because he’s not familiar with the menu here.
They find a booth in the corner and Seungmin lets Felix shove him into the corner seat, sitting beside him. Jisung sits across from him and Hyunjin ends up on the end. Everyone starts reading the menu, and Seungmin stares down at his own, which is kind of spinning in front of his eyes. He doesn’t have much of an appetite.
He scans the items, and to his horror the numbers keep sticking out to him — calorie counts written neatly next to every dish, glaring at him almost gleefully. Seungmin shifts in his seat, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut. Even the safest choices look off-limits with those giant numbers next to them.
When had it started to matter to him?
Seungmin lets the others carry the conversation, his eyes focused on the laminated sheet in front of him. He grimaces. Everything just looks so heavy.
A finger taps on the table in front of him and he jerks, looking up. “Hm?”
Felix tilts his head at him. “I said, what are you getting?”
“Oh.” Seungmin glances down, as if he hasn’t been staring at the menu for the past five minutes. “I don’t— I don’t know, yet.”
Felix hums. “It all looks pretty good.”
Seungmin swallows — he’s suddenly way too conscious of himself and the way he’s sitting, his hands curled in his lap, his heart thudding in his chest like it’s trying to escape his body. This was a bad idea. He should have stayed home.
Felix is frowning at him. “Seungmin-ah, is everything okay?”
Seungmin looks away, trying to collect himself. He feels a bit like the room’s spinning. “Fine,” he manages. “I'm not feeling super hungry right now.” He bites his cheek. Stupid. Felix knows he skipped lunch. It’s so obviously a lie.
He expects protest, concern, maybe anger. He's bracing for it, but Felix just hums, scrutinizes Seungmin’s face. Then, “Okay,” he says easily. “Wanna share with me? I'm not super hungry right now either.”
Seungmin blinks. He sounds so casual, and Seungmin wants to call bullshit because Felix is always hungry, and yet suddenly he’s okay with ordering less — just because Seungmin doesn’t want to?
“You… aren't?” he says weakly.
Felix shrugs, smiling, like it really is that simple. “I don’t want to be too full for dessert.”
Seungmin’s not sure it’s normal to be so affected by someone’s easy smile, their casual words. It makes his chest ache. “You’re ridiculous,” he manages with a laugh.
Felix giggles and shoves Seungmin’s arm. “Whatever. Just share with me. You like chicken, right?”
Seungmin hesitates for a moment, then nods.
Felix smiles back at him like it's a sealed deal. Whatever. It’s better this way, he thinks. He’ll just have a little bit of what Felix orders. Then he can go home and go directly to bed, try to sleep off this strange dizziness.
“Alright, this is the fun part. Look at the desserts with me,” Felix says and starts pointing out items on the menu to Seungmin, his knee bumping against Seungmin’s under the table. “Like, look at this monster of a sundae. Holy shit.”
Seungmin looks, notices the number next to it — holy shit, indeed. He nods along before Felix finally settles on something — an enormous slice of cheesecake. “I need you to help me eat this,” he says, grinning.
Seungmin stares down at the tiny image. “I might die,” he says, and it might be the most sincere thing he’s said all day.
“You will die,” Jisung interrupts, peering over the table to look at the picture. Seungmin had kind of forgotten he wasn't alone at the table with Felix this whole time. “Trust me. I speak from experience.”
Felix sighs. “But it’ll be such a happy death.”
Jisung nods somberly in agreement. “It is a damn good death. You’ll die happy.”
Seungmin snorts. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he deadpans.
“Don’t worry,” Felix giggles. “Only a little diabetes.”
Jisung’s eyes light up. “Oh, no, it’s gonna be way worse than that,” he says. “Like, expect at least a quadruple bypass. Probably.”
“Jisung.” Hyunjin looks up from his phone. “Stop trying to scare them just so you can steal it for yourself.”
“I'm not!” Jisung protests, then turns back to Felix and Seungmin with a grin. “No, actually that's completely correct.”
They’re all idiots. Seungmin sighs and leans back in his seat — he's really tired, a bit lightheaded almost. He kind of wants to just put his head down and close his eyes right here.
“You okay?”
Seungmin blinks, looking over at Felix. “Huh?”
They're walking back to their dorm, having just said their goodbyes to Jisung and Hyunjin. The air is cold against Seungmin’s skin despite it being spring — he wishes the seasons could make up their mind. It feels like it’s getting colder.
“I asked if you're okay,” Felix says. “You’re quiet again.”
Oh. “Oh. I’m…” Seungmin laughs tiredly. “I’m fine.” He feels simultaneously better and worse after eating. Like, he's not as tired but he feels… disappointed. He was doing so well, not eating anything all day. It felt good. Now, it feels like he’s failed at something. Even if his friends ate more of his food than he did.
Felix nods and reaches over to take Seungmin's wrist in his hand, toying with the sleeve. “Yeah, just thinking?”
Seungmin shrugs. “A little.”
Felix squeezes his wrist and lets go with a soft sigh. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“…Yeah?”
Felix stops walking, forcing Seungmin to stop as well and turn to face him. “I’m serious.”
Something in Seungmin's chest seizes up, and he looks down, kicking a rock on the sidewalk in front of them. “I know.”
Felix sighs. “I’m just worried about you.”
“You don’t need to worry.”
Felix makes a frustrated noise. “Seungmin. You can’t just say that.”
Seungmin looks up at him. The streetlights cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the downturn of his mouth as he frowns.
“I’m fine, I swear,” he mutters. “I’m just a bit... I dunno. Tired. It’s just finals stress.”
Felix stares at him for a long moment before finally turning away with a sigh. “You know the world won’t end if you don’t get straight A’s?”
Seungmin’s not too sure of that. He does know that his parents will be disappointed if he doesn’t, and he’s used to excelling at everything. He wants to do well. He knows he’s capable of it.
“I guess,” he says finally. They start walking again, but Felix’s pace is slower, and he reaches out to link his arm with Seungmin’s.
The campus is quiet at this time of night, but there are still people walking around, and does Felix really have to hang off of him like this? He still feels a bit dizzy.
“Can you—” He tugs his arm slightly, but Felix doesn't let go, so Seungmin sighs. “I swear to god, you’re more clingy than anyone else I know.”
Felix laughs and rests his head against his shoulder. The gesture is innocent, but it still sends a shot of something painful through Seungmin’s chest. “Is it bothering you?”
“Yes,” Seungmin mutters, but he lets Felix stay there, sticking to him like glue. “There are people around, you know.”
“So? You care what they think?”
Seungmin wants to laugh. Like that isn’t all he does. “I mean, yeah, a little.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I think that’s literally impossible.”
Felix raises an eyebrow, and Seungmin can practically hear the eye roll in his voice when he says, “And what? People will think we’re gay if I hug you?”
Seungmin stares at him incredulously. “Uh, yeah, probably?”
Felix doesn’t say anything, and Seungmin’s face heats up. “You don’t have a problem with that?”
“Why should I? I don’t care what they think,” Felix shrugs, and Seungmin can feel the movement against his shoulder. “You think someone’ll attack us or something?”
“I mean—” Seungmin stutters. “Maybe?”
Felix hums. “They can try and I’ll kick their asses.”
Seungmin’s breath hitches a bit and he looks away. Felix may be sweet and gentle-hearted but Seungmin often forgets how strong he is. He has, like, a gazillion medals in taekwondo for god’s sake.
Or maybe it’s the fact that their shoulders are brushing, and Felix’s arms are wrapped around his, the fact that he likes it more than he probably should.
“Right,” he says weakly, pretending his cheeks aren’t definitely pink. “My hero.”
“You don't believe me?”
Felix grins, his eyes wide and sparkling. He stops walking, forcing Seungmin to stop too as Felix grabs his other arm. Seungmin is stuck there, pulled towards him.
“I mean it,” Felix says, and he’s so close now that Seungmin’s pretty sure he can hear the sound of his heartbeat. Or maybe that’s his own. “Really. I’ll fight anyone who tries to mess with us.”
Seungmin has to look away. He’s suddenly terrified that Felix will hear the sound of his heart slamming against his ribs, somehow know that Seungmin feels things that aren’t normal. His face feels hot. His brain feels heavy, dizzy, filled with static.
“Just— let go, would you?” he says finally, more forcefully than he means to.
Felix’s smile falters and Seungmin winces. Felix, to his credit, does immediately let go, murmuring a quiet, “okay,” and Seungmin closes his eyes for a moment, a wave of guilt welling up inside him. He didn’t mean to get upset, it’s just — it’s a bit overwhelming. He still feels tired, hungry, just on edge, and having Felix all over him isn’t helping.
He rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. I’m just…” He looks up, but he can barely meet Felix’s eyes, his face burning. He just wants to go home. He thinks he’s probably going to end up crashing and staying in bed for the next twelve hours. He doesn’t know why he’s so tired. “I just— I’m not like you.”
Felix frowns. “No, I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t really mind.”
“I don’t,” Seungmin says quickly, still not quite looking at him. “I don’t. I don’t know. It’s just…”
Felix sighs and gives him a soft smile. “It’s okay. Not so much in public?”
Seungmin feels miserable. It’s not okay. He’s a bad person. He’s supposed to be normal. “Um. Yeah. Guess not.”
Felix pats him once on the arm. “Alright. Sorry I keep doing it.”
Seungmin suddenly feels like he could cry. Why is Felix so understanding, so incredibly kind? Why can’t he just snap and get angry? Tell Seungmin he’s being ridiculous and stupid? This whole thing is stupid. All of it.
Seungmin manages a nod and doesn’t say anything for a moment. Felix starts walking again, and Seungmin has to catch up to him. “It’s not like I don’t like it. Sometimes.”
“Yeah?” Felix raises an eyebrow at him but keeps walking. He looks almost… amused.
Heat creeps up Seungmin’s neck. “Be quiet. Oh my god.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Yeah, you totally—” Seungmin sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Your face was saying a lot.”
Felix grins at him, wide, unabashed, and Seungmin’s heart stutters in his chest. The lights around campus are dim, casting shadows against Felix’s face and highlighting the sharp angles of his cheeks, the glimmer of his eyes. He’s almost annoyingly perfect, just gorgeous, and Seungmin has to look away. It’s too much.
They continue like that for the rest of the walk, but as soon as the front door of their dorm closes behind them, Felix sneaks up from behind and wraps him up in a hug. Seungmin stiffens, but it's too late; Felix is already squeezing his waist and pulling him close.
“Oh my god,” Seungmin complains. “Let me go, you bastard.”
“Nope,” Felix teases, and Seungmin really can’t handle this, especially as Felix tucks his face into his neck and squeezes him. “You’re my hostage now.”
Maybe Seungmin is actually going to die here, trapped in Felix’s arms while he giggles against Seungmin’s neck. “I should call the police,” he mutters.
Felix laughs again and leans against his shoulder. Seungmin doesn’t try to pull away again.
“So, you only like me being clingy when we’re alone?”
Seungmin lets out a sharp breath through his nose. “Shut up,” he says. His stomach is doing the thing again. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“I’m just saying,” Felix says, and Seungmin can feel him smirking. “I’ve got you all figured out. You just don’t want other people to see that you like me touching you.” His arms are still wrapped around Seungmin’s waist, and he gives him one more squeeze before finally letting go and skipping off to his bedroom. Seungmin stands there uselessly for a moment, because what the hell what the hell what the hell. He shakes his head and drags himself to his room, dropping onto his bed with a thud.
He’s exhausted. Maybe he should eat something. Or just go to sleep. He’s not sure which he needs more. His limbs feel too heavy, his head is spinning. He groans and rolls over, burying his face into his pillow and inhaling slowly. It smells familiar. That’s nice.
Somehow, he falls asleep like that, in his day clothes, on his wrinkled sheets, and dreams of blue skies and freckles and tidal waves sweeping him up and carrying him away into the sea.
—————
a/n: (・＿・; probably will keep future updates just to ao3 since it's easier and i'm not expecting this to have a large audience here on tumblr tbh lol. but i'll let yall know when new chapters are posted!
warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, oral(fem!rec), high cunninglingus, dealer!han
notes! sorry the pictures are small but PLEASE READ THE TEXT MESSAGES THEY ARE PART OF THE FIC. I haven't written in a while and I just wanted to post something to remind ya'll I am alive.
It’s so slow. So slow when Jisung laps his tongue up and down. In any other instance, you’d press the back of his head deeper into your cunt, but with the gentle buzz of weed drumming in your veins, you settle further into the couch and let him go at his speed.
You laughed when you first got the message, but you weren’t entirely surprised. Jisung was always hitting on you when you bought from him, but his flirtatious attempts were more cute than hot. His fumbling hands and stuttering lips were so adorable to watch. He must have worked up the courage to send a text like that. Or he had already smoked it up.
Not that you care which it is. You agreed immediately, teased him when he showed up blushing and pink, then plopped on the couch to roll a joint.
Everything feels so sensitive when you’re high. Jisung’s soft tongue feels blissful swirling on your clit. It feels so big, so fat, so warm. You’re thankful he’s too stoned to do more than suck and lick. You’d be drooling on the pillows and creaming on the sofa otherwise.
The tip of his tongue plays with your entrance. He barely dips it inside before gliding it up, smoothing over the place where you really need him.
You sigh with contentment, widening your legs so Jisung can scoot closer on his knees and wrap his lips around your clit.
He combines sucking and licking, giving you the perfect excuse to buck your hips and whine. Jisung follows your movements, not letting a second of your pussy escape his mouth.
And when you fall back onto the couch, you comb your fingers through his dark hair. “So good. You’re gonna make me cum.”
His boba eyes shoot to yours. You swear you can see hearts in his pupils. Carefully, he pulls away, letting his tongue stick out so he can get a swipe to your clit and make you jolt.
“Yeah?” He bites his lower lip almost innocently despite your juices on his chin. “I-I got cotton mouth real bad right now. I feel like I’m moving so slow.”
You giggle, playing with his strands tenderly. “A little, but I like it. Your tongue’s so soft.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t stop.” You urge him with a soft tug. It doesn’t take much to have him back between your legs, mouth opening with new vigor. His tongue messily plays with your folds, swooping down to collect your arousal and play with it on your clit.
It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Jisung is determined to make you cum, or maybe he sobered up just enough to eat properly. You almost want to tell him to slow down, but every flick has you reeling. Wet arousal keeps oozing out, sliding down your ass, or getting licked up by Jisung.
You put both your hands in his hair, bringing your knees to your face and looking down to watch him eat.
He looks so good. You can see how his tongue swipes over you, how his lips peck and suck, and the way his cheeks hollow. If you focus enough, you can see the stubble shadow of his mustache.
You clench around nothing.
“F-fuck.” You whine. “Fuck me, please.”
Jisung looks up but keeps his mouth on your pussy. His eyes are red and big, but there’s determination in them.
He shakes his head and pulls off to spit on your cunt. “Nuh-uh. I’m not done.” His saliva runs down your slit, but he latches his tongue back before it slips down your ass.
Your eyes roll. Your legs shake in the air, but you keep them spread. “B-but I’mma cum.”
Jisung moans. The vibrations feel so strong, but you know it’s just the weed making it feel like that. His ringed fingers grip the underside of your thighs and it takes a second to feel how wet his right hand is.
Ah, he must have been jerking himself off.
You want to see it, his aching cock with pre-cum that seeps from the tip. Is he thick? Long? Does he have a smaller dick that you could hump on? Your hazy mind tries desperately to come up with how Jisung looks, but his mouth is glued to your pussy in a way that makes you think he’ll never come off.
“I wan’ taste it. Give it to me please and I’ll fuck you. I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good.” Jisung begs into your pussy. “On my tongue. I wan’ it on my tongue.”
Oh my God. You’ve never met a more pussy-craved man than him. His skilled tongue and eagerness has that warm feeling bubbling in your stomach. His warm breath aids in the pleasure, keeping your cunt hot all the time.
You don’t have to move his head to get him where you want. Despite eating you out for the first time, it’s like he already knows where you like it. Jisung knows when to swirl his tongue, when to suck on your nub, and how to pin your legs so they don’t clamp on his head like you want to.
“Oh my- yes! Yes, fuck! Pleasepleasepleas-”
One of his hands quickly moves to your cunt and you feel two fingers easily slip in. They squelch with the amount of wetness you’re making, but the crude sound has your eyes rolling back.
His tongue doesn’t stop swirling, his lips don’t stop smacking, and his hand fucks you faster than what you were prepared for. The sweet orgasm coils tighter and tighter until you burst, fighting against his grip to squeeze his head between your thighs.
You plant your feet on the edge of the sofa and lift your hips to hump his face, a moan stuck in your throat as you ride out your orgasm.
Jisung puts his hand on your stomach and forces you back down. His fingers have stilled, but you can’t stop clenching on them. And despite your clear orgasm on his fingers and lips, Jisung doesn’t stop.
Finally, the moan you were holding drawls out.
“Nghhhh! I came. Hannie- Hannie, I came.”
He whines, moving from your sensitive clit to your stuffed entrance. “B-but I wan’ taste it. Just lemme clean you up and I’ll fuck you, ‘kay? I promise. I promise.” He digs his tongue inside, using his fingers to keep you spread before getting an answer.
But at this point, you don’t care. Your clit’s throbbing and your cunt’s stuffed. With the weed beginning to fade and your mind coming back, you think it’s time for another hit or two.
: ̗̀➛ pairing — nonidol!felix x fem!reader
: ̗̀➛ word count — 2.8k
: ̗̀➛ content — fluff, mutual pining, first kiss, drinking, did i say fluff
hi guys!! its been a while since ive posted so in honour of spring finally being here, here's a little something ♡
listen while you read 🎧
you didn’t really know what to call it—this thing with felix.
you weren't dating—at least, not officially. but there had been late-night calls that bled into 3 a.m. giggles, inside jokes only the two of you understood, lingering looks, and “thinkin bout you” texts. there were shared secrets beneath shared clothes, hands that sometimes brushed against yours like it meant something, and a thousand almost-kisses.
you step back out into the yard, cold drink in hand, and the whole place practically buzzes with life. fairy lights are strung overhead like stars trying to compete with the real ones, glowing warm against the inky sky. there’s a group crowded around the lawn chairs, someone’s half-passed out on a beanbag, and rocky is thumping through the speakers like the heartbeat of the night. the bass pulses through the grass, the kind you can feel in your chest.
your red cup is already slick with condensation, and you wipe your hand on your jeans shorts as you weave back through the party. you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip—immediate regret. you grimace, jaw clenching slightly at the mess you dared to call a drink. who told you beer and liquor was a fun mix? oh right, you did, thirty minutes ago when you thought you were some sort of backyard bartender.
you’re shaking your head to yourself, when a voice cuts through the music.
“there you are,” it says, and you already know who it is before you even look up.
felix.
your heart does that stupid little flutter like it always does, even though you try to play it cool. he’s got that knowing smirk, the kind that’s equal parts trouble and charm, and he's dressed in all black like the night wrapped itself around him and called it fashion. his pants hang just right on his frame, and his blonde hair’s all messy in that on-purpose kind of way. there's a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, soft but sharp, like he’s been watching you this whole time and finally decided to make his move.
“hey, stranger,” you say, with that smile he always put on your face.
“hey, hotshot,” he shoots back, his own grin spreading. before you can blink, he plucks the red cup right out of your hand, holding it up between you two like he’s inspecting it for poison. “what's this?”
“you're gonna hate it” you say, biting your lip, already bracing for his reaction.
but of course he drinks it. because he’s felix. one hand holding his own drink, the other bringing yours to his lips like it's nothing.
you giggle as you watch him tilt it back, just a small sip, and then bam. instant regret written all over his face.
his eyes squeeze shut, and he kind of recoils, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his chest. “oh my goodness,” he says, voice half-hoarse, half-laughing. “that’s horrible. what did you do?”
you’re already cracking up. “i told you!”
he’s still looking at the cup like it just insulted his family. you reach for it, but he holds it away from you. “i am not letting you go back to this. here, take mine.” he offers you his own cup, and his tone softens, eyes a little gentler now.
you pause for a second, the switch in his voice catching you off guard. he’s watching you carefully, like he’s been paying attention, like he already knows what you’d like. and not just the drink.
“you sure?” you ask, voice a little smaller now.
“positive,” he says, pressing it gently into your hand.
you smile, soft and a little shy despite everything, and then—without thinking too hard about it—you lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.
it’s quick. barely there. but it leaves behind something electric.
felix’s smile freezes for half a second, like his brain short-circuited, and then it stretches wider, softer. his eyes crinkle a bit, and those dimples—those stupid dimples—make an appearance as he looks at you like you just handed him the stars.
he tilts his head just a little, eyes still locked on you like nothing else at this party exists—not the music, not the lights, not the dozens of people laughing and dancing around you. just you. his thumb brushes the edge of his own cup absentmindedly, but his focus is all yours.
“if you keep doing stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me or something.” he says, voice low and velvety,
“maybe i do,” you say, your voice playful, but your heart is thudding hard enough you wonder if he can hear it over the music.
he grins, eyes flickering to your lips just for a split second before he looks back up. “good. ‘cause i’ve been thinking about kissing you for, like… a really long time.”
you blink at him, momentarily stunned, because he says it so casually, so sincerely, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue or the stars are pretty tonight. and yet it lands right in your chest.
his fingers brush against your elbow, featherlight. “can i?”
your breath hitches.
it’s like the world slows down for a second—the music fades into the background, the laughter becomes a distant hum, and all you can hear is your own pulse thudding in your ears. your skin feels too tight, too hot, like your heart has pushed up into your throat and your body’s forgotten how to be normal.
he’s looking at you like you’re something fragile and precious, like he doesn’t want to spook you—but also like he knows. knows how much you want this. knows how long you’ve been dancing around it. knows you’re nervous, and he’s not in any rush to push past that.
you nod. barely. just enough.
and he moves in slow.
one hand comes up to brush a piece of hair away from your face, his fingers so gentle you almost shiver. then, finally, his lips meet yours—soft and warm and careful, like he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into something that barely even needs words.
it’s not rushed. it’s not messy. it’s just perfect.
his lips part just slightly, inviting but not demanding, and you follow instinct more than thought, leaning in a little bit closer. you taste the faint tang of beer on his tongue, cold and bitter and so distinctly him. it lingers for a second before it’s swallowed by the heat curling between you, the way his mouth fits against yours like it was always meant to.
you both pull away, slowly, reluctantly—like neither of you really want to, but you need a second to breathe, to process what just happened. your eyes meet his, and it’s like something clicks. like some invisible tension that had been stretched tight for so long finally snaps in the gentlest way.
his lips are still curved in the softest smile, his cheeks a little pink, and you can tell he's feeling just as dazed as you are. but then—you both lose it.
you burst into laughter at the exact same time, this messy, giddy kind of laughter that bubbles up out of nowhere and shakes your shoulders. the kind that makes your heart feel so full it almost aches.
out of sheer embarrassment, you lean forward and press your forehead to his chest. he smells like cologne and spring and something a little smoky, like the fire pit still burning a few feet away. his arms come around you instinctively, wrapping you up like he’s been waiting to do it for ages.
you stay like that for a moment—pressed into his chest, tucked into the safety of his arms, giggling softly like the two of you are in on some secret the rest of the world hasn’t figured out yet. his fingers rub slow circles into your back, and his chin dips to rest lightly on the top of your head. neither of you say anything, and you don’t need to.
it just feels right.
around you, the party continues, but it’s gone a little hazy now—like someone turned the dial down just enough to let the moment breathe. the fairy lights overhead glow in a soft gold haze, muted like candlelight behind frosted glass. smoke drifts lazily from the fire pit, curling through the air like it’s dancing to the beat of the music.
shadows flicker across the lawn. people are lounging around now, sprawled in chairs or slow dancing in the grass, voices hushed and blurred together like a watercolor painting. everything feels dreamlike, like you’ve slipped into a different world just slightly off from this one—a little quieter, a little warmer, a little softer.
felix’s fingers tighten gently around your waist, and he leans down, voice brushing your ear like velvet. “wanna sneak off?” he says. then, with a mischievous curl to his lips,
you don’t even hesitate.
you look up at him, eyes wide and nod.
he grins—giddy and boyish—and immediately reaches for your hand. you lace your fingers with his, and together you start weaving your way back through the crowd, ducking past conversations and the trailing edge of someone’s scarf, stepping over a half-empty bottle on the grass.
inside the house, there’s a group crowded around the kitchen island shouting over each other, someone sitting on the counter peeling an orange like it’s the most important thing in the world. someone else is singing way too dramatically into a tv remote. the lights inside are warmer, buzzing, a little dizzying.
you quickly tilt back the drink felix gave you, finishing it in a few smooth gulps. you toss the empty cup into the flooded garbage by the hallway door, turning just in time to see felix standing behind you, holding your old red cup—the one with the infamous death mix.
without a word, he raises an eyebrow at it dramatically, like it personally wronged him. then he throws it straight into the garbage can without giving it a last sip.
you and felix exchange a look—wide-eyed and stifling laughter—and quicken your pace, dodging between people and whispered excuse me’s and the occasional sticky beer puddle on the tile floor.
the second you step out the front door and onto the road, the night wraps around you like a breath of fresh air.
cool, quiet, and soft with the kind of calm that only shows up when everything else has faded. the street is dim and empty, lit only by the faint glow of porch lights and the hazy orange halo of a streetlamp down the block.
you and felix cross the road, sneakers scuffing quietly against the pavement, hands still intertwined like muscle memory. the houses across the street are asleep—lights off, windows shut, the occasional curtain fluttering with the breeze. it's the kind of silence that feels sacred, like the world paused just for you.
a little farther down, you spot it—a small building tucked between two tall hedges, maybe a community hall or some long-closed shop. it’s plain and quiet, its brick wall catching the dim glow from the streetlamp above. you tug felix’s hand, moving toward it without saying a word, drawn to the way it just feels still.
you reach it first, and as soon as your back touches the cool wall, you slide down with a soft sigh, knees folding up to your chest. the grass is damp and smells like spring. you pat the spot next to you, eyes flicking up at him.
felix doesn’t hesitate.
he drops down beside you with a soft thud, stretching his legs out and leaning just close enough that your shoulders brush. the second you rest your head on his shoulder, he exhales—like maybe he’s been holding that breath since the kiss.
you sigh again, softer this time, letting yourself melt into the moment.
his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, slow and absent like it’s second nature. you watch his hand in yours for a beat before turning your eyes to the quiet road, the stars barely peeking through the haze above.
no words. just warmth. just stillness.
and the slow realization that maybe, just maybe, this night has only just started.
then, his voice breaks the silence, soft and low, like he’s afraid of disturbing the calm.
“you know…” he starts, eyes still trained on the road in front of you. “i don’t think i’ve ever really said this. not like this.”
you glance up at him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze just yet. his fingers squeeze yours just slightly before he goes on.
“you mean a lot to me,” he says. “like… a lot. and not just in the ‘i think you’re cool’ kind of way. it’s more than that. you make things feel lighter when they’re heavy. you make me feel like i don’t have to try so hard to be anything other than… me.”
your heart stumbles over itself, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. you smile, small and unsure, warmth flickering in your chest—but there’s something else too. something tugging at the edges of your comfort.
you don’t know why he’s being so sappy. it’s not that you don’t like hearing it—it’s sweet, it’s felix—but something about the weight in his voice, the way he’s looking at you now, finally meeting your eyes like he’s bracing for something.
and that realization settles in your stomach like a drop of cold water.
you try to keep the smile, to hold onto the sweetness of the moment, but your fingers tense in his just slightly. “why are you saying this now?” you ask, your voice quiet, cautious.
he hesitates.
felix goes quiet for a beat, eyes flicking back down to your intertwined hands. his thumb is still tracing slow circles against your skin, but now it feels more deliberate—like he’s trying to steady himself.
you feel the breath he pulls in before he speaks again.
“and i keep thinking… what even are we?” he says, voice low, like he’s afraid of saying it too loud might make it feel less real. “we’re not nothing. we never were. but we’re also not—” he cuts himself off with a breath, shaking his head again, softer this time.
“i don’t want to keep pretending like i’m okay with the in-between. because i’m not.” he glances down, then back up at you, his expression gentler now—like he’s not just saying it, but feeling every word. “and tonight… i don’t know. being with you like this—it makes everything else feel so far away. and it hit me.”
he looks at you then, full-on, no flicker of nerves this time. just him. honest and open and so felix.
“i want to be yours,” he says, steady. “and i want you to be mine. for real.”
your breath catches again, and you’re too stunned to look away.
he leans in just a little closer, like he needs you to hear it perfectly, no confusion, no room for misreading.
“will you be my girlfriend?” he says, voice soft but certain,
and just like that, all the air in your lungs evaporates. your heart feels like it’s trying to climb its way into your throat. you weren’t wrong—he was building to something big.
just not in the way you feared.
you blink, a slow smile spreading across your face despite the shock. “you absolute dork,” you whisper, eyes stinging a little with the pressure of how full you suddenly feel.
felix grins, sheepish. “that a yes?”
you squeeze his hand, lean in, and kiss him again—soft and sure, the kind that says yes a hundred different ways. you feel him smile into the kiss—just the smallest curve of his lips against yours, and somehow, it makes everything feel even more real.
you pull away slowly, your noses still brushing, breath mingling in the soft space between. his eyes flutter open, hazy and full of something gentle and glowing.
you stay close, forehead resting lightly against his, both of you quiet for a second. just listening to the soft rustle of the grass and the low thrum of the music still floating from the house in the distance.
“no take backs, lix.” you say, playful but breathless, like you just made the best kind of deal with the universe.
This is the 22nd story in my broader Mixed One-shots series. Unlike my Quick Fix series, One-shots are usually longer and more story-driven.
Celebrities: Stray Kids (x Female Reader)
Sex Content: Missionary, Doggy Style, Blowjob, Cumshot, In public/watching, Gay & straight
Type of Sex: UNCONVENTIONAL
Word Count: 3.9k
Request: Your txt ot5 stories are the hottest thing ever, you really should write more ot5 or member x member stuff in the future <3
Story: It's the morning after an incredible party when the boys of SKZ and their girlfriends are slowly waking up and starting to remember...
First of all, thanks for the request 😊😘
I too love OT stories, but especially the ones that aren't exaggeratedly gay (like the Dating Ban series is 😅). For example, I enjoy writing the Group Jerk-off stories (the members of a group jerk off together even though it's new to them/not something they usually do).
Your request, however, inspired me to write this Stray Kids story. It's actually my first Stray Kids story ever for most of the members. The story is different – and in my opinion more fun – because it has a bit of everything: straight sex, gay sex, nudity with implied sexual relations, and a few surprises along the way.
It's a fun and hot mess, in a good way 😅 So please enjoy this Stray Kids adventure, which is about what happens when they – and their female guests – wake up the morning after a crazy party in their dorm 😊😏😱😜
SKZ the Morning After a Crazy Party
It's the morning after a big Stray Kids dorm party that got a little out of control.
It was celebration of some sort. You can't really remember the reason you all got together. But when you wake up naked in Hyunjin's bed just before noon it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that you had a lot of fun, and you can feel it in your heart that you really did.
It takes you a second to orient yourself. “Morning,” Hyunjin says when he sees that you're conscious. He doesn't smile, doesn't kiss you, yet it's totally natural and normal that you're there in bed with him. It's happened before, on numerous occasions, even though you swear you're not a couple.
“Morning,” you reply and yawn. You stretch out, and the duvet slides down your legs.
Hyunjin sits up with his back toward you. He's hardly conscious either. His hair is a mess. He's hungover, tired, and butt naked. It really was a great party, and a great night.
He gets up and looks around the room. He lifts the duvet, revealing your exposed vagina but doesn't even glance at it. “Where the fuck is my underwear?” he mumbles and you giggle while you watch his slack dick swinging around.
He can't find them, nor any of the rest of his clothes. Oh well. Who cares? Not him anyway.
“Can you get me some water?” you ask and turn on your side.
Finally, a smile. “Sure,” Hyunjin says. He gives up the search and walks toward the door.
His tall, slim, sexy body and hot ass make you smile too. Memories from last night return. Oh yeaaah, you think excitedly as you just realized where his clothes actually went. But you choose not to tell him.
You don't say anything and he's not bothered anyway. He opens the door and leaves, walking naked through a hall and the shared living room toward the kitchen.
He wants to make a pit stop in the bathroom. He opens the door to it and sees Lee Know in his underwear, doing his best not to miss considering how the room is spinning.
“Sorry,” Hyunjin mumbles and walks away. He doesn't even close the door. Lee Know turns his head just in time to see his friend disappear.
Hyunjin enters the living room, where most of the party took place. There's empty bottles and cups everywhere, and a deck of playing cards spread all across the floor.
Felix is sleeping on the couch in nothing but his underwear. There's a naked girl on his arm, and another curled up by his feet. They're all passed out and oblivious to the fact that people are starting to wake up all around them.
In the kitchen, Bang Chan is staring into the fridge, questioning his life choices and wondering why the hell he hasn't been able to locate any of his clothes.
“Morning,” Hyunjin says and his naked friend turns his head.
“Morning,” Bang Chan replies. He grabs a carton of milk and walks to the counter, takes a glass out of a cupboard and fills it.
“Sorry,” Hyunjin says when he reaches in front of Bang Chan’s bare chest to get a glass for himself.
Lee Know is done in the bathroom. He walks through the living room and steps over Seungmin's legs. Hyunjin didn't even notice the man sleeping under the coffee table. When Lee Know returns to his bedroom he closes the door with a loud bang.
The noise wakes up one of the girls on the couch. She opens her eyes and lifts Felix's foot which was buried in her armpit. She finds a soiled blanket on the floor, wet and smelling of beer and vodka, pulls it over her naked body, and promptly goes back to sleep.
Felix briefly wakes up from the movement. He scratches his balls and turns his head, his lips resting on the face of the girl on his arm while he absentmindedly strokes her back. Then he quickly falls asleep again too.
Hyunjin turns on the kitchen tap and fills his glass with water. He drinks it, gulps it all down in one swift sweep, then fills it again.
“Last night was fun,” Bang Chan says and turns around. He leans his ass against the counter, dick out in the open and his buff body on full display, slowly sipping his milk which leaves a mustache.
“Yeah,” Hyunjin says and smiles. He drinks from the glass again and refills it one more time. “You've got something there,” he says and points at the milk line on Bang Chan's upper lip.
“Where?” Chan asks and takes the glass away from his face.
Hyunjin moves closer. “Right there,” he says and points.
Bang Chan stares at his friend and instinctively closes his eyes. Hyunjin leans all the way in and they kiss.
“There,” Hyunjin says and smiles, and drags a thumb over the lip after a few seconds of making out. “Now it's gone.”
Bang Chan tiredly and casually watches as Hyunjin leaves the kitchen. Then he takes another sip and the mustache is back.
“Ouch!” Seungmin exclaims when he tries to sit up and hits his head on the coffee table. Hyunjin doesn't pay him any attention, fully focused on carefully stepping over bottles and scattered clothes – none of which are his own – while trying to ignore his pounding headache.
Jeongin makes an appearance. He comes out from his bedroom in underwear and a t-shirt and bumps into Hyunjin in the hallway which causes water to spill on the floor.
“Sorry man,” he says. Hyunjin smiles and grunts, and sees Changbin's shirtless back in Jeongin’s bed when he passes the open door.
You've been waiting patiently for Hyunjin to return. When he does, he quietly closes the door behind him and hands you the glass. He spills more water on the sheet during the handover but neither of you are bothered by it.
“Thanks,” you say and sit up, then take several large gulps. You're slowly starting to come back to life.
Hyunjin walks to his window and opens the blinds. Sunlight hits his skin and your eyes, and you quickly turn away and groan.
Hyunjin scratches his stomach and admires the view, but only for a short time. He too is blinded and he soon shuts out the light again.
“Come here,” you say and move up on the bed, lifting the duvet to invite the man in. Hyunjin smiles at you and comes over, then crawls inside and cuddles up with you while you put away the glass.
*****
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Felix wakes up from the sound with morning wood.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
The girl in his arm lifts her head and looks confused. “What's going on?” she asks in a coarse voice.
BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!
“I don't know,” Felix says and looks around.
“AHH! AHH! AHH!” a deep voice pants from somewhere in the apartment. BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!
Seungmin's head abruptly pops up behind the coffee table. He sits up straight on the floor and stares right ahead while listening intently. Bang Chan sticks his head out from the kitchen and grins when his eyes meet Felix’s.
‘Lee Know?’ Bang Chan mouths and Felix slowly nods.
“YEAH! YEAH!”
“AHH! AHH!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
…
Bang!
…
Bang!
…
“Ahhhhh!”
…
The apartment falls silent. The three men in the living room look at each other and burst out laughing. Even Felix's girl chuckles.
When Lee Know has clearly finished, Bang Chan returns to the kitchen. Felix smiles wide and massages his strong boner. The girl on his arm rests her head on his chest and looks down, hungover but fascinated by Felix's body. The one by his feet is still sound asleep under the blanket, completely oblivious to the loud and obvious sounds of sex.
*****
You and Hyunjin smile and giggle when the noise stops. “Who do you think that was?” he asks before gently kissing your forehead.
“No idea,” you say and reach down with your hand under the duvet. “But it made me horny.”
Hyunjin's smile grows even bigger. You kiss and he attacks you with his hands. You both giggle and roll around on the bed, making out while he gets hard and you spread your legs.
*****
“Oh, sorry,” Seungmin says when he enters Jeongin’s room, but he still goes in without remorse.
Changbin is standing naked on all four on the bed. He turns his head and smiles. “It's okay,” he says, not a hint of shame or embarrassment. But Seungmin is neither looking nor listening. He just wants to get his clothes and get out, and leave his friends to do what they're doing in peace.
“I'll just get these,” he says and picks up a shirt and a pair of pants from the floor.
Jeongin, who's on his knees behind Changbin, is frozen and doesn't speak. He waits for Seungmin to get what he came for and go away. Once he does and the door closes again, he returns his focus to Changbin's ass and continues to slowly fuck his boyfriend.
*****
Bang Chan walks naked through the apartment to assess the damage. He wipes milk off his lip with the back of his hand before he picks up a couple of bottles from the living room table.
He brings them to the kitchen but it doesn't really make a difference. He's finally sufficiently conscious to analyze the situation, take stock and remember what the hell happened last night. But he's in no mood to actually clean up, not yet. All that can wait until they've all sobered up, which will likely take the entire day.
“Where's Changbin?” he asks when he comes back out into the living room. It's one of only two members he hasn't seen or heard yet all morning.
Felix is still on the couch, wide awake by now, underwear on the floor beside him and his girl leaning over his bare stomach.
“I don't know,” he says and shrugs.
The girl briefly stops bobbing her head up and down. Felix's hard dick falls out of her mouth but she quickly picks it up and puts it back in.
A passionate noise suddenly appears from behind Jeongin's closed door. “Huuh, huuh, huuh, AHHHH!” Jeongin grunts when he comes, and Bang Chan and Felix both look up.
“That answers that question,” Bang Chan says and laughs.
“Yeah,” Felix says and puts his head back down. He faces the ceiling, closes his eyes and moans. “Yeeah. Yeeeah.”
Bang Chan smirks and leaves the naked bodies on the couch to it, continuing his walk though the apartment. The girl giving Felix a blowjob can't help but glance in his direction, just in time to see Bang Chan’s firm cheeks disappear into the hallway.
*****
“Is Han in here?” Chan asks when he pops his head into the room Seungmin and Han share. It's the obvious place to look in.
Seungmin is dressed and lounging on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone.
“No,” he says and holds the phone up. “But have you seen this?”
Bang Chan walks closer. There's screams and laughter coming from the phone. The video quickly ends before his brain can register what's going on in it, but he chuckles nonetheless and Seungmin appears happy about it.
“Nice,” Bang Chan says when Seungmin leans back on the bed and returns to the screen. Then he turns around to continue his mission of making sure everything and everyone are okay.
*****
You're on your back with your knees and feet in the air. Hyunjin's slender but muscular body rocks back and forth in your arms. His hard dick is inside you and his face is buried in your neck. You're surprised but happy that he's got the energy.
“Huuh, huuh, huuh, AHHHH!” you hear from somewhere outside, when Jeongin releases his load into his boyfriend's ass several rooms away.
The sounds of pleasure carry through the apartment. And hearing his friends fuck turns Hyunjin on even more. He moves his ass up and down a little faster, and you begin to pant faintly at the ceiling, still too drunk to fully engage in the morning sex, yet definitely enjoying the sensation of Hyunjin's body and throbbing dick.
There's a knock on the door before you're finished. Bang Chan opens it without waiting for a response and you turn your head to look. Hyunjin doesn't stop or even react.
“Have you seen Han?” the man in the door asks while looking directly at you.
“No,” you say while Hyunjin presses his nose harder against the side of your face. The dick slides in and out of your vagina and you feel his warm breath on your skin.
Bang Chan comes in and sits down on the bed beside you. He smiles and grabs his own slack dick with one hand and strokes your raised leg with the other. You smile at each other while Hyunjin fucks you harder, both fully aware that the man is about to come.
“Mm, mm,” you moan to edge him on, and maybe to tease Chan too. You close your eyes and pant loudly at the ceiling. “Ahh, ahh, ahh!”
Hyunjin’s body stiffens. His ass moves even faster when Bang Chan's hand touches it. He suddenly holds his breath and you squeeze his body tight, until he reaches his climax and release.
“Mm, Mm, Mm, MMMMPFHH!” he groans into your neck. “MM, MMMMM!”
His body jolts and slams against your pelvis. The dick throbs inside you. You open your eyes and smile as it fills you up with cum.
“Ahhh, Ahhhh, Ahhhhhhhh,” he exhales deeply while catching his breath. Bang Chan strokes your leg again and you smile when your eyes meet.
“Ahhhh,” Hyunjin exclaims one last time. Then his muscles relax and he finally lifts his head.
“Sorry,” he says. “I haven't seen him either.”
“Okay,” Bang Chan says and stands up. “Thanks.”
He's rock hard by now, still holding his erection between his fingers, when he turns away from you, walks out, and closes the door behind him.
*****
Felix kicks with his leg when he's about to come. It abruptly wakes up the girl under the blanket by his feet.
She spots her best friend with his dick in her mouth which makes her smile. Felix opens his eyes and glances down at her when she takes his foot and puts her lips on it. She smiles seductively at him and sticks out her tongue, licking and wetting his toes before sucking them.
Felix is so mesmerized by what she's doing to him that he almost forgets about the girl blowing his dick entirely. But the dick doesn't, and it suddenly reaches the high that was already so close.
“Ahh, fuck!” he exclaims when he's brought over the edge. One girl is sucking his big toe harder while the other is holding his shaft by the root and bobbing her head faster. “Ah, yeah, fuuuuuck!”
Felix groans in his deepest, manliest voice which turns the girls on. They glance at each other, lust and desire in their eyes, when Felix erupts and shoots his load into the mouth.
The girl twitches when his warm sperm hits her gum. Her friend stops licking the foot and smiles at them both, fully aware of what just happened. Then Felix chuckles which makes the girls giggle, and all three of them touch and caress each other as they digest what they've just experienced.
The dick falls out of the mouth once it's empty. The girl lies back down on his arm and they kiss. The one at the other end turns on her back and pulls Felix's leg closer, letting it rest on her breast while they all relax.
“You're amazing babe,” Felix whispers and smiles wide. He feels lucky to have such a promiscuous girlfriend.
The dick is still half hard when Lee Know returns to the living room, wearing a t-shirt and shorts.
“Having fun?” he asks when he sees the threesome on the couch.
“Yeah,” Felix says and grins. “How you feeling?”
“Surprisingly good,” Lee Know says while rushing through the living room. Felix winks at him, knowing very well that the man has a girl in his bed and that they've just finished having sex, probably the reason for Lee Know's great mood despite the hangover they're all going through this morning.
Lee Know is headed for Jeongin's room. “Oops, sorry,” Bang Chan says when the two bump into each other.
“Wow,” Lee Know exclaims when he sees the hard dick between Chan's legs. He laughs and playfully adds: “Keep that thing away from me.”
Bang Chan chuckles. He peeks inside the room of Jeongin and Changbin when Lee Know enters it. The two boyfriends are lovingly spooning each other, Changbin's broad chest and shoulder tightly wrapped in Jeongin's arms.
“Don't mind me,” Lee Know says when he barges in. The boyfriends smile and observe him while he picks up both his own and his girlfriend's clothes from the floor. “Just came for these.”
“Have you seen Han?” Bang Chan asks when Lee Know comes back out.
“Bathroom,” Lee Know quickly responds without stopping.
“Thanks,” Bang Chan says, and Lee Know returns to his room and shuts the door.
“Need a hand with that?” Changbin asks just as Bang Chan is about to turn away.
“Are you offering?” Chan asks and lingers in the door.
“Yeah,” Jeongin says and half way sits up.
Bang Chan hesitates for a moment. Unlike some of the others he wasn't in the boyfriends’ room last night, at least not that he can recall.
What the heck? he thinks to himself and smiles. Then he steps inside the room and closes the door behind him, while Jeongin and Changbin excitedly sit up on their bed.
*****
Han wakes up with a sudden jolt. He's completely disoriented and totally confused. He instinctively grabs on to a plastic curtain by his side and pulls hard on it, causing a metal rod to come loose and fall down.
It hits him hard in the head. “Fuck,” he complains to himself and angrily throws the curtain aside.
Where am I? I'm naked. Is this the sink?
“You okay in there?” a voice calls from outside. Bang Chan knocks on the door but doesn't wait for a response before he opens it.
He bursts out laughing when he sees Han naked in the bathtub, the metal rod in his hand and the curtain on the floor.
“Yeah,” Han grunts. “What happened last night?”
“Fuck if I know. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
Han looks at Chan's naked body and slack, newly emptied dick. He scratches his head while thinking hard. “Did we…?”
“I think so.”
“Hyunjin's girlfriend.”
“Yeeeah,” Bang Chan says slowly and giggles.
Han finally bursts out laughing too while he tries but fails to sit up straight in the tub.
“I think we need to confiscate Seungmin's phone,” Bang Chan jokes.
“Why?” Han asks. “Oh wait… Oh my God!”
The two naked men burst out laughing. They can hardly control themselves when Felix comes in to join them.
“I need to pee,” he announces and walks straight to the toilet. His nude body sways from side to side when he tries to aim for the bowl and liquid starts flowing.
Changbin suddenly appears too. “Hey,” he says. He's fully dressed and seems exceptionally happy. “What a night huh?”
“Yeah,” Felix says without turning his head.
“What's with the crowd?” Hyunjin asks when he too comes to join. You follow close behind in nothing but your panties, and he puts an arm around you while you look around at all the people in the small space.
“Hey,” Felix's girlfriend says when she comes up behind you.
“Hey,” you exclaim and smile wide when you turn around, then quickly give her a naked hug.
“Join us,” Bang Chan says cheerfully in response to Hyunjin's question.
“Help me up,” Han requests and holds up a hand.
“How you feeling?” you ask and look at your friend when you pull away from her. “You look awful.”
She doesn't respond. Her attention is suddenly on Bang Chan and Han who struggle to get the latter out of the tub.
“Hey, guys!” Felix says loudly to the gathering behind him. “I'm trying to pee here.”
The mood is already great and everyone suddenly laughing loudly. Even Jeongin and Seungmin who are still in their beds chuckle to themselves as they listen to all the commotion.
“Well hurry up, there's a queue,” Hyunjin says and everyone laughs again. You look at his face with love in your eyes and he turns to give you a kiss.
The foot sucker appears behind her bestie and the two embrace. Bang Chan and Han finally succeed. Felix is eventually done and Hyunjin let's you go first like the gentleman he is. The girls behind you keep talking and remembering, and Jeongin can't stop smiling wide to himself.
Meanwhile Seungmin in his room quickly selects a couple of videos and uploads them to the cloud. He'll save them for later, worried that Chan wasn't completely joking about confiscating his phone, and that the hilarious and explosive content might be lost forever if anyone got hold of it.
And Lee Know, he hasn't noticed at all what is going on in the rest of the apartment. He's already balls deep in his girlfriend again, fucking for the fourth time since the party ended and they went to bed.
“Flush after me,” you say when you get up from the toilet, naked and happy. No one but Hyunjin pays any attention to you while you pull your panties back up.
“Sure,” he says and gives you a kiss in passing, before he finally gets to position his dick above the bowl and relieve himself, like he wanted to do when he first got up and brought you the glass of water.
“Oh, by the way,” you say and turn to face him. “I know where your clothes are.”
“Where?” Hyunjin asks and turns his head, while leaning with a hand against the wall over the toilet.
You can't help but smile. “Look out the window in your room again.”
Hyunjin twists his neck to try to glare at you which makes him miss. “What did you do?” he asks and sounds serious, but he can't hide his joy.
“It wasn't me,” you say and walk away through the crowd and chatter.
Hyunjin shakes his head and dick and gives the wall a push. He can't stop grinning from ear to ear as he accepts not only the loss of last night's game, but by the sounds of it his clothes too.
Who's idea was it to play cards anyway? He can't remember, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that it was a hell of a party, and that you'll all be talking about it fondly for years to come.
You stop in the hallway and listen. “YES! YES! YES! YES! Fuck me harder babe! HARDER!”
“Ahh, ahhh, AHHHHH!” Lee Know screams.
Everyone in the bathroom behind you stops talking. Han and Bang Chan look at each other, as do the two girls. Then you all start laughing again, so hard your bellies hurt.
⤷ Genre - Fluff [Still MDNI]
⤷ You and Hyunjin indulge in each other after his birthday party.
⤷ WC - 1k
⤷ A/N - Happy Hyunjin Day ♡ ✦ ´-
✧ Masterlist ✧
The air is thick with the scent of vanilla and there’s a remnant taste of champagne on your lips. Hyunjin lies beside you, one arm draped lazily over your waist, the other tucked beneath his head as he traces slow, absentminded shapes into your back. His dress shirt hangs open, wrinkled from the way you’d pulled at it hours ago, exposing the warmth of his skin beneath.
His breath is steady, soft, ghosting over your shoulder when he shifts closer. The party from earlier is forgotten with your shoes at the front door and it feels like time has slowed just for the two of you.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” He murmurs, voice low and lazy, like he’s already half-drunk off the feeling of you. His fingers move from your spine to your shoulder, featherlight as they follow the strap of your dress where it’s slipped down your arm. “Prettiest thing in the room.”
You scoff, turning your head slightly to catch his expression - lips curved, eyes half-lidded, watching you like you’re something to be memorized. “You’re only saying that because it’s your birthday and you know I’ll be nice to you.”
He smiles, barely, just a ghost of amusement playing at the edges of his lips. “Maybe,” He concedes, pressing his fingers a little deeper into the small of your back, massaging absentminded circles there. “But it’s still true.”
The conversation drifts the way it always does when you’re tangled up like this - lazy, unhurried. He talks about the party, the cake, the way Chan got too sentimental during his speech and how Felix kept refilling his glass even when he said he was done. But somewhere between the laughter and the teasing, the air shifts. It’s subtle, but you feel it in the way Hyunjin’s hand stills against your back, in the way his gaze softens, lingers.
“Twenty-five,” He murmurs, almost to himself. He exhales slowly, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Feels weird.”
You hum, tilting your head. “Weird how?”
He hesitates for a beat, like he’s deciding just how much of himself he wants to give away. Then, slowly, his hand moves again, tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, his fingers warm and sure.
“Just… I don’t know. I think about who I was a few years ago, and it’s strange. I’ve changed so much. My life has changed so much.” He pauses, then adds, softer, “But you’re still here.”
Something in your chest tightens. The two of you have been careful since deciding to shift your relationship from friends to lovers a couple of months ago. It was a cautious process, it still is. Years of friendship is being transformed before your eyes, years that neither of you want to taint. Through it all, Hyunjin has made one thing abundantly clear:
He doesn’t want to lose you.
You don’t say anything, just reach up, brushing the pad of your thumb over his cheek. His eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact, and when they open again, there’s something raw in them - something deep and endless and aching.
“You say that like I’d ever leave,” You whisper.
Hyunjin doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips barely grazing your temple before trailing down, slow and reverent. His fingers slide up your thigh, skimming beneath the fabric of your dress, tracing lines into your skin like he’s writing poetry only the two of you will ever read.
The warmth between you thickens, settles into something unspoken.
His lips ghost over your jaw, down the column of your throat. “Can you promise me something?” He murmurs, “Promise you never will.”
You turn in his arms, pressing yourself closer, and his hands find your waist instinctively. The air between you is slow-burning, indulgent, the kind of fire that doesn’t rush - it just spreads, lazy and warm, until you’re sinking into it without thinking.
“I promise”
His hand glides to your chin, tilting your face toward him. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t press forward too quickly. He just looks at you - eyes dark, lips parted, the weight of something unspoken resting between you. Then, carefully, he leans in.
The first kiss is soft, barely there, more a brush of lips than anything else. But then he exhales, and his body relaxes against yours, and suddenly, it’s deeper - warmer. His fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer, his other hand pressing into the curve of your waist as he kisses you slow, lazy, indulgent.
He tastes like champagne and something sweeter, something uniquely him.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath unsteady. His fingers flex against your skin, gripping you like he’s grounding himself. “I love this,” He whispers, voice hushed. “I love -” He stops himself, like the words are too heavy, too real. Instead, he just presses another kiss to your lips, slower this time, like he’s pouring every unspoken thing into it.
You melt into him, hands sliding down his chest, fingertips tracing the dips and planes of his body. He lets out the softest sound at the touch, barely audible, but you feel it in the way he grips your thigh, pulling you fully against him.
You know what he wanted to say. You feel the same way but you let it hang in the air. You chose to use your fingers to trace the words into his skin and let them sink in.
It’s just you and him. Just warmth, slow and intoxicating, sinking into your skin like candlelight.
His lips trail back to your jaw, then lower, pressing to your collarbone, to the space between your ribs where he swears your heartbeat matches his own. His hands roam, not to claim, not to take - but to feel, to savor.
And in the quiet of the room, with only the sound of your breath hitting the air in time with his and candlelight flickering against the walls, you let yourself fall.
Because he already has.
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hihi can i request 66 w/ Jisung? Kind like crack were you are both dead sick or smth? anyway have a great day/sleep (๑>◡<๑) ur write is to die for btw
— anon 🐣📎
hihi yes you can~ sorry this took a while to post lol, lots of wips. aww thank you, giggling n kicking my feet rn <3 here you gooooo my little chick paperclip anon lol
hot soup - sick bf!han jisung x sick!reader
pairing: sick bf!han jisung x sick!reader
summary: you're suffering with jisung through a cold (that he gave to you)
genre: fluffy to the max, idol! au, this is honestly just crack, sick lil jisungie and reader
a/n: han would be the type of make funny noises when his nose is bunged up don't even try to change my mind
"You do it."
"No, you."
"I did it last time."
Jisung groans and heaves himself upright, tissues falling off the sofa like a mini avalanche. He sluggishly gets up and drags himself to the coffee table for the remote control, pressing the select button to play the next episode of the kdrama you're both watching.
He sniffs and flops back down on the couch next to you, groaning as the intro begins to play for the umpteenth time. "Y/n?"
His nose is bunged up so it sounds funny when he talks, and your voice is no better as you respond. "Mmm.."
"I'm hungry."
You whine and roll over, burying your face in the blanket. Jisung adjusts himself so you're lying on his chest, cuddled in each others' arms. Blankets swamp both of your bodies, so that if anyone were to look at both of you, they would see just a large lump of fabric. A very sniffly, sick, snotty lump of fabric at that.
You groan and let out an ungraceful sneeze, almost projecting yourself off the sofa. Jisung closes his eyes, mildly put out.
"I don't wanna get up," you sigh, burying your face back in his chest. He smells warm, the skin radiating feverish heat through the material of his hoodie, and the faint, spiced smell of vapour rub hangs distinctly in the air. Not that it seems to be helping. "But I'm hungry as well. What should we make?"
Jisung doesn't even have to open his mouth before you both agree on soup. There's a large pot in the fridge, courtesy of a disgusted Minho, who packed a bag and refused to return to the dorm until both of you were better.
The pot is about half full- you lift it with almost shaky arms and place it on the stove, switching on the heat. Jisung stands beside you as you begin to stir, watching how the chicken shreds and green onions spin in a mesmerising circle. Little oil bubbles rest on the top of the liquid, simmering deliciously as the soup heats up, and by the time it's ready, both of you are salivating.
You ladle half of the pot into each bowl and hand one to Jisung, who reaches into a drawer for a pair of chopsticks. You pause and watch as he sleepily dips them into the soup, clearly too dazed and ill-ridden to understand his amusing actions.
"Sungie," you croak, trying not to laugh. "It's soup."
"Mhm.."
"No," you correct him, "You can't eat soup with chopsticks..."
He blinks, once. Then twice. And then, very slowly, he adjusts his grip on the chopsticks and continue dipping them into the soup, bringing them to his mouth to lick off what little broth remains on the utensils.
You sigh and bring a spoonful of the hot, nourishing liquid to your mouth and groan as its warmth saturates the inside of your mouth, instantly comforting. You'll have to remember to thank Minho later, and maybe ask for the soup recipe too, so you can make it when you're not feeling so sick in the future.
You climb with some difficulty onto the counter and continue ladling the soup into your mouth while Jisung stands, sock-footed on the tiles, sluggishly licking broth off his chopsticks. You tilt your head at him.
"I still don't understand why you're doing that," you say quietly, letting the steam from your bowl soothe the congestion in your sinuses.
"Because," Jisung croaks. "My throat hurts and swallowing feels icky to me."
"That soup will be ice cold by the time you finally get to the bottom of it. That is, if you even make it that far. Go to sleep."
He whines and sets the bowl down, taking a plate from the dishrack to cover it. "You're telling me to sleep as if you don't look like a walking zombie yourself..."
You huff and kick him lightly in the stomach, swinging your legs off the counter. "I wouldn't be a walking zombie if you didn't get me sick in the first place, Sung."
"It wasn't my fault-"
"Yes it was," you croak, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You kept me here all night cuddling without telling me you were sick."
He pouts. "But I wanted to be with you."
"So you purposely got me sick, is what you're saying."
Jisung looks away, a tired smirk making its way onto his features. "I just wanted to spend some time with my beautiful walking zombie baby. Can you blame me?"
You throw your spoon at him. "Han Jisung."
He ducks just in time, the spoon clattering to the floor. "Okay, okay, relax. I didn't know apocalyptic monsters were so temperamental..."
thinking about seungmin cuddles :( just being surrounded by him and skin on skin hugging and he just wanted the comfort at first but ur so close and so pretty and now he wants his dick wet too but the vibes are so cozy and lazy and slow :(
-gimmeurtmi
bestie when I tell you this thought has haunted me ever since you sent it 💖 @gimmeurtmi
It’s quiet in the room. The movie has ended, the Netflix screen still showing the end credits.
It’s raining outside, every now and again a drop drips onto the metal windowsill and makes a soft ‘plink’ noise, wind whooshing through the bad insulation, rattling the bathroom door slightly. The muted noise of Felix’s TV on the other side of the wall, a soft murmur.
There’s the sound of the kitchen tap running before the regular chop chop of Minho’s knife picks up again. You assume he’s talking to Jeongin because the latter’s giggle chimes through the closed door.
You haven’t moved since the movie ended, and Seungmin had grabbed the remote to hit pause on the credits that were now frozen on the screen. Under the covers, you become comfortingly hyper aware of the softness of your socks, the weight of Seungmin’s ankle where it’s draped over yours. His arm is underneath your head, wrapped around your shoulder where it rests on your bare arm. Your leg is slung over his hip, his hand resting on your bare thigh, rubbing up and down slowly, absentmindedly as he breathes in, out, in, out.
The familiar thrum of his heartbeat and the smell of him, of his sheets, act almost as a sedative, your eyes closing softly.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this safe, this peaceful. The moment feels like it will never end. Like you will forever be tangled under the sheets, Seungmin’s warm, solid arms around you, the other guys somewhere out there, past your little bubble, past the closed door. Your hand tightens slightly on Seungmin’s back, rubbing up and down, as if to transfer some of the immense love you have back to him. He hums quietly, without opening his eyes.
You nuzzle back into his shoulder and just lie there. You try to see if you can match his breathing, but it’s always been different from yours. Much deeper, so much so that you feel like you’re running out of air. So you stop and just let your mind drift.
You feel him pull back ever so slightly from you, and you think he’s just adjusting his head on the pillow, but after a few minutes you feel his lips on your forehead, on your one eyelid, on the other. You blink your eyes open and meet his, big and soft and brown and sleepy.
Neither of you say anything. He just looks at you, takes his time taking in your features, brushing a gentle finger over the shell of your ear before his hand comes back down to your thigh, pulling you even closer. He presses sweet kisses to your cheek, down until he’s at the corner of your mouth.
His lips are warm and dry and soft and he presses them to yours delicately like he thinks you might break. Or maybe it’s the moment he doesn’t want to break.
But the same current that has been pulling you to wards each other ever since you met pulls you closer now, your bodies slowly attuning to each other until his lips become more insistent. Your movements are slow, almost like the two of you are in a dream, as his warm palm slides from your thigh up to your ass and you ruck your leg higher over his hips, pulling him in with the heel of your foot.
When you open your lips and his tongue grazes yours, his taste envelops you and you sigh into his mouth, a wave of arousal shimmering in your abdomen. He stutters out a breath and when you arch into him, you can feel him hard in his sweats.
No words are needed when you slide your fingers under his waistband, caressing his skin before tugging them down. He lifts his hips to help you, without breaking away from you, without moving too much, and then his velvety cock springs free and you wrap your hand around it. He sighs into your mouth, lips trembling against yours as you palm him slowly, gently.
His tongue presses into your mouth harder, and his hand clutches at your sleep shorts, unhooking your leg from his hips so he can pull them down with a quiet urgency. When you’re bare, he hoists your leg back over him, arm wrapping around your back so he can press your full body into his.
Your shirts are rucking up and you can feel his hard abdomen against yours and his hot cock against your thighs until he takes himself into his hand and presses it up.
Matching hushed whimpers tumble past your lips when his cock slides through the slick of your already soaking core and you arch closer, your hand sliding into the hair at the back of his head, trying to pull him closer, though there’s nowhere to go. But he seems to feel it, too, his arm winding around you again, manoeuvring you slightly higher onto the bed until he can guide his cock to your entrance.
You’re not prepped, but he’s also not hurrying, burying the tip of his cock in you with a forlorn whimper. He fills you up slowly as he kisses you, heavy breaths against your lips as your cunt slowly sucks him in. It’s dizzying like this, the stretch so heavenly as your bodies find each other, pull each other closer and closer almost naturally.
When he’s buried to the hilt, he pulls back from your lips, a vision of soft eyes and swollen lips and flushed cheeks as he stares into your eyes. You can feel yourself flutter around him, and his hips twitch underneath you. When he ruts himself into you experimentally, you gasp out and he chokes on a groan, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as he does it again and your head clouds over with desire.
The angle should be awkward, but instead it’s good, so good it makes heat pool deep in your abdomen and you can feel yourself get wetter and wetter, the slide of Seungmin’s cock inside of you getting easier and easier and you know he can tell when he moans into your neck.
The duvet mutes the wet slide of where he’s grinding into you lazily but steadily and your heavy breaths are hushed, so you can still hear the scrape of pots in the kitchen and Jeongin’s voice and it’s almost more intimate this way, the thrill of you and Seungmin, just you and him, together, wound around each other so tightly it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins, nobody privy to how perfect he moulds around you, fits inside of you.
Your body is burning up and you can feel a thin sheen of sweat form underneath his shirt, but neither of you moves the thick blanket, like it forms the barrier between what is happening between you and the outside world.
His hand is under your top, nails dragging over the slightly sweaty skin on your back, his cheek pressed against yours as he grinds into you over and over again. The tip of his cock is prodding your g-spot and his pubic bone grinds against your clit, and your orgasm is building slowly and deliciously with every single one of his thrusts.
And he feels it, too, pulling back and resting his sweaty forehead against yours, watching your face with eyes holding more love than you ever thought you deserved as he ruts into you, getting you closer and closer and closer and then watches you fall apart around him, your whole body trembling as you soak his cock.
He follows after you, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to mute his wail as he empties inside of you, little ruts of his hips fucking his release deeper until he stills.
You come to rest where you lie as you catch your breath, his head in your neck, his softening cock still inside you.
Outside the door, something clatters to the floor and you hear Jeongin yelp and Minho cackle. The room is quiet again except for your breaths and the occasional ‘plink’ of a raindrop hitting the metal windowsill. A gust of wind howls through the bad insulation and makes the bathroom door rattle on its hinges.
skzms' masterlist // ko-fi
🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library
🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!
Your pfp exudes whiny Jisung; specifically whiny Jisung being super vocal for you to make him cum in the bathroom during a party or in the back of a car while your friends are waiting for you and I love that for him
Love your page sm ❤️🔥❤️🔥
you GET IT BESTIE
🔞 1.5k words
whiny jisung who is so, so obvious when he wants something because you know him so well. he’ll let his hands linger on your waist, drag his fingers over the back of your hand, or down the side of your neck after he brushed some hair away that wasn’t even in your face that much, his voice a little breathier, his blinks a little slower …
Until you finally get up and announce that you’re going to the bathroom and disappear, knowing full well that it'll take about two minutes before he makes a very clumsy excuse to follow you, one that his friends will probably laugh at because he’s already half hard in his jeans because … well, you do this sometimes. Or a lot.
This being disappearing together into a dark corner, the back of a car, or like now, an empty toilet cubicle, because you can’t resist how glassy Jisung’s eyes get when he gets needy for your touch, for your dominance. Because you both get off on dragging that personal part of your relationship into semi public, though so far it seems that everybody thinks that you’re the needy one, that Jisung pushes you to your knees or has his way with you.
Oh, if only they knew how nicely your pretty little boy begs when he wants it.
How it’s almost like a switch is flipped when the door locks behind you because you’re trained him that well. How he’ll go in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss immediately, panting in your mouth as if he’s already about to cum (and that wouldn’t even be the first time either - he just gets so riled up from your taunting voice alone, poor boy).
He’s already moaning as he surges forward, grinds his hips into yours, his bulge rubbing against you before he pulls back only enough to grab your hand and place it right on his cock over the fabric.
“Come on, pl-please baby, I know you want to,” he grumbles, his voice the kind of low and gravelly that vibrates through your entire body. When you just raise an eyebrow, he keens, gets in your space again.
“Here, look, I’ll help you, too,” he mumbles, and undoes the button, slides down the zipper of your jeans so he can shove his hand right into your panties and between your folds, dragging his fingers through your slick with a moan and a twitch of his cock under your fingers.
“Yeahhh, baby,” he moans as he finds your clit, rubs it gently, “see, you want me, too.”
His spare hand grabs for yours again, drags it upwards until your fingers catch on his waistband.
But you can’t give in that easily - that would set a terrible precedent, undo weeks of taming your brat until you’ve got him here.
“Hmm,” you hum, hooking only one finger into his waistband. His fingers are still circling your clit, and your hips kick forward against your will when pleasure tingles up your spine. “That’s not how I taught you to behave, did I?”
Jisung freezes, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly.
And then he pouts - his lips pulling into a little pucker, eyebrows raising in the middle, a little noise escaping his throat.
“Oh, please, baby,” he whines, dips in to press a messy kiss to your neck. He shoves his hand deeper into your panties until he can sink two fingers into you. You can’t help the small moan it punches out of you, and he mirrors it with one of his own, his hips grinding forward and against you again.
“See, you’re so wet, I know you need it, too ... pussy's sucking me in,” he whines, kisses further up your neck as he works his fingers inside of you. It’s a weird angle, and it’s cramped, but somehow it’s good enough because your resolve is swiftly dissolving. You’ll have to disciple this out of him later. You’d feel bad, but you know he’ll love every second of it.
“Maybe I should just make you get me off,” you scoff, but your voice betrays you. There’s no bark any more.
But Jisung seems to want to please you today, anyways. He presses closer, drags his lips until they’re hovering over the shell of your ear.
“But … but, baby … you wouldn’t,” he breathes and every rasp of his voice shivers down your spine. You hook more of your fingers into his waistband, and his breath hitches.
“Yessss,” Jisung hisses, keening his hips into your touch, “wan- wanna get off like we did last time …”
Last time being last week, when you were in the back of one of the company cars in the underground garage of the dorms, too pent-up to wait until you were upstairs, instead waiting for the staff to leave before pouncing on each other. It was messy and rushed, clothes not even off, only haphazardly shoved aside to make way for greedy hands – but the thrill of it, combined with Jisung's filthy mouth and the crackle of chemistry you had only ever experienced with Jisung, made you cum on each other's hands in mere minutes. Though it was enough to make you look wrecked, if Changbin’s cackle when the elevator opened was anything to judge by.
Jisung’s mouth finds yours again and that’s it - all semblance of the carefully constructed dynamic gone as you fumble open his pants and, just like him earlier, shove right past his underwear until his cock is in your hand.
When your fingers squeeze around his velvety, hot length, he moans obscenely loudly, your tongue swiping over his lips instead of his tongue. But it doesn’t matter because the kiss only gets messier, spit pooling in your mouth as he pins you against the wall, shoves his fingers deeper inside of you with a moan, pumping them in and out as best he can, the angle making his palm drag over your clit perfectly.
And you don’t waste time either, drag him closer by his ass, by his waist, his hair, whatever you can reach, as you jerk him off, your fingers slick with the precum oozing from his head.
“S-so close, b-baby,” Jisung pants into your lips, more spit smearing around your mouth. You shudder against him. “I can feel it, y-you’re close, t-too. Let go for me, come onnnn.”
He grinds his palm down harder, crooks his fingers against your g-spot, and you feel it building and building, your body arching into his, Jisung reciprocating the motion and pressing even closer until your bodies are as close as possible. Your hand gets sloppier on his cock the closer you get, but he doesn’t seem to care, only fucks his hips forward and into your hand with a lewd moan.
“C-cumming, Ji, don’t stop …” you whimper out, and he nods frantically, pulling back enough to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. His eyes are glued to your face as you cum, seize around his fingers, a noiseless scream making your head tip back against the wall.
And it feels like it never ends, pleasure still rippling through you when he whimpers your name, and you just about manage to wrap your hand around the head of his cock before he cums into it with a wet moan, his head falling to the crook of your neck.
For a minute, there’s silence, except for your joint heavy breathing, the little hiccups Jisung breathes into your shoulder. But before long, it gets uncomfortable - his cum drying in your hand, his fingers still inside of you, making you shudder with overstimulation every time they twitch.
When he pulls back, Jisung looks like the cat that got the cream. His eyes are at half-mast, a lazy smile on his lips. He presses a sloppy kiss into your lips as he wiggles his fingers out of you and out of your pants.
“God, baby, I love you,” he mumbles, blinking his sincere, dark eyes at you until your fondness threatens to burst out of your chest.
“I love you, too, baby, I love … I love us,” you conclude, unhelpfully, but Jisung doesn’t seem to think so. His lips pull into a wide, blinding smile.
“Awww,” he coos, pecks your lips again, his clean hand coming up to cup your face. “I love us, too. Especially when we do this.”
He giggles brightly, before he reaches down and uses his clean hand to pull your jeans back into place, pull the zipper up.
You finally pull your hand out of his pants, cringing at the sheer amount of cum all over your hand, but he just giggles again.
“Thanks for that, that would’ve been very uncomfortable,” he just says, and you roll your eyes and unlock the door to wash your hands in the sink. He laughs behind you as he buttons himself up.
You do your best to clean each other up, Jisung even tries to smooth out the foundation he clean licked off your face, but there’s no point. When you get back, Jeongin takes one look at you before he groans and cringes away from Jisung, who tries to tackle him.
“Aish, get your cum fingers away from me!!”
skzms' masterlist // ko-fi
🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library
🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!
summary: going to your friend’s party after having your heart broken seemed like a good idea. until your ex-boyfriend showed up, determined to make things right.
words: 1.3k
warnings: some cursing, fluff at the end
author’s note: first time writing for stray kids bc i couldn’t get this scenario out of my head, so i apologize if the characterization is a bit off. as always, feedback is v appreciated. enjoy! 💖
inspired by: this amazing audio edit by @kpopaudioedit
The bass coming from the speakers lightly shook the ground beneath you. The muffled sounds of your current favorite song, coming from inside, distracted you as you looked at the neighbor’s house, right across the street. The wet grass prickled your legs and you wondered if it would leave wet stains on your pants. Wait. Were there ants there too? Maybe you should’ve thought this through.
“Hey,” someone said behind you and you snapped out of your thoughts, looking back. Jisung tried to give you his best smile, but it was still a bit uncertain.
“Hey.” You sounded a lot calmer than you expected.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, pointing to the spot beside you with the hand that was holding his cup. His other hand was inside his pocket, that much you knew. But the fact that it was shaking like crazy? He’d rather hide that.
“Not at all,” you lied.
Jisung sat by your side, sighing loudly, and a little too closer than you would’ve wanted him to. Your heart couldn’t help but race and you began to drag yourself mentally for being so stupid. Couldn’t it just stay still at the sight of him?
pairing & genre: roommate!yoongi x reader, college au fluff
tags: soft min yoongi, fluff, sharing a bed, a splash of angst, falling in love, the sharing a bed trope has been dragged out and abused for nearly 6k words, everyone has poor communication skills but especially the landlord, yoongi thinks reader is the prettiest :(, unspecified reader gender/appearance, friends to lovers, and they were ROOMMATES, Andrew Garfield is not the love of your life actually, quiet romance
wc: 5.6k (complete)
rating: teen & up - frequent swearing, briefest mention of intent to waterboard someone, blink and you’ll miss it
The heating breaks in the middle of winter. Your landlord is a total shit. Yoongi lets you sleep in his bed.
———
“Hey, can I sleep in here?”
The mass under the duvet rolls, a corner flips down to reveal a bleary eye.
“Huh?”
“It’s just- there’s ice on my window. On the inside.”
You’d both been away for several days to spend Christmas with your families, and returned within a few hours of each other to find that the heating had broken. And at the start of the harshest winter in a decade, no amount of layers or hot chocolate will keep you warm throughout the night. And your room, with its single glazed windows, is far colder than Yoongi’s.
The lounge isn’t an option, you’d already tried for the best part of an hour, but the pleather sofa is colder still.
Yoongi, probably too tired to care, just grunts and moves a fraction to make more space, so you climb in. Double-socked toes seek out warmth next to his but you’re still careful to leave a polite gap. Polite enough for new-ish roommates sharing a bed for the first time, at least.
Yoongi said when you moved in back in September that the landlord was shitty, said that it’ll be weeks or months before he’ll do anything that requires spending his time or money, so Yoongi himself had taken to making the repairs. You didn’t mind at the time. The rent was cheap and it was close to the city. Close to campus. Yoongi was quiet, kept to himself, cleaned up, and paid his bills. The ideal roommate. But it was still warm then, and you weren’t aware that Yoongi’s skillset didn’t extend to fixing boilers.
“Thanks, Yoongi,” you whisper to the mound under the duvet.
The duvet grunts.
—-
The apartment is empty when you wake. The clock says nine-thirty, but it’s the weekend, and your roommate doesn’t usually leave his room before eleven at the earliest.
You curl up on the sofa, blanket around your shoulders, legs tucked against your chest, a bowl of hot porridge balanced upon your knees. If you wanted, you could message him. Say something like sorry for invading your space or i hope i didn’t snore! Anything that could un-knot the worry lacing in the pit of your stomach that you crossed a line by asking to share his bed.
It’s not necessary as it turns out, because Yoongi is home just a few minutes later, one bag and two to-go coffees in his hands. He’s especially lovely just out of the snow, with his cheeks turned pink, eyes bright, and a dusting of snowflakes. There’s a lot on his hair. Pretty.
“Sleep okay?” He doesn’t look at you as he hands over your coffee, marked oat milk capp on the side in barista cursive. You weren’t aware he knew your order.
You nod and smile gratefully, mouth still occupied by a spoon of porridge. He sits at the other end of the sofa.
“Good.” He doesn’t smile back, but his few gruff words are enough to set your mind at ease. It doesn’t seem like he’s bothered. Bothered people don’t buy coffee for their botherers.
“Why’d you get up so early?” you ask, after a minute.
“Can’t sleep- when it’s cold,” he says between sips of his americano. “Got some hot water bottles for us, and a bunch of those handwarmer things that you crack.”
Oh. You dig out your phone from your pocket and open PayPal. “How much do I owe? For the coffee too.”
You’re broke as hell, but you hate the guilt that comes with not paying your way. You can walk to the restaurant you work part time at for the week instead of catching the bus, for the sake of keeping warm at night.
Yoongi huffs a laugh, an awkward noise, something someone makes when they’re caught. “Don’t worry about it.” He catches your narrowing eyes. Shifts in his seat. Sighs. “I should’ve explained better before you moved in. Should’ve said that the bastard will let us suffer and not lift a finger,” Yoongi explains, keeping his eyes trained on his cup as his tone grows more bitter. “Should’ve said this happened last winter too, and I ended up paying for the engineer to fix it. I’m sorry I didn’t say.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you?”
“Do you know how hard it is these days to find a student with a job, a non-smoker, and obviously has decent personal hygiene? One guy tried to shake my hand after scratching his asshole right in front of me.” Yoongi shudders. Whether it’s the cold or that unnecessarily vivid imagery, you don’t know. “And I can’t afford this shithole on my own.”
“Wow,” you say, wryly. “I feel so used.”
Yoongi scratches at the nape of his neck. Doesn’t reply, even though that was obviously meant to be a joke.
“That was obviously a joke.”
Yoongi laughs. Sounds fake. “Hah- yeah, no it was funny.”
Hmm. Still awkward. Before you get the chance to open your mouth, Yoongi stands abruptly, announces he has something to do for a group project, says he’ll be at the library all day, probably. You nod again. It must look dumb, how often you nod at him, like one of those bobblehead dogs people keep on the dash of their cars. He doesn’t even notice, already walking into his room.
Within a few minutes he‘s in the lounge again, backpack slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t look at you when he asks if you have plans tonight. His ears are red. Taps at his phone.
“Nope. No plans.”
“Okay. Well- see ya.” And he’s gone, the door catching on a draft and slamming behind him.
You get his text an hour later while you’re writing an essay from your spot on the sofa, your new hot water bottle saving your toes from the chill.
yoongi [10:36]: bring your duvet if you’re gonna sleep in my bed tonight
yoongi [10:36]: you kept stealing mine
me [10:37]: sorry yoongi
me [10:37]: were you too cold?
yoongi [10:39]: only a bit
yoongi [10:39]: bring your duvet? : )
me [10:40]: okay : )
yoongi [10:40]: okay : )
It keeps you warm for the rest of the day.
———
It feels weird, the notion of following Yoongi to bed when he announces he’s going to sleep. So you don’t. You don’t, even though you’d been yawning for thirty minutes before the movie ended. Even though you’d already all but said you’d sleep with him tonight. Not with h- just… just in his bed.
But when you get to your room and notice the ice on the windows thicker still, and your own breath fogging the air, the decision is basically made for you. Fuck it.
Yoongi is cocooned in his duvet, only his eyes and forehead visible from the light of his phone, when you tap on his open door. Your own duvet is draped around your body like a cloak.
“Offer still on the table?”
“Mhm. Close the door, yeah? It’ll keep the heat in.”
He shuffles back while you shuffle over and all you can hear are short huffed breaths and the rustle of cheap polyester. It’d be a little funny if the winter didn’t bite at your nose so.
“Is this weird?” you ask after a few too-long minutes of laying side by side, facing each other and scrolling on your phones in total silence.
Yoongi looks up from his phone. “I don’t know. Yeah- I guess- I guess a bit.”
You don’t reply, you just chew on your bottom lip, and Yoongi must take that as some kind of worry about him and his intentions because he says, “I’m not going to- like..” and you interrupt him by saying “No- No! I know-“ and then he interrupts you by saying “you wanna build a pillow wall?” and then it definitely is weird because you keep talking over each other, trying to make each other comfortable but your voices keep getting louder and more insistent and more rapid and neither of you are actually listening or even saying anything until you just - stop. And then you smile awkwardly at Yoongi from your cocoon. And Yoongi smiles back at you from his, but his eyes are kind, and crinkly, and it doesn’t feel so awkward when he’s doing it. And then you’re both laughing over nothing. His breath is warm even with the gap between you. Smells minty. It’s nice.
“You wanna just go to sleep?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He smiles.
“Okay.” You smile back.
——
On the fifth night, you’re woken by Yoongi screaming your name.
“Get up! Fuck! Help me!”
You don’t even notice the water until your socks are wet. The cold, the wet, it stings, but you’re running - slipping - until you get to the bathroom, the source of both the water and the screaming.
He’s drenched. Completely. From head to toe. It takes a few seconds to register why.
“Why are you just fucking standing there?!” Yoongi screeches, gripping the pipe under the sink with a soaked towel. Despite his efforts, it’s spraying everywhere, catching him in the eye even though he’s craning his neck away. “Oh my god! The pipes froze! Help!”
“Fuck,” is the only stupid sound you can get out of your stupid mouth. “Fuck, Yoongi! What do I do?!”
Your hair is getting wet now too. The spray is coming from two directions, you realise - the sink and the shower. Shit.
“Turn off- ugh-turn off the water.” He tries to angle his face away from the spray, but it keeps hitting him in the eye, in his open mouth. “At the stoptap.”
“The- the what?”
Yoongi’s eyes grow wide, groans incredulously. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding?” Any other time you’d be offended, but your pyjamas are wet and it’s fucking freezing and right now you couldn’t give a shit about anything else so you just glare right back at him through the spray.
“Here,” he says with urgency, grabbing you by the wrist and manoeuvring your hands over the towel he’s wrapped around the pipe - for what little good it’s doing. “Hold this.”
He dashes off, faster than you’ve ever seen the man move leaving you to be hit in the face by the spray instead. A minute that feels like an hour later, the water slows to a fast drip.
“Did it work?!” Yoongi calls from what you think is the kitchen.
“Yeah!” You shout back.
You meet in the hallway, water trickling down your noses. You both stand there just looking at each other, panting, hair sticking to your foreheads. Cheeks red and hands redder.
Yoongi looks bothered. “Sorry,” he says. “For swearing at you. For shouting.”
“No- no it’s okay. I get it.”
He pushes his hair back from his eyes. Now isn’t the time to think about how pretty he is, but you do it anyway. And then he takes you by surprise, by stepping closer, reaching out, and tucking a lock of wet hair behind your ear. It’s such a small thing, insignificant really but it feels like something is happening and it’s too much. He’s looking at you. Looking. He’s so close, and his fingers are brushing your cheek and it’s too much. It’s intense. You look away. Down at the floor. Down at the floor that has quite literally turned into a paddling pool.
“It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Huh?”
“It’s like- three a.m on New Years Eve.”
“Oh.”
You don’t know why you said that. But Yoongi’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking at the floor too.
“Now what?” you ask, though the answer is obvious to anyone with an ounce of sensibility.
“Ugh.”
——
In the morning, you call in sick to the restaurant from Yoongi’s bed. There’s no way you could manage a twelve hour shift after a night of mopping and barely two hours sleep. Yoongi’s in the kitchen, you can hear him calling the bar. Your managers probably think you’re both faking, but that’s the last thing on your mind.
You’re replaying the moment. The moment it seemed like he was going to kiss you, and you made a terribly un-smooth attempt to break the tension. It’s not even like you’d never thought about kissing him. Maybe once or twice. Maybe more, if you’re honest. So why did you dodge?
Yoongi comes in with two steaming mugs. It’s basically all milk, he explains with a frown, seeing as the pipes are still burst and you can’t have the water on. He calls his friend Namjoon, who lives with his boyfriend just one block away, to explain what happened. Namjoon offers up the use of his shower to the both of you without Yoongi even having to ask. Everyone likes Yoongi. You like Yoongi. So why did you dodge?
——
Namjoon and Seokjin are disgustingly in love. That much is obvious as soon as you see them both together. You’d met them individually, briefly, in the months gone by - but seeing them together, it’s blindingly obvious why Yoongi had refused to move in with his best friends, instead choosing to stay in his shitty apartment with the shitty landlord.
Yoongi encourages you to shower first, Seokjin points the way for you. And God, it’s hard not to take your sweet time. You haven’t been this warm in nearly a week, and your skin is damp and hot by the time you emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later.
The three men go quiet when the bathroom door clicks shut behind you. Too quiet. Namjoon’s smile is bright and friendly but he clearly plastered it on to disguise something else. Seokjin looks like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling at all, the corners of his lips twitching as his eyes dart from Yoongi to you, and back again. Yoongi just gathers up his things and heads past you into the bathroom.
Namjoon offers you a chair at the table, and Seokjin sets a bowl of porridge in front of you a moment later. While you eat, you try not to notice the way Seokjin keeps opening his mouth, and the way Namjoon keeps elbowing him, or poking his thigh or shaking his head. They are really, horribly, obvious, and they’re making it incredibly difficult not to laugh into the breakfast they’d so kindly made for you.
“I just want to say-“
“ Seokjin…”
“-that Yoongi is really happy with you-“
“your company as a roommate-”
“Namjoon…”
“Uh-“ you start.
“You like living with him, right? He’s a good cook, and he’s good at fixing stuff-“
“Except the boiler,” says Namjoon with a laugh, which is silenced instantly with a sharp look from his boyfriend.
“-cause he’d be really sorry to lose you-“
“-as a roommate.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “-yes, yes, as a roommate,” he agrees but with air quotes. “Especially before he can tell you he’s in l-“
“Kim Seokjin!”
Seokjin ignores Namjoon’s admonishment. Just reaches out to lay his hand over yours. “You’re not going to move out, right?”
“Uhm,” you mumble around your porridge. You swallow to stall for time. Jesus Christ.
——
It’s New Year’s Eve, and you’re eating pizza in bed and watching TV. You should be working, and if not working then at some club with your friends. But here you are, with Min Yoongi, sharing a bed in a fancy hotel, apparently “a late Christmas present!” from his best friends.
Both of you had tried to refuse, but Seokjin, who you now understand to be sweetly manipulative with all the best intentions, insisted that the room would only go to waste if you didn’t take it. Taehyung knows a plumbing apprentice who’ll fix the pipes for cheap, but not for another few days. Namjoon and Seokjin have offered up their shower for use, and you’ll get by with bottled water for the dishes. For one blissful night though, you have a warm hotel room and a jacuzzi bath.
“They could’ve gotten us a twin.”
You look over at him. His ears are red again.
“Is this not okay? you say, voice tentative and small. “I can go, if you’re uncomfortable.”
Yoongi’s eyes catch yours at that, shakes his head. “I’m not. I thought you might be.”
You try to make your smile reassuring, and when Yoongi doesn’t look reassured in the slightest, you scoot closer and rest your head upon his shoulder.
“I’m comfortable. Okay?”
“Okay.” You glance at the mirror, catch his eyes trained on the top of your head and he’s smiling. He’s smiling so fond.
Outside, there’s fireworks.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers against your hair.
“Happy New Year, Yoongi.”
If you were braver, you’d kiss him.
——
It’s night seven, and Yoongi hasn’t stopped complaining. Maybe it’s because he’s nursing a cold. Maybe it’s because you’d had a taste of warmth and comfort at his friend’s home, and then the hotel, and then you had to come back here to this frozen place with no running water for the next three days.
His voice is thick with cold, and his throat must feel like razor blades like yours - but he’s still talking shit about the landlord and it’s driving you fucking mad. You just want to sleep. But Yoongi, for once, is far too chatty. At first you’d tried to reason with him.
“When he gets here I’m gonna turn the hose on him.”
“No you’re not.”
“I fucking am-“
“He’s not even gonna come.”
“Shit... Yeah, you’re right.”
——
“I’m gonna get a lawyer-“
“No. You’re not.”
“Yeah- and then we’ll sue-“
“Yoongi, we’re students. We don’t have the money for a lawyer.”
“Fuck. Fine. Okay.”
——
“I’m gonna find that cunts house and waterboard him in the middle of the night.”
“Yoongi!”
“What?”
“That’s too dark.”
“Yeah… Sorry, baby.”
“…What?”
“Nothing.” Yoongi coughs twice. “I’m very sick.”
——
“I’m gonna-“
That’s enough. That’s fucking enough.
“I swear to God, Min Yoongi,” you hiss from your cocoon. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t I’m gonna go to sleep then I will drown you in that fucking bucket under the sink.”
“I thought you said waterboarding was too dark?”
It sounds like he’s teasing, but it’s pitch black and you can’t see if he’s smiling. You punch the burrito of a man lying next to you anyway.
“Oof,” he chuckles. “That might’ve actually hurt if I didn’t have all this padding.”
“I hate you tonight, Yoongi.”
“Will you like me tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” It’s hard to stay mad at him. “If you let me sleep.”
“Okay. I will. I’m sorry.” Sounds like he’s smiling. And then he does what he hasn’t done before, not even once this past week of sleeping in his bed. You feel the weight of his arm across the middle of your burrito cocoon duvet, wraps around, tugs you a little closer. Tugs you so close that you’re tucked under his chin. So close you’re sure he can feel your breath on his neck. And his voice soft, ever so gentle, “this okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “S’okay.”
“Okay.” Sounds like he’s smiling. You let yourself smile too.
——
Jimin and Yoongi finally met tonight, at Hoseok’s birthday party. You’re just so pleased they’re getting along.
“What about you? What’re you doing after graduation?” The question is directed at Yoongi, you won’t finish your degree for another year. You turn to look at him with interest, because you hadn’t discussed that before. Why didn't you?
Yoongi gets a little faraway look in his eye at the question. “Norway.”
“Huh?” That doesn’t make sense.
“I wanna go to Norway. Study the architecture. Just for six months. A year at most.”
This doesn’t make any sense. “But you hate the cold.”
He’s only looking at you now. He could lean in, but he doesn’t. So polite. Maybe he doesn’t want to- in front of all these people. Maybe he doesn’t want to at all. The chatter carries on in the background. No one’s even paying attention.
“You look… really pretty.” It’s a poor attempt at a whisper.
“Yoongi,” you laugh, the Norway talk suddenly (almost) forgotten with the unexpected compliment. “You’re drunk.”
“Am not. If I’m drunk, you’re drunkerer,” he huffs, but he’s looping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “Smell pretty too. I like this top on you.” He runs a gentle hand up your arm, traces a finger across your necklace. You’re holding your breath. “Beautiful.”
He rests his chin upon your shoulder, and you lean back against his. Anyone at Hoseok’s party would be inclined to think you’re together, the way you’ve spent the whole time together on the sofa, laughing at jokes that no one else gets. It’s not cold here, in fact it’s awfully warm compared to what you’re used to now, but you’re huddled close all the same. So yes, everyone here thinks you and Yoongi are together. You’re inclined to let them think it.
You press a kiss to his cheek while the alcohol makes you brave.
“You’re pretty too, Yoongi.”
And he smiles so wide that it could split your heart right open. Lay it bare for everyone to see. God. You wish it would stay winter forever.
——
You wake up on that same sofa the next day, your head pounding in Yoongi’s lap. In Yoongi’s lap. One of his hands is in your hair, the other on your hip. He’s sleeping still, you think, and you twist to look up at him and that’s a mistake, because the movement makes him stir.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.” His voice is nice when he wakes up, so deep and a little strained. You wanna keep this moment, where his hand moves to cup your cheek and you remember kissing his last night. Can’t remember now if he was calling you beautiful or your necklace. He definitely called you pretty, and that was… yeah. You want to hear him say it again. Sober.
“You wanna get breakfast before we go home?”
“Dressed like this?”
He laughs under his breath. “We’ll get take out, yeah? Movie day in bed?”
“Yeah.” You smile bright, he lights up. “Yeah okay!”
“Okay, lemme go say bye to Hobi.”
——
“What did you choose?” Yoongi asks when he climbs in next to you, his hair still a little damp from the shower. Smells like he stole your shampoo again. All citrusy, mixed with something deeper. You like it. Suits him.
“Hacksaw Ridge.”
“You wanna watch a war film at ten a.m on a Saturday. With a hangover?”
You grin. “Andrew Garfield is the actual love of my life. I’ll suffer for him.”
“Really?” Yoongi says, the tease evident in his tone. He’s trying not to smile. “The love of your life?”
“Celebrities are the easiest people to love,” you explain, taking a bite of your bagel.
Yoongi tips his head, amused. “How so?”
You weren’t expecting this conversation. Not hungover on a Saturday with the love of your life (Andrew Garfield) present. You swallow. “No pressure with celebrities. Nothing to ruin. Unless they turn out to be- like… a sex predator or something.” You point at Andrew Garfield who is holding a gun. “I think I’m safe with him.”
Everything goes really quiet for a second. Yoongi looks from you, to the TV, and down at the bagel on his lap. You can’t work him out when he goes quiet like this.
“What about-“ he starts, looking back at the TV and the love of your life, Andrew Garfield. “What about… people?”
“People?”
“People you actually know. Are you safe with them?”
If he’s talking about Tae, or Jimin, or Siwoo, then yes. Yes because there’s no heartbreak there. You’re not too close. You can love them without expectation. If he’s talking about himself (more likely, you guess) then a few months ago, you would’ve said yes too, because he was just the sweet guy you lived with who helped you put up shelves. Now- it’s just… you can’t - you don’t know.
“I don’t know.”
Yoongi just looks at you blankly. A few seconds or a minute or ten pass and he’s just looking, eyes searching yours and you think you can hear your heart beating in your chest. Maybe it’s his. Maybe it belongs to both of you.
It gets louder, louder still and then you both seem to realise with a jolt that someone is at the door. Yoongi is faster, somehow, and he jumps out to answer it. You stay where you are, wondering if you should’ve just said yes, I’m safe with you because then he might’ve kissed you, and you can forget all about the love of your life, Andrew Garfield.
There’s raised voices down the hall, and you recognise the other as the landlord, showing up out of the blue but two months too late.
As it turns out, he’s scheduled to have the boiler replaced in ten days.
Yoongi is livid. Angry that he’s let you both suffer in the cold over the hardest winter in years.
“You know we had to share?! It was so fucking cold we had to the sleep in the same bed to keep warm.” There’s venom in his voice. The landlord deserves it but you hate it all the same. Had to.
The landlord says something indecipherable and Yoongi’s rage is palpable even from down the hall. “Don’t you get how inappropriate that is? That’s disgusting.”
Oh.
On the TV Andrew Garfield tells Teresa Palmer I love you. You scowl.
“Shut up, Andrew.”
——
yoongi [19:22]: joon gave me a copy of the new spider-man movie, you wanna watch it tonight? : )
me [19:57]: uh actually i think i’m gonna stay at sungho’s place. it’s his birthday party tonight
yoongi [20:03]: oh okay
yoongi [20:03]: wait sungho your ex boyfriend?
me [22:49]: yeah
You don’t know why you came really. You could say it was because Tae begged, because he’s your best friend and he’s been complaining about missing you for months. But now Taehyung is gone, as he usually is at parties, somewhere in this house, he’ll be in the arms of Jungkook. You’ve seen Sungho maybe twice, kissing his girlfriend of eight months on the cheek. You’d smiled at them, waved, and they waved back. They’re cute together. And you’re not having fun. You’d much rather be at home, tucked under Yoongi’s arm watching a movie from bed that neither of you really watch, as you had for the past several weeks.
Perhaps it’s because there’s less than a week of cold left, before the replacement, but last night… Last night was the hardest.
Yoongi was holding your hand, brushing your knuckles with a calloused thumb over, and over. And when you were both falling asleep, with the movie still playing, you’d curled around each other, limbs intertwined, finding warmth against the body of the other rather than within your respective duvets.
And when you woke up in his arms - your hands under his shirt, against his back and holding his body against yours, with his fingers curling under the hem of your top, brushing against the soft skin of your stomach - it was everything.
So you found yourself wishing you could wake up like that forever. But that hurt all the more, because how could it be forever when winter will give way to spring so soon? When the boiler will be replaced and your room will be habitable again. How could it be forever when Yoongi graduates in a few short months, and does what he said he would - move to fucking Norway or Sweden or some horrendously far away place, swapping one frozen home for another. And you’re left here another year, in this shitty apartment with the shitty landlord, and without the one person who keeps you warm at night with just his smile. How could it be forever when you’re letting him think you’re with your ex tonight? Who fucking does that?
Maybe you’re just scared.
——
me [17:12]: i’m home! i’ll cook if you wanna watch spider-man tonight?
me [17:59]: yoongi?
yoongi [21:22]: pulling an all-nighter at the library with namjoon, feel free to watch it without me
That’s a lie. You know because Namjoon added you on Instagram, and he and Seokjin are teaching Jungkook how to ice-skate right now. But you lied too. Because a lie of omission is still a lie, right? So who are you to call Yoongi out?
——
Yoongi stays out the next night too. Blames his dissertation, says you’ll understand next year.
It’s bitterly cold without him. You say so and he doesn’t reply.
me [00:43]: yoongi i miss you. please come home
He doesn’t read that one.
You really fucked up.
——
Today, he comes in the door just as you’re leaving for class. The lie clearly wasn’t about being up all night, the circles around his eyes say as much.
He brought two electric heaters with him. Explains in passing that one of them is for your room.
Oh.
——
You’ve had the bed to yourself since Sungho’s party. Yoongi says he’s working on his dissertation. Which you know to be bullshit because he never works on anything for his degree until the week before it’s due. On the fourth night his side is left cold and empty, it’s too much of the wrong thing. So at two a.m, maybe three - you get back up, walk into the lounge where Yoongi sits on his laptop, with two empty cans of Red Bull at his feet.
“Why are you avoiding me?” You try to sound assertive, but the sound comes out small and pathetic. Because the truth is you know why he’s avoiding you, and you know it’s your fault.
“I’m not?” See, he makes it sound like a ridiculous question but he didn’t even look up. Avoiding even looking at you.
“Yoongi,” you start and he sighs, exasperated. “It’s been ages. Come to bed, stop pretending you’re working.”
“I am-“ you cut him off with a bark of incredulous laughter and he looks up at you, wide-eyed when you push his laptop firmly closed.
“No, you’re not.” Hot tears threaten to spill over if you don’t break the dam with your words first, so here goes. “You think you’re so fucking subtle sitting there typing away when you know I’m looking but I can see in the mirror that you’re on fucking discord with your friends.”
Yoongi, the idiot, turns to look at the mirror he seemingly forgot existed, despite him being the one to hang it.
“I know this thing we do only started because I was cold,” you reason, more to make sense of it all for yourself rather than for his benefit. “But it’s more than that for me, Yoongi. You’re more than just a warm body to sleep next to.”
He’s too quiet.
“You want me to sleep in my room again? You brought the heater, right? So I should? I don’t want to but I will.” An embarrassing noise threatens to make itself heard when Yoongi turns back to you, eyes huge and sad. “If you don’t want me around should I move out-”
“No.” Yoongi gapes. Opens and closes his mouth like a fish, a big dumb fish out of water. “I’m not angry. Don’t go- I’m really not.” And then he takes your hand, tugs you down into his lap. His hands are in your hair now, holding you against the crook of his neck but his T-shirt is wet against your face and it takes a few beats to realise the wet is coming from you, and then you’re sobbing and fuck, it’s so stupid. It’s embarrassing.
He’s stroking your hair now, peppering soft kisses against your temple, down your cheek, whispering in your ear, “don’t go, baby. Don’t cry. God, I’m sorry- I’m really sorry.” He waits for you to calm, for the tears to stop, and then he’s guiding you to stand, leading you back into his room.
He climbs in next to you, pulling one of your duvets over the both of you, and it’s hard to put into words how much that one small thing means. He wraps you up in his arms again, like the night he held you last. You press a kiss to his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t be sorry,” you say, when you find your voice again. “I let you think I was with someone else.”
Yoongi shakes his head as soon as you start talking. “Shh. Don’t explain. We’re not even toge- wait… let me think?”
You cringe. “Nothing happened. I just went to the party with Tae, we crashed in the lounge with a bunch of people. I was- I dunno. It- nothing happened, okay, Yoongi? I didn’t even want anything to happen. I wanted to be here.”
“Why weren’t you here?”
“Scared.”
“Oh.” You hold your breath as your eyes rake over his blank expression. And then his face crumples and he holds you tighter, burying his nose in your hair. “I th- thought I made it clear, how much- and then you… baby I was so jealous. Shit .” He laughs then, bitterly, more at himself it seems, because his hand strokes down your hair, and tips up your chin. His dark eyes are intense on yours. “Are you scared now? I thought I misread everything. Or missed my chance. Did I?”
You shake your head.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, his voice deep, running a thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Use your words, yeah? Let’s not get this wrong again.”
“No, Yoongi, you didn’t misread anything,” you say, and he smiles, leans in, his breath ghosting your lips. “You didn’t miss your chance. I’d give you a thousand.”
“Still scared?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” you admit. “But I want us anyway.”
His smile is wide and beautiful. You love it. Love him. Dark eyes dart to your lips.
“Can I-”
“Y-“
And you’re kissing.
Outside, there should be fireworks. But there isn’t and it doesn’t matter because you’re kissing, and kissing has never felt this good.
➪ part 2: 400 words (that same night (morning?) cute fluffy nice stuff)
how are you supposed to remain sane around felix after the most inconceivable night of your entire life? spoiler; you can't
pairing: bff!felix × gn!reader
wc: 16.7k
content: college au, smut, fluff, angst, inexperienced(??) reader, switchy!felix, hickeys, dry humping, theyre both idiots, a few text message screenshots, friends to lovers, they.... kiss.......
a/n: sauur we made it. ty for sticking with me! i made myself sick writing this they are so cringe and sappy. pls be warned.... theyre insufferable.
[also read on ao3]
series — part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
—
Felix doesn't come back.
At least, you somehow managed to fall back asleep before he did, and now it's early morning, judging by the thin beams of sunlight peeking through the half-drawn blinds.
You sit up, squinting at the brightness and rub your eyes. Everything from last night comes back in a rush and you freeze mid-blink with a gasp.
Well, shit. Did that really happen?
You almost want to lie back down, pull the covers over your head and continue sleeping so you can pretend last night didn't happen in a vain hope of avoiding any and all embarrassment.
But, no. You'll have to get up eventually. Also, you need to pee. And where's Felix?
Reluctantly, you force yourself out of bed and head to the bathroom. It's empty. You take as long as you can to brush your teeth and wash your face with cold water, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look normal, if a little tired.
You take a deep breath, trying to rationalize. What happened last night… It's a natural thing. It happens. It's not like Felix knew what he was doing, or that you were awake (and whose fault is that?). You just happened to be wrapped in his arms but it literally doesn't have to be a big deal. You honestly don't know shit about any of this but… Right? It's not a big deal. You can still be normal about this. About him.
That almost all goes out the window when you finally venture out of the bathroom.
Your feet stop moving as soon as you round the corner. The kitchen area is connected to the living room with no real barrier, so you have a full view of everything. Sure enough, there's Felix, standing by the stove with his back turned to you.
For a moment, it’s like nothing happened. This is just a normal morning after a sleepover with your best friend.
You can pretend.
You shuffle forward, clearing your throat.
He whips around at the sound of your voice and for a moment, he freezes, face blank before it morphs into a smile, and you immediately want to melt into a puddle and cease to exist because he looks like sin personified.
Maybe you're just projecting, because he doesn't look any different than normal. He always looks like this. But not like… this. He's wearing the same loose white shirt that almost drowns his slender frame and reveals a delicious amount of collarbone as it almost slips off one shoulder. His hair is fluffy and messy from sleep, making him look like an actual fucking angel, and the warm morning light spilling in through the windows illuminates his skin. The whole scene is like a freaking renaissance painting.
“Morning!” he says cheerfully, turning back to the stove. Completely normal. Maybe it really was all a fever dream.
It takes a second before you realize you're just standing there, gawking in his direction like an idiot. “Morning,” you echo. Smooth. You take a step forward, still hovering. It's silent for an excruciatingly long moment.
Felix clears his throat. “Did you— Did you sleep well?”
You blink. “Um…”
“I mean— ‘Cause the… the storm… was pretty loud…” he says slowly. “Uh… But, you didn't, like, wake up at all last night?”
You pause, heart dropping as you realize what he's asking. Did you wake up?
You have to give him credit; it's only because you know better that you notice the uncertainty in his voice, the way his shoulders are set a little higher than usual. You can't see his face but the way he's tensed up tells you he's more than a little anxious.
Well. You're going to die on this hill. “No.”
He sighs. Out of relief? Disappointment? You don’t know. “Okay. Good. I mean, I'm glad. That you slept alright.”
You nod. Cool. This isn't awkward at all. You don't know what else to say so you return the question to him. “Did you...?”
“Me? Yeah. Yeah, uh, I was fine. Loads better than the floor so, yeah, thanks for not letting me be an idiot about that.”
You hum noncommittally. Should you leave? (Yes.) There's no real reason for you to stay longer since the weather cleared up. Would it be too weird to leave so suddenly? (Yes.) But you really can't stand this tension much longer. Fuck pretending. You're awful at this.
“Uh, so…” Felix turns his head to you, interrupting your thoughts. “You hungry? Want breakfast?”
You’re about to say no but… you are hungry. And whatever he's making — pancakes? — smells good. Well, breakfast sounds normal enough.
“Sure,” you say instead. That's a normal thing to say.
Felix smiles at your response, seeming to relax a little as he turns back to the stove, spatula in hand. You stare at his back for a moment before deciding standing around is making you antsy. You move to lean against the counter across from the stove, watching him pour the pancake batter a little clumsily.
“So…” you start and his arm suddenly twitches, spilling batter on his hand. He swears and reaches to the sink to quickly wash it off before running the wet hand through his unruly hair. You watch as a few drops of water drip down his neck and you kind of want to touch them, trace their path with your fingers. Or your mouth. Maybe…
Wow. Wowww. You're actually unwell. What the hell? You need to sit the fuck down.
As you do that, pulling out a chair only slightly dizzily, he speaks. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Were you saying something? You're so lost. “Um…” you swallow. “H-How long have you been up…?”
Felix hums and flips the pancakes carefully. “Not too long… A couple hours, maybe?”
A couple hours? He’s been up for hours, plural? Doing what? Waiting for you to wake up?
“Oh.” You swallow again. “How come?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” is his casual reply, followed by a shrug. “Figured I should do something so…” he gestures to the stove.
“Oh,” you repeat, still struggling to get your head straight. The kitchen is also spotless, you notice, any leftover mess from the cookies yesterday miraculously gone. He probably stress-cleaned or something. Your heart hurts for him and how he must be feeling but what can you do? It's your own fault you can't even talk to him about it and clear the air. You dug this grave.
“You didn't have to. Make breakfast, I mean.”
He looks over his shoulder for a second, his smile strained when he says, “No, I know. I just… wanted to do something nice.”
You look down at your hands, guilt twisting your stomach. This… This is your fault. He wouldn't be suffering quietly like this if it weren't for you.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
Felix lets out a little laugh. “Don't sound so enthusiastic.”
“That's the most enthusiastic I can sound this early in the morning,” you say, earning a huff of amusement from him in response.
“Well, they're not worth much enthusiasm anyway. I kinda— I dunno. They're uh…” he turns off the stove, presumably finished, but he hesitates before turning around. “Well…” he places the plate of pancakes down in front of you and laughs sheepishly.
Ah. They are quite… dark. Well done, if you will. You fight the urge to laugh as you stare down at the plate of pancakes that look vaguely like hockey pucks.
“Is there something funny?”
You look up to see him watching you with a small pout, his eyebrows drawn in. You can’t hide your smile this time, especially when his lips slowly quirk up in response.
“No, no, um…” You glance back down at the plate of black holes. “They look great.”
“Don't lie.” He sits down across from you, elbows propped, a pout on his face. His face is flushed. Up close, you can see the darkness under his eyes. You wonder if he slept at all.
“I don't know what's wrong with me…” he sighs, covering his face a little, and you get the sense he's talking about more than just burnt pancakes.
“I…” Your heart squeezes at his dejected voice. “It's okay, really, Felix,” you say, but if you're implicating something more than just burnt pancakes too, he'll never know. “It happens.”
He chuckles softly and peeks at you through his fingers. “Yeah. I’m just… a bit out of it, I guess.”
You nod. You’re a little out of it, too. You can't stop staring at his face, the pink flush to his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, his hair sticking up a little haphazardly, the way his lashes flutter as he blinks tiredly. He looks so… pretty. He always looks pretty.
He peeks at you again, and you catch yourself and look away. You should say something. You should say you were awake last night. You should tell him you're not upset. You should just be honest.
You don't do any of that. Felix sits up with a huff and starts combing through the pancake stack, picking out a few less egregious ones and putting them on a plate for you.
“There.” He slides the plate over to you. “Try a couple of these.”
He's a good friend, is your first thought, watching him try to salvage the pancakes with a fond smile. At least he has the wherewithal to look sheepish for making such a thing. You don't mind, though. You'd eat them anyway, burnt or not. You’ve never been able to deny him anything, even before all this, so you’ve certainly got no chance now.
He glances at you, noticing your smile, and laughs. You can see a bit of the tension from earlier leaving his body, his shoulders less tense as he watches you cut into the pancakes with your fork. He reaches over and pours some syrup over the cooled pancakes before settling back in his chair, resting his head against his hand.
“Sorry they're not the best. Didn't realize I'm shit at cooking until just now.”
Despite his claims, and the lackluster presentation, the pancakes aren’t bad at all. The edges are crispy (if a bit crunchy) and the inside is surprisingly fluffy. You tell him as much and he crosses his arms over his chest unbelievably, but you see him fighting the smile on his face, tongue in cheek. It’s so, so cute. Truly, you are a goner.
“I'm serious!” you say. “I think they're great!”
He rolls his eyes at you, still smiling. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. I’m telling the truth.” You take another bite for emphasis. “Mmm,” you hum, only exaggerating a little. So what? You see the way he lights up at your praise, and you're grateful for his efforts — even if they look burnt to hell.
You guess you mumbled that last part out loud because Felix snorts, looking up and resting his chin on his arms. “To hell? You can say that again.”
You purse your lips to hide the smile that slips on your face and he glares at you, probably thinking that you’re making fun of him.
“‘S not funny,” he huffs before reaching for a plate for himself.
“It's a little funny.”
“Shut up.”
—
You probably should have made your exit after breakfast, but in the moment of normalcy you forgot that you're kind of supposed to be freaking out about him; you don't think twice about staying. Now, you're sitting with him on his bed, helping him study.
“I don't get it,” Felix whines, tilting his head back and exposing the long line of his neck. You try not to gape like an idiot, resisting the urge to reach up and run your fingers over his jaw and the phantom marks there. “Why are there so many different integrals?”
“Uh…” You pull your attention back to the textbook in front of you, trying to read through everything. It's probably important that you actually pay attention to this. And not the way he's chewing on his lip in concentration. Or the little freckle on the corner of his nose. That's not part of the exam material.
“And these equations,” Felix continues, pointing to the page. “They're the fucking same thing! What the fuck?”
Focus. “So,” you shake your head to clear it and laugh a little. “They're just different methods of approximation. These ones are rectangular, and this one's trapezoidal so…” you squint at the page. “They're similar but here you divide this part. See? And you multiply each inner term. So that depends on how many intervals you're using,” you explain. “Rectangles are simpler but trapezoids are more accurate? I think you need to know both though.”
He looks up at you with a grimace. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I'm sure I'll remember all that perfectly during the exam.” He glances down at the notes with a sigh. He looks stressed. It doesn't help that he's probably also tired. That he's been up for hours.
Because of you.
You're suddenly hyper-aware that you're sitting on his bed, close enough to touch. You noticed he's been keeping a little more distance than usual, but you can still feel the warmth of his body next to you and it makes you antsy and distracted, trying to keep your focus on the notes spread out in front of you. At least it's something to look at other than him.
You clear your throat. “You'll have to memorize it, I guess.”
“So what you're saying is I should give up on calculus,” he says dryly. “I should give up on life.”
“That is literally not at all what I said.”
He groans and flops forward onto the bed, his head landing by your thigh and leaning against it. You freeze. He doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and sighs.
You swallow down the rush of heat that runs through your body, unsure of what to do when he’s basically using your leg as a pillow. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that you're pretty sure this is the first time you've touched for more than a split second since… last night.
You can feel his breath against your leg, his eyelashes fluttering faintly. He looks like he could fall asleep like this, head nuzzled into your leg. Like a cat, you think briefly, and you can’t help yourself when your fingers reach out, itching to push his hair out of his face — just testing if that's okay.
You do it anyway, against your better judgment, slowly combing through the soft locks. He doesn’t really react, but his breath hitches ever so slightly. Your mind drifts off to the soft sound of his moan against your neck last night and you nearly choke on your own spit.
Oh my god. No, no, no, not real. It was absolutely a fever dream and there is no room for doubt, no matter how vividly the memory is playing in your mind right now. You were doing so well repressing it.
Felix's eyes suddenly fly open and he sits up abruptly. “Uh…” he starts, staring at you with wide eyes before his gaze drops to your hand still floating mid-air, hovering over where his head was.
“Sorry—” He scrambles back, clearing his throat, looking a little flushed in the face. He glances at you for a second before turning away, busying himself with tidying the notes spread across the bed.
“Oh.” You try to keep your voice steady and let your hand fall. “For what?”
“For, um…” He shrugs, still not looking at you. “I dunno. I wasn't trying to, like, fall asleep on you or anything,” he mumbles.
He's nervous, you realize. The fact that he's so nervous makes you even more nervous and guilty. Are you making him uncomfortable? Is sitting this close to you hard for him now?
He looks back at you for a moment, and then his face scrunches up a bit. “I really— I can’t do this,” he mutters, voice wavering a little, looking at you with an almost pleading expression, and your heart sinks. You can’t tell if he means the studying or… something else.
Before you can fully panic at what the fuck he means — he probably knows, is he upset with you, does he maybe not want to be friends anymore—? He takes a deep breath and says your name quietly.
“Is everything… alright?”
What? What kind of question is that? You might have just stopped breathing. What does it mean to be alright anyway? That's pretty subjective, isn't it? This past week you've lost track of any sense of what normal feels like, and really, honestly, you never knew. You don't know anything. You’re trying to act like nothing happened, but it’s so hard. And clearly, you've been failing.
But that's all you want. For everything to be alright. “...What do you mean?”
“With you.” He finally drags his eyes up to look at you again. “With us. Everything… alright?”
Well, no. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Of course.”
The answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him. If anything, it makes him look more upset, his shoulders slouching forward and brows knitting together as he looks down at the space between you. “Are you sure?” he asks, in that same quiet tone, staring at you like he wants to say something else. You want him to say it, to keep asking, press you until you crack. You want him to force the truth out of you so badly it makes you feel sick.
But he doesn't. He doesn't push, not that you expected him to. Felix is never one to push you for anything you're not ready to give. It's something you love about him and you hate yourself for wanting him to now. It's not fair of you to expect so much of him, to want him to keep poking, try to pry you open, or read your mind.
He's still waiting for an answer. “Why do you ask…?” you whisper.
“Um,” he starts, touching his ear. “I guess… I mean— Recently, I feel like things have been a little… different? Uhh, weird? Maybe? I don't know. But—” he sighs. “I— You tell me. Am I making it up? I swear if you tell me I'm wrong, or an idiot, I'll shut up,” he laughs nervously.
“That's not it,” you say quickly, and swallow against the lump in your throat, guilt rising up like bile. Obviously, he’s right. Things are different. Things are weird. He knows it, you know it, and apparently both of you have been content to dance around the subject for days.
He stares at you like he’s waiting for more. You chew on your lip, struggling to find the right words to say. He’s being careful, tiptoeing around you like you’re going to run away at any moment. (You are.)
“I just… have a lot on my mind is all,” you murmur.
A beat. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. He’s watching your face closely. “What kind of things? Can you tell me?”
You can't even look at him for too long, terrified the floodgates might burst open if you do. You focus on the sheets bunched up in your fingers. “You know. Just…” Just that this is all my fault. Just that I stupidly caught feelings and caused this tension between us. I’m sorry. I really wish I didn't like you.
You're seconds away from sprinting.
He nods slowly when you don't elaborate. “Yeah… okay.” His voice is soft. He’s giving up. You don’t know if you like that or not. “Yeah. I get it.” He purses his lips. “Sorry, I just— I… Can I ask one more thing? I just— It’s not about the, uh…” he points to his neck. “...practicing..? Or.. something… is it?”
You freeze, mouth hanging open. Oh, god. He’s seriously bringing that up? So directly? Now? “I—”
He’s looking at you, waiting for your response with an almost desperate look in his eyes. You can't believe he's actually talking about this now when you both had a mutual agreement to pretend that never happened. For days he acted like it never happened. It was his idea.
A few seconds of silence pass before he lets out a sigh and looks down, shoulders slumping heavily. “Bingo, huh? Yeah, that’s… that’s what I figured.”
“You… figured..?”
Felix sighs again and runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.” He still can’t seem to look at you. “That I screwed everything up.”
You feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. “What?”
He turns back to look at you, rubbing his eyes, and lets out an unsteady breath. “I didn't mean to—” he says quickly. He looks frustrated with himself, face pinched in a frown as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Just,” he says quietly. “You can like... talk to me if you're upset about it.”
You stop breathing.
“I, like... I don't want you being uncomfortable around me just because… Can we just…” he sighs. “I know we said to forget about it but… not if you're upset. Please tell me if you're upset.”
Your head is swimming, heart racing at a pace that makes you lightheaded, his words spinning in your mind. He thinks you're upset. “I'm not…” you take a deep breath. “I’m not… upset.”
His eyes soften, but he still seems hesitant. “No? Really?” He exhales. “It was… a really dumb idea. I should've never suggested it. I'm sorry.” He chews on his lip. “And you've been so… like, I feel like you've been a little uncomfortable around me since. I-It's been eating me up a little, you know? I should've known better. I'm… really sorry.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times in stunned silence. You're such an idiot. Of course he’s been worried about you. Of course he’s been blaming himself. Felix is genuinely distraught because he thinks you hate him or something, and you really don't know how to process that when it's the furthest thing from the truth.
Felix looks pained as he sits next to you, waiting for you to say something. The anxiety is visible, written on every inch of him in the way he can’t look at you, in the way his hands are shaking. You just want it to stop.
He's blaming himself for this. Thinking that you're upset over—
“I-I’m not upset,” you finally manage to say. Your voice sounds weak, even to your own ears.
He gives you a dubious look, and you straighten up.
“I'm not upset,” you repeat more firmly. “In fact, I'd do it again,” you blurt out.
If you weren’t so frustrated—with him, with yourself, with everything—you might’ve been amused at the way his expression changes. If anything, he looks more confused, furrowing his brow and blinking at you wide-eyed like you just told him you're secretly a lizard.
“You— What?”
He’s looking at you like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have. You’re probably crazy for even entertaining the thought, but your mouth is still moving before you can even think to bite your tongue, the words tumbling out before your brain can catch up and ask you what the hell you think you're doing.
“I— I didn’t mind, um,” you stutter out, suddenly feeling flushed under his blank stare. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even while your heart is pounding so hard against your chest you’re sure it’s about to burst through. “I mean— I don’t— It wasn’t like, bad or anything…”
His eyes go wider at your words and you can see the gears spinning in his head as he tries to figure out if you’re joking or not. You’re not. You’ve thought about it a lot, actually. A stupid amount.
He just keeps looking at you like he can't believe what he’s hearing. “What, are you—” he manages to croak out. “Are you serious? Um— You’re really—” He swallows thickly.
“I mean…" you stutter, face growing warmer with each passing second. “Yeah,” you try to act nonchalant. “I-I just mean… that I don’t mind.” You shrug. “I actually… kind of thought it was… nice?”
There. The words are out. Too late. Too honest. You almost immediately want to take them back— but you can’t. Surely that's a normal enough thing to say?
Apparently not. Felix’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he looks at you, a flicker of… something in his eyes that you can’t quite read. “That's—” he blinks. “You can’t just... say that.”
“Why not?” you shoot back. “It was… useful.” Wasn't that the whole point?
After several beats of torturous silence he finally lets out a loud exhale. “Are you messing with me.”
You roll your eyes, fighting the heat in your cheeks. “Why would I be messing with you?”
“What? Because—” He furrows his brow, struggling to get the words out. “You… you haven’t been acting… Uh— You’ve been, like, kinda weird. All week. You're really not upset?”
You look away. Of course you've been more distant, acting like a complete idiot because you caught feelings, so of course you inadvertently pushed him away. Well, he's been a bit weird too. But that's because he thought you were uncomfortable with him, you realize.
You're such a fool.
“No. I'd do it again,” you say again, hoping it comes across blasé and not desperate.
Felix coughs. “Right. Okay, well— I don't… know if that's… a good idea.”
Obviously. But wait, is he actually… Considering it? Thinking about it? Oh god. You didn't realize how that sounded. You had meant it hypothetically, not as an offer but…
He's right. It can only end in disaster. But maybe… What better way is there to prove that you're not uncomfortable with him?
...There's definitely no other reason than that that leads you to look back at him and say something so deranged.
“...Please?”
Felix’s eyes widen comically and he’s clearly trying to form words, mouth opening and closing as he stares at you like you’ve grown a third head. “What— I—” His mouth clamps shut instantly, cheeks blooming a bright shade of pink and you have to fight down an onslaught of butterflies at the sight.
He clears his throat. “Uh— uh, you want to?” he asks slowly, blinking at you like he’s not sure if you're real or a figment of his imagination.
“Um,” you clear your throat, trying to steady your voice. This is so fucked. What are you doing? “Yeah, I mean, I still think I'm… I need to practice more…?”
“I-I don’t—” A startled laugh escapes him. “I don't think that you… do… Uh, you— you really want to, like— right now?”
Jesus, he’s actually serious. You feel lightheaded, pulse pounding in your ears. You have a vague notion that you should probably backtrack, pull away, maybe laugh and tell him that you’re kidding. Just the thought of it makes you shiver—
“Um. Sure..?” you say instead, and mentally facepalm.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You follow it for a split second before darting your eyes up to look at his face. He looks flustered, his cheeks a deep shade of pink. It makes your stomach flip.
“I… this… seems like… maybe not a good idea,” he says, twisting the rings on his fingers. “But, I— Uhh, if you want…?”
This is insane. There's still time, you think, to make a break for it, but you can't manage to speak. You know it's a bad idea. You can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's been beating himself up over this and is clearly still not convinced you don't hate him.
Felix slowly starts to move, shifting his weight until he's leaning against the headboard in front of you, the space between your knees only inches apart. He watches you closely, as if waiting for you to change your mind, and— Right. You kind of have to take the lead in this. A part of you desperately wishes the roles were reversed but you really can't think about that if you want to have any hope of making it out of this alive. You’re already on the verge of passing out as it is.
As you start to move closer to him a giggle slips from his lips and he clamps them shut instantly, cheeks flushed as you slowly scoot across the bed towards him. You pause, wondering if he’s maybe come to his senses, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head.
“Sorry, I-I’m— Uh, just—” he laughs again, high in his throat, looking a mix of nervous and incredulous.
You giggle a little hesitantly. “..What?”
“Oh my god. Sorry. It’s just—” he says, trying to hide his face. He peeks from behind his hands, grinning sheepishly. “You’re— This is so— I can’t believe you think you need more practice.”
“...Shut up.”
His soft laughter is cut short when you get even closer, your knees brushing his. For some reason, seeing him like this… flustered, nervous, almost shy… is suddenly making your head spin. You want him to feel at least a tiny fraction of the way you’ve been feeling these past few days.
When you’re finally settled in front of him, you take a moment to look at his face, watching as he wets his lips, tongue peeking out just enough to leave them shining. He clears his throat, the sound making you jolt out of your daze.
“Okay,” he starts, eyes darting around the room. “What— What did you… want to… practice?”
He sounds breathless, his face a pretty shade of pink. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. He looks so, so beautiful like this; flushed, hair messy, mouth parted, and you really just want to kiss him.
You blink hard, trying to tamp down that thought. “Um…”
His eyes flit back to you, and he swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat and… Oh. Small, almost imperceptible patches of pink are scattered across his skin, blending with the blush creeping up his shirt collar. Hardly noticeable, but there nonetheless, especially to the one who inflicted them.
You don't realize your fingers had begun tracing the skin until he lets out a shaky exhale, tilting his chin, baring his neck for you.
You pause, eyes jumping up to his face. He's watching you under half-lidded eyes, lips parted as your fingertips brush his skin.
“I—” he stutters, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “You… really did a number on me, you know?”
You have half a mind to apologize but it's drowned under the rush of make them darker, make them last longer clouding your thoughts. You kind of want to mark him up forever. You're leaning in, you realize, breath ghosting his skin. “Can I…?”
He nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, please,” he breathes. “You don’t… you don’t have to ask. Do whatever you want to me.”
Whatever you want. That's… Hm. Wow. You can't even spare a thought on how crazy an offer that is before you're bringing your legs up to sit in his lap, any sense of decorum lost to you. You lean down, bracing yourself on his shoulders.
His hands hover momentarily by your waist before settling there, holding you in place as you make yourself comfortable in his lap. His breath stutters when your lips brush against his neck ever so slightly and his head falls back against the headboard with a soft thump. You hum, a thrill running through you at how sensitive he is as you repeat the action.
You press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, pausing to gently suck and pull, and he makes a noise, a low whine that makes your stomach do backflips. You pause, lips hovering above his skin.
He's squirming a little underneath you, trying to get closer, to get you to press harder, but he keeps his place against the headboard, body taut with what you can tell is the effort to stay still. He swallows, eyes squeezing shut as he tilts his chin up even more, baring his neck again. “Please,” he whispers.
You're gonna die here, you think faintly. But for this it'll be worth it; you press a kiss beneath his jaw and he audibly sighs, head tilting back further as he grips your waist tighter.
You slowly make your way to the other side of his neck, lips leaving a trail of kisses in your path, and his breathing starts to get faster and more erratic. He gasps when you bite the sensitive skin, feeling him arch up against you a little, and you gently kiss the red mark you’ve left behind. “Mmhh,” he says, eyes slipping shut, “God, you’re seriously already good at this…”
“Really...?” you ask, satisfaction and pride bubbling in your chest. You never could’ve imagined that having him practically under your control like this would feel so good, but the effect your actions have on him is literally dizzying. “I guess… I had a good teacher?”
He huffs out a laugh, rolling his head to the side as you start to work on a new spot. “You—” he lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a moan as you suck another mark just below his Adam’s apple. He’s gripping your waist firmly, fingers digging in hard enough that you wonder if you’ll have bruises in the shape of them later. “Mm— God, don’t— I’m— I’m sensitive there…”
You know. Still, you pull back, admiring the red mark left in your wake. Felix is a mess, breathless and flushed and staring up at you with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
“Shit,” he says, voice uneven, “You’re so— so…” He trails off and the sight of him plus his voice… it's such an onslaught to your senses. You lean back into his neck if only to hide from his gaze and start pressing soft kisses to the skin again.
“Please,” he begs, voice quiet and rough, “God, please, please—”
You hum, the words going straight to your head— and other places which you’re trying not to think about. You have absolutely no idea what you're doing anymore but it just feels so good to hear how he reacts to every small touch, his soft whining, the way he keeps shifting as he tries to stay still, everything—
As you gently suck another mark into his neck, this time on the sweet spot just by his ear, he gasps and his legs twitch underneath you, a whine slipping from his throat. “Ah, ahhh, wait—”
There's no time to process anything before he lets out a small, frustrated sound, one hand going to your chin to gently guide you away from his neck. He's breathing heavily, a little dazed, with a pretty pink flush coating his cheeks and high on his ears. He's so stunning you completely forget you can't just stop and stare like this.
He whispers your name. “We, uh…” he breathes out, and just having him say your name in such a wrecked voice is enough to make you feel even more insane. “We should s-stop…”
You don't know what's gotten into you. You want to keep going.
His hand drops away from your chin, gripping your hip again instead. He tilts his head back further into the headboard, eyes shutting for a moment as he tries to steady his breathing.
“I—” he begins through a sharp inhale, only to pause, swallowing visibly before he repeats himself. “W-We should really… stop.”
You nod mutely, trying to reign in your wild heartbeat as you reluctantly lean back a little.
He slowly releases the tight grip on your waist, looking at you, mouth still slightly parted as his breaths start to even out. Neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can’t look away from each other. The air is so thick.
As you shift your weight in his lap, you become painfully aware of the fact that your body is pressed right up against his, your legs straddling his hips, your faces so close you can feel his ragged breaths against your lips. It’s impossible to think straight with him looking up at you like that, eyes blown wide and dark, face flushed, the prettiest pink staining across his cheeks and the tip of his ears, lips parted as he tries to regain his breath…
God, you really, really want to kiss him.
He swallows visibly as your faces are still mere inches apart and it takes a tremendous amount of self-restraint to not just lean in and press your lips onto his. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling right now, but the look he’s giving you and the way he’s still just—looking at you—makes your head spin.
He wets his lips and you might just drop dead. “This...” he starts, voice still a bit shaky, “Sorry. This was supposed to be you practicing… I… always get too…”
As he trails off, he lets out a small, unsteady laugh, looking up at you with a sort of sheepish smile—like he’s embarrassed. “…carried away. God, sorry. Um,” he swallows again, looking everywhere but you. “Are you alright—?”
His cheeks are still a pretty shade of pink, lips red and shiny from where he’s been biting them. The sight is not doing any favors for your sanity.
You feel so crazy. You can't take it anymore.
“I lied.”
Clearly, that wasn't what he was expecting. He blinks at you, eyebrows drawing together. “...What?”
“I—” Oh god. Are you really doing this? “I… lied. This morning. I-I was, um,” you take a deep breath, “...awake last night.”
“You… were awake… last night?” he repeats slowly.
You nod. You might be on the brink of death. “Um, t-that's why I was maybe acting… extra weird? …Sorry.”
He’s staring, expression blank, before it seems to click. “Oh, god,” he groans, bringing a hand up to hide his face. “Oh— oh my god. I'm so, so sorry. You— I—”
He puts his hands back on your waist and tries to push you off of him, but you place your hands over his to halt his movements.
He goes still, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt more dizzy in your life. You’re sitting on top of him, his hands are on your waist, he’s flushed red, looking so pretty, and you’re so gone that you can hardly feel embarrassed.
“No, wait, it's okay,” you say. “I'm… not uncomfortable with you. Or… this. That's what I'm trying to say.”
He lets out a harsh breath before shaking his head. “No no no, no way,” He pulls his hands free from under yours, as if burned, and runs them through his hair. “I'm— I'm, like, a fucking creep, I—”
“Oh my god, Felix, no,” you say in a rush, feeling like he’s slipping away with each passing second. “You’re not— Listen. I just…”
How do you even say this? That it affected you more than it probably should have, that it’s been plaguing your mind all morning, that you’re more confused than ever.
“I’m not— uncomfortable,” you manage to get out, “I promise.”
He looks at you, guarded, searching your expression. “…You’re not,” he repeats, with a tinge of disbelief.
“No.” There’s an odd, strangled feeling in your chest as he studies your face, the air still so thick between the two of you. You’re suddenly very aware of the way you’re still sitting, straddling his hips and so close you can literally count the freckles around his eyes.
“...Promise?” He peeks up at you, hands slowly coming down from his hair.
You nod. “Promise. Really.”
He swallows thickly and moves his hands down to hold your hips again, almost like an unconscious action, like that's the most natural place for them to be.
“Then… then how are you feeling?” He studies your face carefully, eyes jumping from each of your eyes, down, and back up.
You can’t think coherently with his body pressed against yours, your mind is so muddled, and his voice—
“‘Cause, I— um, I feel…” A small, nervous, incredulous breath leaves his lips. “Are you… are you feeling…”
“I…” You're cool. You're vibing. Your brain is melting out of your ears. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I feel dizzy.”
“Dizzy,” he repeats, grip on your hips tightening a little. “Dizzy… good? Or… sick?”
He shifts, bringing you nearly flush against him, and your eyes flutter shut. That alone is enough to send you reeling into alternate dimensions.
“I… not sick,” you choke out.
“Yeah?” he says, low and quiet, eyes flicking all over your face. He blinks, swallowing. “That’s… that’s good.”
You look down at him, taking in his face and the state of his neck. You did that… you did that… Suddenly all you can think of is how it felt under your lips just moments ago, of how he had felt, writhing, whining, begging—
Before you realize it, you're leaning forward again, as if possessed. Felix swallows and his hands grip onto you tighter, holding you steady on top of him. He’s staring up at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips, and your head is filled with static.
With a shaky breath, you tilt your head and bring your lips down to his neck.
You can feel the way he shudders and his head falls back against the headboard again. “Are you sure…” he breathes, voice hitching as you leave another soft kiss by his collarbone. “Are you— ah—”
His hands slide up to your waist and back down to your hips, fingers digging in as you suck a bruising mark into his shoulder.
He groans, and your vision is literally swimming. You suck a little harder and his hands twitch where they’re holding you firmly, words coming out in a soft moan. “God, you’re— you’re really good a-at this, that's not fair—”
You hum against his skin and run your tongue over the reddening area. “You’re so sensitive,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, and he lets out an embarrassed noise.
“Shut up,” he whines between gasps, but the words are undermined by the way he’s arching against you, tilting his head to the side to give you better access. “I’ve never— I don’t—”
You shift the slightest bit in his lap and his words are cut off in a soft gasp, eyes shutting for a split second before he’s looking back up at you. The look on his face makes you feel like you’re floating. “Mmm, I'm not… like this… usually… I—”
You want to say something, but the strangled sound from his lips when you reposition yourself on him again takes all coherent thoughts straight out of your mind. Felix’s fingers dig into your waist and you wonder if he’s trying to keep you still or pull you closer.
You want him closer. You need him closer, and it’s that thought that prompts you to actually press your hips against his and he throws his head back against the headboard again, eyes shut and mouth dropped open as he lets out a low moan. He grabs onto you tighter, pulling you even closer until you’re pressed up against him from chest to hip to— oh.
His breath stutters as his eyes go wide. He swallows visibly before shifting under you again, and yeah, he’s definitely not unaffected.
“Oh,” he breathes quietly. He sounds so ruined and there’s no way you’d be able to stop now even if you wanted to. You press down against him again and he bucks up and lets out a long whine.
“Oh, god—” he gasps out, hands scrambling down to your hips. “W-Wait, I—”
It's a struggle to pull yourself back enough to focus properly. “S-Sorry.”
He looks at you, wild eyed, hair falling on his face, all flushed skin and parted lips, the marks you left on his neck and collarbone glaring at you.
“No,” he says, breathing hard, chest rising and falling against yours. “Don’t… don’t apologize, it's just… I…”
A small whine escapes you as you feel his grip on your hips tighten again, as if testing it. He exhales slowly, and the silence stretches so long you start to wonder if the moment’s over, if you should get off of him, when he speaks in a low, quiet voice.
“Are you… are you really okay with this?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours. His voice is unsteady, but his hands still have a firm grip on you. “I don't want to… ruin anything…”
“Ruin anything...?” What— your friendship? You can’t quite focus when he’s literally holding you on top of him, body hot to the touch, skin soft and so, so tempting. He's an idiot. You like him. You want him.
Felix makes a strangled sound as he pushes and pulls on your hips again, moving your weight over him, his head falling back against the headboard again. You feel light-headed.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “We can stop if… if you…”
You're an idiot. “N-No,” you breathe out quickly, absolutely reeling from having him move your body like that. “No, don't, I…” You’re not even sure you could stop.
Felix lets out a small whine, hands digging further into your hips, his eyes dark and hazy as he looks up at you through his eyelashes.
“Okay,” he breathes, the word sounding like it's been punched out of him. “Okay.”
He leans back and tugs on your hips, rolling his own up as he pulls you down against him. You gasp at the contact, the sudden spark of pleasure coursing through you, but you’re barely given a moment to even think before he’s doing it again, pulling you back down, and fuck.
“Felix,” you choke, and the only answer you get is a whine from him as he moves your body against his again. You’re so caught up that you don’t even realize you’re starting to move to meet him, and he lets out a strangled sound at the action.
“Is this… I-Is this good?” he manages to get out, face screwing up slightly as you press down against him again.
You hum, leaning further into him to hide your burning face and you start to mouth at his neck again because… well, why not? It's familiar at this point and you're well past the point of trying to rationalize your actions. If you don't get your mouth on his skin you may just pass away.
You bite down and he lets out a long, low moan, his head drops back against the headboard again, eyes fluttering shut. “Oh,” he gasps, “Yeah, that— god, shit—”
When your body presses down a little against him again, he nearly chokes. You pull back, eyes instantly tracking the movement of his tongue wetting his lips and you go a little cross-eyed.
“F-Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely, “I don’t think… uhh..” his hands on your waist slide down to your hips, holding them tightly as he gently rocks against you. “I don’t—” he whimpers again, fingers digging into your hips, “I don’t think I can… take much more…”
There are words lodged somewhere in your throat, and you don’t know how to express how bad you want him even if you could.
He looks up at you, eyes dark and heavy, and you think maybe he gets the message anyway.
Before you can say a word, he's pushing you backwards onto the bed. You gasp as you land on your back and he crawls on top of you, leaning down and trapping you with his arms on either side of your head. Looming over you with dilated eyes.
For a second he just stares, not touching you anywhere but still caging you in with his body, and then your brain finally catches up to the position you’re in and—
“Oh my god,” you squeak. “Felix—”
He blinks at you, flushed and panting, his breath brushing against your face. In the sudden change of position, he accidentally presses his knee in between your legs and you let out a gasp and squeeze your thighs together instinctively.
“Oh,” he breathes, looking at you with wide eyes, and you don't know if it's your imagination or if his eyes really do dart down for the briefest second. “Sorry. Was that… bad? Are you uncomfortable?” His blush is dark, spread down his neck.
You swallow, mind blanking on anything to say. He moves his thigh further between your legs, just a bit, and that’s definitely not helping.
His gaze drifts down, down again, and he blinks slowly, like he’s not sure he’s seeing things correctly.
“Um… you’re shaking,” he whispers, eyes flickering back up to your face. “Are you… Are you okay?”
“I—” you choke out. “Yeah. I’m fine. I swear, I’m just—”
He shifts over you again, and you feel his leg press in ever so slightly between yours, and this time you let out probably the most embarrassing sound possible.
If he’s trying to kill you, it’s working.
Felix’s eyes go wide. Slowly, in an almost tortuous way, he pushes down against you again.
“Ah—” you gasp again, before pressing your lips tightly together to prevent yourself from humiliating yourself any further. His eyes are dark, watching your expression closely, and you bring your hands up to cover your face for good measure.
He smiles a little. He looks absolutely delighted.
You have the faint urge to hit him but then he's grabbing your wrists and gently moving them off of your face before his head dips down to your neck, breathing hot against your skin, lips hovering just above your jawline before he starts leaving small kisses all over your skin, slowly moving to your pulse point and sucking a light bruise below it.
What the fuck. What the fuckk. You're suddenly apologetic of how you teased Felix because you're pretty sure you're just as sensitive as he is. It's nothing like your arm.
Your gasp turns into a choked whine as he grinds down on you, his lips trailing up until he’s nuzzling your earlobe and he lets out a moan near your ear, the sound going straight to your gut. He drags his mouth back down, teeth scraping your sensitive skin on their way down your neck.
“Why am I the only one getting marked up, hm?” he asks, mouth trailing your collarbone before sucking again. It makes you whine, your wrists straining against his grip on you as his body keeps you locked in place. You try to raise your hips up instinctively (which is really embarrassing), but his weight on you makes it impossible to move.
He groans at your squirming and pulls away, mouth hovering over your skin. “T-Too much?”
You shake your head, holy shit you're actually going to die if he stops now.
He lets out a breath and moves down again, leaving a trail of kisses as he reaches the space between your neck and shoulder. “You have no idea,” he says, voice low and strained. “How much I’ve… I’ve wanted…”
“What? Wanted what?” you ask, breath hitching as he sucks another mark near your collarbone, just above the neckline of your shirt.
He stays there for a moment longer before pulling back and blowing on the spot, making a chill run down your spine. “Wanted— Mmm, do you even know— how good you look… wearing my…” His eyes go a little hazy as he wets his lips with his tongue.
Your eyes widen as you realize that, yeah, you're still dressed in his sleep clothes. “Oh.”
He pulls back for a second, eyes roaming over you. “It's… not fair.”
Your breath stutters as he reaches out and hooks a thumb under the collar of your — his — shirt, pulling it down and exposing more of your shoulder. His eyes roam over the bared skin before he's leaning back down, mouthing at the space under your collarbone and sucking an angry red mark onto the skin.
You whine, arching up against him, and the movement grinds your hips up against him. The sensation makes you both gasp, and he drops his head down, his forehead resting on your shoulder.
“F-Fuck,” he whines. You feel him move up to your face, his nose bumping against yours. He’s searching for something in your expression as he slowly lets go of your wrists, his fingers lightly running up your arms, mapping the contours of your face. His breath fans lightly over your lips, the air between your faces getting shorter as he leans closer and oh god, this is it, this is it, this is it—
"Do you, uh…” he starts, “Maybe… need practice kissing too..?"
“What?” You blink, mind slow to comprehend what he’s asking when his lips are so close to yours and he shouldn't be talking right now, what the fuck? And then it registers. "I-I've kissed people before, Felix," you sputter in a burst of concern for your dignity.
“Yeah, but…” he whimpers. “I… Can I…?”
You kind of want to laugh. “...For science?”
“Yeah. Yeah, for science, please can I—”
You’re not waiting for him to finish his sentence before you're grabbing his shoulders and pulling his head down to yours.
He lets out a shuddery sigh and then he’s finally, finally kissing you. It’s soft and almost chaste, completely different from the way he was biting and kissing your neck just seconds ago, but fireworks explode behind your eyes all the same.
His lips are soft, and he tastes so sweet, like maple syrup. His tongue licks your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, a small gasp slipping from you. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth, and then he’s really kissing you, tongue curling around yours. You moan, eyes fluttering closed, body lighting up, your entire world reduced to the points where your bodies touch.
This can't be real. Because if it feels like this when it's just practice you can't imagine how it must feel when it's real. Even if you've kissed people before, it was hardly like this. If Felix notices your fumbling, he doesn't say anything, just sighs against your mouth, tilting your head up and kissing you deeper than you thought was possible.
Your hands slide up from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, and he responds by kissing you harder, deeper. You’re so busy focusing on the way he’s trying to deepen the kiss that you barely register his thigh slipping higher between yours, starting to move again.
“O-Oh—” you let out against his mouth, hips lifting up against him instinctively and he whines — a high-pitched, needy sound against your lips.
He pulls away, breath coming in short gasps and his head drops down on your shoulder. For a moment you can only hear the sound of ragged breathing as his heart beats against you, his hands still roaming your sides, tracing every contour of your body.
“Shit,” he breathes into your shoulder. “You’re so… how…” and whatever thought he was having is cut off by the sound he lets out when you squirm a little and his body presses further against you.
“Careful,” he chokes out, “Careful, careful, please, oh my god—”
Despite his words, he keeps moving against you, the friction both too good and not enough. You're dizzy with how good it feels and you gasp when his mouth finds your neck again.
Your hands are back in his hair, clinging to him, needing to grab onto something. “Felix,” you all but whine.
He groans against your neck, moving his head up to your cheek, before his lips find yours again. His grip tightens as he presses you further into the mattress, a whine escaping you as he nips at your bottom lip.
“Please,” he whispers against your mouth, a breath more than a word. “Please, I…” He kisses you again, licking into your mouth and groaning against your lips, “Please…”
You're not sure what he's asking for, but you'd give him everything if you could. You pull him closer with a tug on his hair, your bodies flush against each other, and even through the layers of clothes you can feel everything.
“Ah—” he whines, and his hips stutter against yours. “P-Please,” he repeats breathlessly as he presses his face back into your neck and his hands dig into your sides. “Please, you keep— making these sounds and looking like—” he gasps as his hips brush against you and he almost loses his train of thought. “And I don’t— I don’t think I can— last much longer…”
TV static. You're probably flatlining. “O-Oh my god,” you mumble, reeling at the thought of getting to see your best friend fall apart on top of you, that he’s actually on the verge of unraveling just from being with you like this; and then his mouth is back on yours, tongue sliding against yours.
“Felix,” you gasp against his mouth, “Felix—” your words break on a whine as his hips grind against you. He lets out a broken moan, like just the sound of his name on your lips is enough to do him in.
He’s shaking now, not so much kissing you as panting against your mouth. Not that you're faring any better. You feel so overwhelmed you think you’re going to cry, or break, or both; the feeling of his thigh against you and his chest pressed so closely to yours, it’s all too much. As he moans softly, the sound slowly rising in pitch, you feel something in your gut pull tighter and— Oh. Oh.
Everything goes white. For a moment, all you know is Felix: his body on yours, his skin under your hands, his scent, his sounds, his taste still on your tongue— all of him, and it’s all-encompassing. It's all so sudden and violent that all you can do is gasp and cling to him.
Once the feeling subsides you try to gather yourself, you open your eyes just enough to see Felix staring down at you, his pupils blown so wide they almost completely cover his irises.
“Fuck…” he breathes, sounding almost awed. “Did you— Did you just—”
You're too enervated as you try to look at him, you swear you’re seeing double. He’s still breathing hard, his hands gripping you tightly against him. His mouth opens to say something else, but it’s quickly interrupted by a groan as his hips roll against you, like he can't help it, and he buries his face into your neck instead.
“Oh my god—” he moans into your skin. Suddenly his breath hitches and his hips press into your thigh more insistently. He lets out a needy whine, his words barely distinguishable. “F-Fuuuck, oh fuck—”
You feel the way his body jerks and trembles against you, breath coming in short pants that turn into pretty, high-pitched sounds — probably the prettiest sounds you've ever heard in your whole damn life — his breath hot on your neck, clinging to you, and oh, he’s shaking.
The moment seems to stretch on forever. Time literally slows with him shuddering on top of you until he finally collapses, burying his face in your shoulder.
Slowly, reality starts to sink in, your body becoming more aware of his body almost crushing you and his hands tracing idle patterns on your skin. Your mind gradually clears enough that your brain catches up to the situation you're in, and suddenly the room is so hot, every point of contact with Felix absolutely blistering.
That was so intense. And he wasn't even actually touching you. Holy shit. Fuck.
For a moment you’re both just left trying to catch your breath, until he slowly lifts his head, gazing down at you. He's looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky and it makes you feel so hot.
He blinks down at you for a second and seems to freeze. After a second he breathes, “Um… you look hot,” before his cheeks instantly turn an even deeper pink. “I mean, like.. uh… you look like you’re heated up or something... Like, your face is flushed. It’s— I mean—” he laughs awkwardly, stumbling over all his words.
Well. Sure. It's probably like two billion degrees in here, you think, and it’s really not helping that he’s still lying on top of you, his weight pinning you down.
“Um…” You're still so fuzzy and out of it. “You’re crushing me,” you state dumbly.
His reaction is immediate, moving to shift his weight off you. “Oh, s-sorry, I… sorry—”
No, wait, now you're cold. You reach out to stop him before he gets too far.
A tiny smile quirks on the corner of his lips as he notices you trying to hold onto him. With a breathless laugh he settles back over you, propping himself up on his forearms. “Better?”
How is he real. “Mhm.”
He’s so close, his face is so close to yours, and you realize you have made a grave error in keeping him on top of you. He’s always had an effect on you, but he’s never looked so mesmerizing as he does now with his messy hair and red cheeks, looking like he’s itching to reach out and touch you. It feels a bit like staring directly at the sun. Captivating, and dangerous.
“You, um…” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay..?”
You blink. Okay doesn't quite cover it. You might have literally just witnessed the fifth dimension. You settle on a nod.
Felix nods too, a quick jerky movement, still watching you closely, with something akin to awe. You’re not sure what to make of it, or what to say, you just try to hold onto the moment for as long as possible.
He swallows, his eyes searching your face. Then his gaze drops down, and you realize that for the first time he left marks on you. And if you look anything like he does right now — Oh no.
Your eyes widen, hand flying up on its own accord, touching your neck, the skin tender and tingly.
“O-Oh,” he says, sucking in a small breath through his teeth as your fingers trace your neck. “I… Sorry. I didn't— uh…” His eyes dart between your neck and your face. “Did— Does it hurt?”
“Umm…” You’re not sure how to explain that yeah, it kinda hurts, but you also think it's extremely hot and you kind of really want him to do it again.
A beat of silence stretches out while he waits for your answer, and you can see the anxiety building on his face. His eyes dart to your neck, to your face, and the longer you stay quiet the more worried he looks.
“I didn’t mean to,” he finally manages to say. “I’m sorry, I should’ve… asked, or…”
He looks so nervous, like he’s absolutely terrified that you’re going to be angry at him for leaving marks on you that you almost want to laugh. It’s endearing. He’s so cute and hot and perfect.
You do laugh, in spite of yourself, a small giggle bubbling from your throat. You immediately catch yourself and school your expression but it's too late. He looks at you a bit wildly.
“What—? What’s funny?” he pouts, his voice coming out even higher-pitched than usual.
You bite your lip. “Nothing.”
His face gets so pink it’s practically glowing. “What,” he whines, lower lip pushed out in a proper pout now.
Another laugh bubbles out of you — you can’t help it when he’s being so cute. “Sorry,” you purse your lips. “I'm fine. I don't mind.”
His eyes go wide as he realizes that you’re not mad at him, and he lets out a long, shaky breath, shoulders dropping.
“I swear to god,” he huffs, and he sounds so genuinely huffy and upset over the fact that you’re laughing at him that you can’t even stop yourself from giggling again.
“Do you think this is funny?” he grumbles, shifting his weight a bit over you. “You’re so rude. That was, like… payback, you know. Now we're even. Actually…”
He suddenly dips his head down, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. “Don’t,” you laugh, squirming under him. “It tickles!”
“Good,” he grins against your skin. “That's what you get for laughing at me.”
He moves down, licking a hot stripe across your collarbone. “Oh my god, stop—”
“No,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss right where your pulse is fluttering under your skin. “You’re rude and I’m not done yet, so stay still.”
“Felix—”
His mouth is warm and he’s pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses on every part of your skin he can reach. He sucks and tugs, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin and you let out a gasp. You try to wriggle out from under him but he’s holding you down, his body flush against yours and his arms caging you in. “Fu-uck, Felix..!”
"Stay. Still,” he huffs, nipping gently at the skin. You shiver and he lets out a soft breath, a shudder of a laugh against your skin. He moves again, his lips working their way down your neck and you give in and close your eyes.
He’s being gentle now, you can barely feel his lips as they brush your skin. But then he suddenly sucks softly at the dip between your collarbone and you can’t help the little sound that escapes you.
You feel him grin against your skin. “There. Now we're even.” he says smugly, pulling away.
You blink your eyes open blearily. Payback, huh? Okay. You guess you probably deserved that.
Still. “You’re such a dick,” you mutter.
His eyes are wide and full of faux innocence as he looks down at you, looking awfully pleased with himself. He grins proudly, and you can see little marks on his neck, too, red and angry-looking and…
Felix's expression changes as he looks down at you, the smugness slowly fading to be replaced with something softer. He’s quiet as he gazes down at you, taking in every detail of your face, his eyes roaming every inch. It feels like he’s trying to sear the image into his memory.
His hand comes up to brush some of your hair out of your face, fingertips gently tracing your features. His gaze is intense, his fingers are gentle, and suddenly it’s hard to think straight.
He swallows and you can see him struggling with himself, like he’s struggling to say something.
“Um…”
He takes a careful breath as his eyes wander over your face, taking all of you in. His gaze lands on your mouth and stays there, watching intently, his tongue slowly swiping across his bottom lip.
“We… I mean— you didn't, like, really actually need practice kissing right, or was that like—? Like actually science..?”
“What?”
His gaze darts back up to your eyes, cheeks tinged with pink. “What?” he parrots, voice slightly higher pitched than usual.
What the hell is he asking? Of course you didn’t need practice. Right? You’re pretty sure you know how to kiss already. At least, you think so. God, what if you’re not even a decent kisser and he was too nice to tell you.
“Felix,” you say slowly, figuring it's best to be direct. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His cheeks are already burning, you can see the redness spreading from his face to his neck and down his chest. “I don’t know,” he stammers, looking away. “I was just… wondering. If it was just for fun or if it… like…”
He’s still not looking at you, and you’re so confused. “What…?” you repeat.
“Um, well,” he mumbles, somehow blushing even further. “I was… uh, wondering…” He finally glances at you. “Like… you know… if it meant something—” He freezes mid sentence and closes his eyes, like he’s bracing for impact.
…Of course it meant something. It was everything. But Felix— he’d never feel that way about you. He couldn’t. He already told you he doesn't.
Just for fun? You kind of want to laugh and cry and take his stupid face in your hands and shake some sense into him. What is he even trying to say?
You're too busy having a mental breakdown and Felix finally meets your gaze again, biting his lip. “Forget I said that,” he sighs. “I’m an idiot, just ignore me, please.”
After a silent moment of staring at each other, he awkwardly clears his throat, sitting up on his elbows and pulling back slightly.
“It doesn’t matter,” he blurts, his cheeks flushed and eyes avoiding yours. “Nevermind! We, uhhh, should I move? I should move.” You can feel the way he’s shivering slightly, his voice trembling from the exertion.
He pulls back, shifting to get up, but you grab his arm, holding him in place. “Felix,” you rasp out, not even sure what you want to say but knowing you have to say something.
He freezes, staring at the way you’re gripping his arm, eyes still refusing to meet yours. His shoulders are tensed, tight like a coiled spring.
For a minute the only sounds in the room are your uneven breaths, the words hanging in the air between you. Then his voice breaks the silence, barely a mumble. “Just forget I said anything,” and then he's pulling his arm out of your grasp and moving to get off the bed.
No, no, no no no. Without letting yourself think too much you grab his wrist, pulling him back down to you. He lands on top of you with a startled gasp. “What—”
“Felix—” You don’t know what else to say. Your head is still fuzzy and your body is still buzzing and the only thing you can think about is him but words are not forming.
He swallows. “Y-Yeah?” he says, breathless.
Your hands are shaking and you shove them into his hair, pulling his head down until your foreheads collide only a little painfully.
“Mmph— hey—” he starts, but the word is swallowed up by a groan when you tighten your fingers in his hair. Your head is still spinning but finally, finally, finally your mind comes up with words that aren't just his name.
“You're an idiot.” Good start. “It wasn't just for fun. Are you seriously— Science? I thought that was just— Like, what the hell does that even mean—” you sputter.
His eyes are so wide, the brown of them almost completely swallowed by his pupils. “It wasn't…?”
“You moron,” you groan. “I actually hate you so much.”
He laughs, breathless and shaky. “You hate me?” he asks, a slight whine to his voice.
“Yes,” you mutter. “Please tell me what the fuck kind of science you think I was trying to do.”
His chest is heaving, heart hammering against your own. “I-I don’t know,” he stutters, looking so adorably dazed you want to laugh. “Don’t— don’t look at me like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says, cheeks burning. “Your face is really close to mine right now, and— I’m trying—”
“Trying…?” you whisper, eyes flicking to his mouth. Why are his lips so pretty. You just want to pull him down and kiss him and kiss him and—
He licks his lips. “Trying…” Then he groans, “Ugh, shut up. I'm embarrassed.”
You breathe out a laugh and he pouts at you. “Stop,” he whines. “I'm, uh…” he says, blinking. “We… need to shower. Or something.”
Your face heats up. “What?”
“Shower,” he repeats in a strangled voice. “Like— oh, oh my god, like separately. Not— not together, obviously.” His cheeks are already turning a deeper shade of red, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing.
“I know that,” you whisper.
“Good. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Because it would be really weird if we—” He cuts himself off, biting his lip. “Anyway,” he says loudly. “I’m getting up now.”
He slowly pushes himself up into a seated position. He’s blushing so bad, his face so red you can practically feel the heat emanating from his skin, and still staring at you, blinking like he can’t quite believe what just happened. After a long moment he seems to shake himself out of the daze and blinks again. “So, um. I’m just— You can go first if you want.”
“Yeah.” You’re still a little dizzy but you manage to sit up. “Sure.”
“Cool,” he says eloquently before scrambling off the bed and turning to rummage through a few drawers.
After a moment he seems to find what he’s looking for and turns back, holding out a stack of clothes to you.
“Here. This will, um. Probably fit.”
You mutter a thanks, sliding off the bed and taking the clothes he’s holding out for you. “Um… I’ll be quick,” you say lamely, and he nods, almost a robotic jerk of his head.
You stumble to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and taking a moment to collect yourself.
It takes everything in you not to scream when you glance in the mirror — You look crazy. Even in the dim bathroom lighting it’s obvious. You let out a quiet exhale, pressing your fingers against the marks and wincing at the twinge of pain.
Well… you suppose that's fair payback. Still, you're not sure if that's really all it was. You kind of feel like an idiot because what if the moment has passed now and it's too late to bring it up and, like, actually talk about it and Felix tries going back to being normal friends again.
He wouldn't do that. Right?
You're not any more sure of what to do when you step out of the bathroom ten minutes later, but at least you feel refreshed.
Felix is sitting on the edge of the bed when you reenter his room, staring at his phone with a funny expression. His head jerks up at the sound of the door opening and he shoves his phone away, sitting up straight.
He all but bolts off the bed when you step into the room, standing up so fast you would've missed it in a blink. He’s blushing furiously, face so red it’s almost concerning.
“You’re… done,” he says after a moment. “Right.”
He’s fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, avoiding your gaze. You blink at him, but he’s pointedly not looking at you. “Uh, yeah.”
“Cool,” he responds, his voice high and stilted. You give him a skeptical look and he finally glances at your face, swallowing when he sees you looking at him.
His expression makes your heart sink slightly; a part of you has already begun to feel resigned, wondering if he’s going to tell you it was actually just a mistake and you should forget about it. The thought makes your insides twist uncomfortably.
“I, uh. I guess I’ll…” he starts, his eyes darting around the room. “Uhh, you should check your phone? Or don't. Actually, maybe don't.”
“...What?”
“Just… nothing,” he says unconvincingly. “Just check your phone. I mean— It’s not important, it’s fine.”
“Okay…?” you say, starting to reach for your phone.
Felix looks vaguely panicked. “Wait, not now, uhh—”
His strange behavior would be funny if you weren’t just so confused. “What are you being so weird for?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “I’m not— I’m not being weird,” he protests, even as his ears keep turning redder. “I’m fine, just— check your phone when I'm not here!”
“Felix.” You give him a dubious look, even as he’s practically vibrating with how badly he's pretending to be casual. “What did you do.”
His eyes go wide. “What? Nothing! I didn’t do anything.” He stands there for a moment, swaying slightly, looking so flustered that you can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of the situation. He catches your expression and splutters indignantly. “Don’t laugh!”
With a huff he turns on his heel and practically flees into the bathroom, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, completely dumbfounded. What the hell.
After a moment of just standing there and staring at the floor hopelessly, you finally give up and collapse into the bed.
He’s being so weird. You just don’t know what to make of all of this. Was it just a mistake or… Did he mean it? Do friends seriously… do that kind of stuff? And stay friends?
You’re tempted to not check your phone, just to spite him, but after a few minutes of stewing in your thoughts you can’t wait it out. You get up and grab your phone from the desk, your heart picking up when you see an alarming number of notifications.
Most of them are messages Felix must have sent after you left to shower. You click into the chat hesitantly.
You have to admit it’s a little cute.
It makes you want to walk over to the bathroom and let him know he’s being an idiot, but you manage to resist the urge and keep reading.
You’ve been biting down your lip to keep from laughing as you read through the messages, and you have to cover your mouth to muffle a laugh as you get to the end. He’s such an idiot. And he’s cute as hell.
Seriously, are you dreaming? Did he mean it? It kind of sounds like he means it. He likes you? He’s panicking for nothing, really, you feel the same way, but it’s endearing how hard he’s trying to be chill while still obviously desperate for an answer.
Before you get the chance to pinch yourself you hear the shower shutting off and your heart rate skyrockets.
You immediately drop the phone, covering your face with your hands. He's about to walk out of the bathroom any second now and you’re going to have to actually talk to him, and you don’t know how.
Sure, you want to talk to him, but the thought kind of also makes you want to throw up. You're only, like, eighty percent sure he wasn't joking. That's not enough.
There’s a moment of silence as you wait, wondering if it would be better to just turn your phone off and pretend it was dead so you couldn't read the messages. But before you can decide, the door creaks open and Felix reappears, hair damp.
He opens his mouth, closes it, shuffles his feet, opens his mouth again. “I, uh—”
You can’t help it — even though you’re nervous as hell too, the way he’s standing there looking like he’s in some sort of crisis is too adorable. You should probably put him out of his misery, but you’re also kind of enjoying seeing him like this. Just a little.
“You good?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“...Huh?”
“You’re looking a little stressed.”
“I’m totally fine,” he protests hotly, but his voice cracks just a little. He looks away, ears turning pink, and he clears his throat before making his way over to the bed.
He plops down on the edge of the bed next to you and stares at the floor, tense.
It’s strange to see him looking so nervous, knowing he is the confident one, the one who initiated this, started this whole thing — and now he’s staring at the floor like he’s bracing for a blow.
You feel a little bad, but the look on his face is too cute, and you’re too overwhelmed by the realization that he must really do like you. What the fuck? At least, he's acting incredibly suspicious.
For a long moment the two of you just sit there. You feel like you might wake up from a dream at any second, while Felix seems to be struggling to say something, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his hands fisted in the comforter.
And you have to admit that this situation is kind of hilarious, because never in a million years would you have guessed that Felix would be the one to act like this out of the two of you.
Finally, you can’t hold it in anymore and you struggle to stifle a laugh.
He shoots you a betrayed look, clearly offended that you’re laughing at his distress. “Why are you laughing?”
You keep trying to hold back your amusement, but your attempts fail and you keep having to cover your mouth to stifle your giggling. Felix looks increasingly more outraged that you’re laughing at his plight, his face turning a deeper and deeper shade of red as he stares at you.
“This is not funny,” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It kind of is,” you say, hiding your mouth with one hand. “You were being so cool before, what happened?”
“Shut up. I'm still cool,” he protests, puffing his cheeks out and turning away, refusing to look at you. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Nooo,” you insist, holding back another laugh. “I’m not.”
“Oh my god,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m actually going to die right now. I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die,” you say, feeling a little bad seeing the look of defeat on his face. “Calm down.”
“I am calm,” he grumbles, even though he clearly isn't. He glances at you and quickly looks away again, his cheeks flushed. “You’re making it worse.”
“Sorry,” you say softly, putting your hand on his arm. “I'm not trying to make fun of you.”
“Liar,” he mutters, but he doesn’t shake your hand off. After a moment he seems to untense slightly, and he lets out a shaky sigh.
He finally looks at you and swallows, his eyes flickering across your face. “So… um.”
His eyes keep darting away and then back to your face again, like he wants to look at you but is afraid of getting caught staring. It’s kind of adorable to see him looking so self-conscious.
“Are we gonna talk about this?” he asks, forcing out the words.
“About… what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Uh… yeah. Um…”
Now that it's come down to it, your heart is racing again. He keeps looking at you, then away, then back again. Each time his gaze is on you, you get a glimpse of his expression and it makes your breath catch in your throat.
There's nothing to worry about. He said he likes you. Yeah, hypothetically. No one ever means that literally. And look at how he's acting. But he didn't say outright that he likes you. You don't know what to do.
You clear your throat. “Is… there much to say? You already said a lot. Really spammed my phone.”
He flushes more and makes a strangled sound somewhere between a whine and a laugh, his hands going to his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters through his fingers. “I was freaking out.” He lowers his hands just enough to peer at you. “I didn’t... I didn’t say anything super embarrassing, did I?”
“It was funny,” you tell him. “You were being really stupid.”
He lifts his head enough to glare at you. “Thanks.”
“No, but like— in a cute way,” you add quickly, watching as his expression shifts.
“I wasn’t being cute,” he mutters, though he seems a little less embarrassed.
“No, I’d say you were being cute.”
He’s definitely still blushing, avoiding eye contact. “I was not,” he says, petulant.
Then you decide, fuck it, and lean over real quick, watching his eyes widen before you press a quick kiss on his cheek, right by the corner of his mouth.
He gasps immediately when your lips brush his skin, his blush immediately worsens and you watch it spread down his neck. He makes an indignant sound, his hand flying to his cheek where you had kissed him, and he looks at you in shock.
“S-See?” you stutter, turning your head away quickly to hide your own warm cheeks. “Um… cute.”
A moment passes as he just gawks at you, his face still bright red. His hand is still on his cheek, his mouth open in bewilderment.
And then his brain seems to restart, and he lets out a huff, finally dropping his hand. “Damn,” he mutters. “Damn…”
He’s still blushing furiously, and every time he looks at you, his eyes get all wide. You giggle a little and he shoots you a withering glare.
“You’re being mean,” he whines. “This is cruel. I’m going to die and you're laughing at me.”
You bite your tongue. “Sorry.”
He glares at you again, though it's lost any real heat, before he relents and drags a hand over his face with a groan. He sits there for a moment longer, staring at the wall like he’s trying to make sense of everything. “So…” he says slowly. “Does that… what does that mean?”
There's a certain weight to the question. You take a moment to collect yourself. You feel lightheaded, your heart beating so loud you wonder if he can hear it.
“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual.
He turns to look at you, still red in the face. “You just kissed me,” he points out. “What does that mean?”
You try to keep your expression carefully neutral, but you can feel your own cheeks heating up just as intensely. “I mean,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as nervous as you feel. “I guess… theoretically… it would mean… I, um… like you..?”
He freezes, just staring at you for a long moment with wide eyes. “You…”
He seems to be making an effort to look casual, but his body language betrays him, his arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping against the floor anxiously.
His eyes roam around, seeming to look everywhere but at you, before finally landing on your face again. “Theoretically… you like me?” he repeats after a moment, his voice still sounding faintly disbelieving.
The way he’s looking at you, it’s almost too much. You’re so flustered you can barely see straight, and you feel like your heart is going to beat right out of your chest.
“I guess...” you say, trying to keep your tone light even though you're pretty sure you're shaking. “...Yeah?”
He’s speechless, staring at you in shocked silence for what seems like a very long time. His mouth is opening and closing in a manner that would be funny if you weren’t completely freaking out yourself.
It takes a minute for him to react, blinking rapidly. “You…” he repeats, but it comes out breathless, like he’s still in shock. “You like me? Like, as in…”
His voice is so disbelieving that you’re starting to second guess yourself. “I… hypothetically,” you mutter, feeling silly for still using that as a crutch.
“Hypothetically,” he echoes. His lips curl into a tentative smile. “You’re not… joking?” he asks carefully. “This isn’t some kind of… I don’t know. You’re not messing around?”
“Did you mean everything you said?” you ask, feeling a pang of uncertainty.
He looks startled to be put on the spot, and he stutters for a moment before responding. “Yes. I— Of course,” he says earnestly. “I was just afraid you wouldn't…”
He trails off, eyes darting away from you for a moment before focusing back on your face. He takes a breath and his lips turn up in a bashful smile.
"So… what does this mean?" he asks, shifting to face you fully. His eyes search yours for an answer, a hopeful look in them.
“Are we…” you swallow, feeling nauseous and giddy all at once. “Should we be, like… dating… theoretically?”
Felix looks incredibly flustered as he stares back at you, looking absolutely bewildered, like the thought had never even crossed his mind until this moment.
“Dating…” he mumbles incredulously. “Dating… holy shit… You… you want to…?” he asks haltingly, his eyes fixed on yours.
His reaction makes you feel a little self conscious, wondering if somehow you’ve misread the situation entirely. You bite your cheek. “Maybe?” you say faintly.
You can almost see his mind spinning, processing this sudden development. He seems completely dumbfounded, blinking rapidly like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
After what seems like an eternity of stunned silence, he finally finds his voice again. “Like… for real?”
“I mean…” you say awkwardly, feeling very exposed right now. “I… yeah? If you want…? It makes sense, right? Theoretically?”
He lets out a breath, his eyes wide. “I... Yeah. That makes sense. Uh, I…” He's still staring at you like he can’t quite believe you're actually real. “Am I dreaming?” His expression is so earnest, like he’s afraid you might vanish at any second.
You huff out a laugh. “Need me to pinch you?”
He lets out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a whine. “Maybe.”
You reach out and pinch his arm gently but firmly.
“Ow,” he complains.
“You're the one who wanted it.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to do it so hard.” He rubs his arm, giving you a half-hearted glare. His cheeks are still red, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He looks incredibly cute right now. “You didn’t say you were going to maim me.”
You roll your eyes. “My apologies, your highness.”
He sticks his tongue out at you, still massaging his arm.
You can't help but laugh a little. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. He looks a little less stunned now, and the sight of his smile manages to calm your racing heartbeat a little bit.
"So…" he says after a moment, still looking at you intently. “So… we’re actually doing this?” he asks, his voice still a little hesitant. “You and me?”
Three words have never felt so heavy. Your heart feels like it's jumping into your throat, your blood thrumming in your ears. This is actually real.
You nod slowly, words suddenly a little tricky to find. “You and me," you manage, a little breathlessly.
His answering smile is wide and dazzling, and it makes your heart do a little flip.
“Damn,” he says, a small huff of a laugh slipping past his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think things would turn out this way.” He looks genuinely awed, like he still can’t believe you’ve actually agreed to this, his eyes wide and shining. He reaches out and gingerly takes one of your hands in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.
It's strange. You've held hands before, but somehow the small action has you blushing harder than anything else you've done with him.
He’s staring so intently at your hands together, a small smile on his lips. He lets out a laugh, then looks up at you. “Is this weird?” he asks, a playful lilt to his voice.
You manage a shaky laugh, trying to calm your nerves. “A little,” you admit.
A soft, amused huff leaves his lips, before his smile turns more mischievous. Suddenly, he tugs on your hand to pull you towards him.
You let out a startled yelp, losing your balance and toppling forward on top of him. You catch yourself before you fully collide with him, forearms bracing against the bed as you find yourself inches away from Felix’s face. His hands immediately go to your waist, steadying you.
“Hey,” he says, smiling up at you. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his touch warm and soft. You feel your face getting hotter, the proximity to him making it hard to think straight.
“You’re blushing,” he points out teasingly.
“Yeah, well,” you say, your heart thundering in your chest. “You did that on purpose.”
He grins. “Maybe.”
His gaze just wanders over your face for a moment before he suddenly pulls your head down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. He’s kissing you all over your face, his breath warm on your skin. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, and he’s just so—
“That's you,” you mutter, your breath hitching as he brushes over a sensitive spot near your jaw, and he grins.
“Mmm... You think I'm pretty?”
Idiot. You want to punch him so bad — how could anyone not think that — but his mouth finds yours again, his hand moving up to your chest to feel the fluttering of your heart against his palm. He kisses you slow and deep, as if trying to memorize the feel of you.
Eventually he pulls back, breathing hard. His eyes are unfocused and you can see the pulse beating fast in the hollow of this throat.
“Wow,” he whispers. “Wow, I like you so much.”
You squeeze your eyes shut before you literally start swooning. “Uh… cool,” you mutter. You know, like an idiot.
“Cool?” he repeats, amused. “Really?”
“Shut up.”
He lets out a huff. “You’re so smooth,” he teases, a smile in his voice. “But you still haven’t said it back.”
You open your eyes to find him looking at you expectantly, an exaggerated pout on his lips. “How am I supposed to know your feelings, hm? You're killing me here.”
“You're so fucking cheesy,” you complain. “I already said it.”
He hums, a wounded look on his face. “Yeah, hypothetically or something. As if that means shit. You’re gonna wither my heart here. Just gonna leave me wondering if—”
“I like you too,” you blurt out, words tripping over each other in your haste to get them out. “Obviously.”
His eyes widen and he stares up at you, mouth hanging open in a little ‘o’. For a moment it almost seems like he’s speechless, but then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face and he laughs.
“Yeah? You do?” he asks, the look in his eyes clearly fishing for more. “How much?”
“I'll fucking kill you,” you mutter, but you’re sure the heat in your face diminishes any vehemence.
“Ouch,” he says, laughing again. “You’d kill your new boyfriend?”
Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. You falter before managing to stammer out, “U-Um, boyfriend…”
He laughs and pulls you down to him again. You let out a squeak of surprise this time as you fall onto his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer.
“Yeah,” he says, voice laced with a teasing lilt. “Boyfriend. You’re stuck with me now.”
You bite your lip. “I'll uh…” you mumble into his chest. “I'll think about moving in. Like, actually.”
His arms tighten around you at the words, and he lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah?” he asks, the excitement evident in his tone. “You’d… really? For real?”
“Maybe,” you say, your voice just a little shaky. “I might.”
He laughs, his chest vibrating underneath you as he hugs you even tighter. “No take backs.”
He nuzzles further into you, resting his cheek against the top of your head, apparently not minding your still damp hair. You feel his hand start rubbing circles against your back. You shiver a little, his touch sending a little thrill through you.
It feels so… domestic. Being in his arms like this. This easy, comfortable intimacy that used to be so foreign to you. You never thought you’d get to have this.
After a few minutes of calm silence, Felix speaks again. “What do we like… do?”
“Um…” you laugh a bit. “I don't know? I thought you would know.”
“Me? I mean… It's just weird because we've been friends, like, forever.”
He's right. The boundaries feel a bit blurry now. You lift your head a little to look up at him. His eyes are a little unfocused, his gaze roaming around the room as he thinks.
“I— I can’t believe I’m dating my best friend. That's so cliché,” he says, before pausing. “I mean… We're still friends, right? That doesn’t like… change?”
“I… yeah..?” You think you'd rather die than lose him as a friend. “We'll always be friends.”
To emphasize your point, you reach up and flick his forehead gently.
“Dude!” he complains, rubbing his forehead. “What was that for?”
“You’re being stupid,” you tell him. “If we're not gonna still be friends then I don't wanna do this at all.”
“You're still violent,” he mutters, pouting a little before smiling. “Okay, okay, okay. Friends forever.”
—
(Later…)
“We should go on a date.”
You almost completely trip and fall over on your way to the couch in the living room, but manage to catch yourself. “A date?”
“Yeah,” Felix says, looking a little sheepish. “Like, out somewhere. Fancy dinner. Candlelight. The whole thing.”
You don't know why it surprised you so much. Of course couples go on dates. Still, you raise an eyebrow at him. “The whole thing,” you repeat, a hint of disbelief in your voice.
He pouts at you. “Come on. I’m trying to be romantic here. Work with me.”
With a sigh, you sit next to him and look sideways at him. “I can’t believe you’re serious. Candlelight—”
“Hey.” He straightens up, a determined look on his face. “I am serious. It’s gonna be romantic and sweet and amazing and you’re going to fall deeply in love with me and—”
You roll your eyes at his words, unable to hold back a smile. “Is that so, Casanova?”
His ears flush a bit, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah. I’ll have you know I’ve charmed plenty of people this way.”
You roll your eyes again, still smiling.
“And then after I make you swoon with my unstoppable rizz and devilish good looks, we’ll… make out in the back of my car?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
Your face flushes red at the suggestion, but you quickly try to compose yourself. “Yeah, right. I'm not even special, huh? You do that with everyone?”
Felix laughs, his eyes glittering with amusement. “No! No,” he protests, shaking his head quickly.
He reaches out to grab your hand, his touch warm and gentle. He interlaces your fingers together, holding your hand gently but firmly in his.
“No, it’s just you,” he says, an earnest look on his face. “I promise. Just you.”
The sincerity in his voice has your heart fluttering in your chest, and you can feel your cheeks flushing a little again. You look down at your hands together, feeling a strange sort of vulnerability.
“Well,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think you've been watching too many cheesy rom coms.”
He laughs. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “But it’s a good plan, right?”
You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t help but feel affection bloom in your chest. This is what you missed. The easy banter, the playful teasing.
“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Very suave. Charm my pants off in an expensive restaurant. You should show up with a boombox while you're at it.”
Felix grins at that. “Hell yeah.”
You're suddenly startled by the sound of the front door unlocking. You let go of Felix's hand but you barely get a second to think before the door is swinging open and a boisterous voice bursts through the room.
“Yooo, Felix you in? Minho kicked me out cus apparently studying is important and I don't get anything done over there but I—”
You and Felix turn to face Jisung, who cuts off when he sees you together. His mouth drops open in a small ‘o’ and his eyes narrow as they flick back and forth between the two of you curiously.
You blink a few times, wondering what his deal is until — Oh shit. You quickly slap your hand over your neck but it's too late.
“Oh. Dude. No fucking way,” Jisung grins, looking absolutely gleeful. “Innie totally owes me twenty bucks.”
You and Felix exchange horrified looks. “What?!”
—
a/n: so.... what started as a silly one shot scenario quickly devolved into a 30k+ long series LMAO.. honestly, i never would have written as much as i did if not for yall loving it sm. thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support, i never ever could have dreamed it! i hope this was enjoyable and a satisfying resolution (^—^) plss lmk what you thought!
I don't know if you're still doing them, but if you are, can you do Changbin for the drunk flirting series? I love your writing so much ♥
friend oh my god – this ask has been in my ask box for MONTHS and i am SO SORRY!!! but I had this idea for binnie in my head for SO LONG, I just never had the time to write it. UNTIL NOW
I got really angry at this halfway through because I wanted it to be a drabble, and it ended up so fucken long, but then I finished it anyways because I hate half done things hahaha
*photo unrelated to the plot, it's just so the vibe and so him </3
🔞 because everything on my blog is but this is 5.6k words of just ..... fluff?
who am I! getting together, friends to lovers, pining. ofc they're a lil horny for each other, but nothing graphic at all. barely a kiss!!!
When Changbin’s phone rings, it’s already well past midnight.
He just heated up some of his leftover jjajangmyeon from earlier, piping hot plastic bowl sitting on the side of his desk, ready to fuel him through another couple hours of work, hunched over his laptop, working on some beats he, Chan and Jisung have been trying to get ready for a new EP for weeks, when his phone buzzes to life.
When he looks over, it’s Chan’s name on the caller ID.
Chan and Jisung were at Hyunjin’s house for some drinks along with you and pretty much everyone else. Changbin himself had been invited, too, of course, but he’d declined in favour of sinking further into his work mode. He just … got into one of his moods. Flow states, or whatever they call it these days. Locked in, zoned out of the real world, the music just pouring out of him.
He doesn’t get nearly enough of those nights. Always something on his mind that distracts him, keeps him from really sinking his teeth into his music.
And Chan knows that – so there must be a reason why he’s calling. Changbin tries to swallow the instinct to panic, puts his chopsticks down and picks up the phone.
He’s greeted by the sound of yelling, laughing, and music.
“Hyung?”
“Binnie!” Chan yells through the phone, way too loudly. By the lack of his volume control alone, it’s clear to Changbin that Chan is, in fact, drunk.
“I thought it was only going to be a chill night, a couple of drinks,” he tries to tease, but he hears Chan laugh, say something to someone on his end, before he comes back to the call.
“Sorry, Binnie, what did you say?”
“Nothing, hyung,” Changbin snorts, “what’s up? Why are you calling? I have some jjajangmyeon, a diet coke and a beat calling my name.”
“Well,” Chan hums. He sounds like he’s grinning. At least it’s nothing to worry about then, even if irritation gnaws at Changbin’s guts. Can he just come out with it instead of wasting Changbin’s time, ripping him out of his flow, infusing him with that vague sense of FOMO he so narrowly avoided falling prey to earlier, when they left for Hyunjin’s?!
“I have someone here who’s been asking for you …”
Changbin freezes. His heart rabbits in his chest.
“Is it Y/N? Is everything alright?”
Chan laughs. Changbin tries and fails not to blush. Dammit. He’s so transparent.
“She’s fiiiiine,” he giggles, “she’s completely fine. Well, she’s a little drunk. Or a lot. And she’s asking for you.”
Changbin sighs. He briefly considers pretending like you don’t have him wrapped around your little finger, but what’s the point. Chan knows. Everyone knows. Changbin is head over heels in love with his best friend. Yes, yes, everybody laugh. How typical.
“Okay, but she’s fine? She’s not going to throw up?” he asks. He can’t help it. The thought of you somewhere, inebriated, without him to catch you if you trip – he doesn’t like it, okay.
“Nah, she’s alright. But Hyunjin offered her to crash in his bed and Jisung and Minho even offered to take her home, but she won’t budge. Begged me to call you, actually. But I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
As if on cue, Changbin hears you squeal in the background, whining Minho’s name dramatically, with just that hint of flirtiness in your tone that makes Changbin a little bit desperate.
Chan doesn’t seem to like his silence.
“Come oon, Binnie,” he singsongs, “you live 15 minutes away. And I know full well that you’re just dying to come see your–“
“Okay, okay, fine!” Changbin interrupts him before Chan says anything he’ll regret in a room full of people. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Attaboy,” Chan responds, and Changbin can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ll let her know. See ya soon!”
And he hangs up before Changbin can even say goodbye, which just makes Changbin even more annoyed.
But he can’t stay annoyed.
He plops the lid back on his food, shoves it into the fridge, changes into a warmer sweater and some clean sweats, and he’s out the door. Less than 3 minutes after he hung up the phone. He’s a lost cause.
The drive is quick and quiet, the streets pretty empty at this time of night. It’s only a Thursday. How Hyunjin’s little get together turned into a full-blown party, Changbin doesn’t know. But it doesn’t surprise him. Hyunjin likes hanging out with his friends, and he likes partying – and Felix likes those things even more. So when the two of them are together, this is usually the outcome. Changbin should know. They have set the scene for most of the most formative scenes of his young adulthood. Like that time when drunk monopoly turned into body shots, which turned into a whole bottle of raspberry vodka tipped over Changbin’s chest, just when you were leaning in to whisper something potentially life-alteringly dirty in his ear – so instead of maybe, just maybe, making out with you, he ended up half-naked in the shower with Chan, who was the victim of the other bottle that got tipped of the table. Though the tequila that hit him smelled much worse than the flavoured vodka and Changbin’s clothes. A small win.
When Changbin gets out of his car in front of Hyunjin’s apartment complex, he can hear everyone’s voices already. They’re floating through a half open window, three stories up. He takes a deep breath of the fresh night air, and rings the bell.
More commotion through the intercom, aside from Hyunjin’s voice, an elevator ride and a trudge down the hallway to his front door later, Changbin steps foot into Hyunjin’s small apartment and closes the door quietly behind him. No reason to give the neighbours any more reasons to complain than they already have.
There aren’t many people; only their usual gang, Hyunjin and Felix, predictably. Jisung and Minho, half in each other’s laps in the corner of the sofa, also, predictably, looking about two seconds away from making out. Chan, Seungmin, Jeongin. And you, between the latter two, your upper body leaning against Jeongin, your feet in
Seungmin’s lap. Petty jealousy makes him scowl at where Jeongin’s arm is thrown over your shoulder, his hand is rubbing up and down your arm.
Chan gives him a grin when he sees him and loudly announces his arrival. It makes you sit up, leaving a smirking Jeongin behind you as you whirl around, and the smile that lights up your face makes Changbin a little weak in the knees.
“Binnie,” you gasp, and Jeongin behind you gives Changbin a look before he unceremoniously gets up, walks around the sofa table and plops down on the sofa next to Jisung and Minho.
You stretch your arms towards him and make grabby hands and Changbin melts.
He’s next to you embarrassingly quickly, not even a glance at anyone else, and comes to crouch in front of you. Seungmin next to you gently takes your legs from his lap and places them on the floor. You reward him with a sweet smile before you turn all your attention to Changbin. Something about the way you’re too focused on him to notice Seungmin getting up to leave you and Changbin on the little sofa, makes Changbin’s heart swell with pride.
“I can’t believe you actually came,” you breathe out. There’s vodka cranberry on your breath, a flush on your face, but your words aren’t slurred. Only a little louder than usual – more sincere. A dangerous sheen in your eyes. One of your earrings is askew, the clasp of your necklace hanging at the front instead of the back. You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, and he wishes he could have the privilege to tuck those little bits back into place, to touch you like that, casually, yet with all the purpose in the world.
“Yeah? You asked Chan to tell me to come, and you didn’t expect it to work?”
He watches your pretty lips part, before you grimace cutely and hide your face in your hands.
“Chaaaan,” you whine, “I told you not to tell himmm.”
You curl into yourself, and it makes the sleeve of your top slip off your shoulder. Changbin reaches out and tugs it back into place before he can think better of it. When he realises what he’s done, he flushes. He hopes he can blame it on the fact that he just came in from the cold.
Gently, Changbin catches you around the wrists, tugs your hands away from your face.
“Hey, none of that,” he murmurs, trying to sound soothing, “of course, I would’ve come. When have I ever not come when you called, hm?”
You lift your head and stare at him. Your eyes are huge. Changbin fidgets under your gaze, laughs awkwardly, trying to fill the silence that threatens to smother his poor, yearning heart.
“So, what’s up? What did you need me for?” he asks, tries to will the desperate edge out of his voice.
“Oh,” you blink, tip your head to the side a little. Let your languid gaze drag over his face. Molten heat surges through his stomach.
“Nothing. I mean … just missed you, I guess.”
Changbin’s brain goes offline for a solid second. He thinks he might’ve misheard. You couldn’t have possibly just said that. Although … well, It’s a relatively normal thing to say, he guesses, but something about the way you said it…
When he doesn’t respond, your eyes widen.
‘E-Everyone did, I mean, r-right?” you stammer, throw a look over Changbin’s shoulder at where the rest of your friends are scattered across the room. Changbin nearly jumps out of his skin before he flushes red-hot. He’d somehow completely forgotten they were there.
Minho giggles, scoffs out a sarcastic “sure” that’s followed by someone, presumably Jisung, slapping his arm, and Hyunjin coming to your rescue.
“Yeah!” Hyunjin exclaims, “of course we all missed you, hyung!’
You smile at Hyunjin, gratefully. Your cheeks are so flushed he can basically feel the heat radiating off them. Changbin is so endeared, he thinks he might cry. He doesn’t think before he speaks.
“Oh, and here I thought I was special to you.”
It’s teasing. Just a little jab that could be interpreted as friendly, but it nonetheless makes his neck burn hot. It’s not that you never flirt, like you don’t bat your eyelashes at him, like he doesn’t call you darling and takes your hand when he helps out of the car – but it’s not usually like this. And it’s not in front of other people.
“But you are,” you mumble. Then smile. Widely, yet softly. “You’re the most … the most special to me.”
Your nonsensical words slur a little at the end, and Changbin remembers that you’re drunk. He tries to let that rein in the wild flutter of butterflies in his stomach, but he fails spectacularly.
The fly rampant as he smiles, reaches out to pat your arm awkwardly – but you catch his hand. Lace your fingers with his. Changbin stares. The butterflies go crazy.
But you’re already dragging him closer until you pull him to sit next to you on the sofa, immediately folding your legs underneath you and pressing your entire body weight into his side as the conversation slowly picks up around you again.
He didn’t plan on staying, but how could he say no when you’re still holding his hand. He sinks into the couch and makes space for you readily, of course he does. Lifts his arm so you can scoot closer, so he can hold you to him. Your head falls to his shoulder, and he sends a prayer of gratitude to whoever’s listening that he sat down on your left side so maybe you won’t hear the way his heart is threatening to thunk its way out of his ribcage.
When Changbin finally rips his eyes away from you for the first time since he stepped foot into the room, everyone is staring at him with varying levels of amusement. Minho is smirking like an evil maniac, Jisung like a lovelorn one, like he’s watching his favourite drama and the two love interests are about to get together. Felix is staring at him with big, shiny eyes, but Seungmin has one eyebrow raised where he sits, looking from Changbin to you. Chan’s expression is the worst – he’s smiling, so wide his eyes have become crescents. He looks so excited. Then he waggles his eyebrows. Gives Changbin a look.
Changbin flushes. He can feel his face burn. You snuggle in closer, nudge your cheek into his shoulder and his arm tightens around you.
He settles in like this for a while. Has a coke. Watches one of the random videos pulled up on the TV, half listens to everyone drunkenly make bad jokes about it. Really, the only thing he can focus on is your chest rising and falling against his. Your warmth plastered against his side, seeping through his sweater where your hand is now resting on his belly. How your voice shivers through his bones when you speak.
You’re smiling a lot. Just to yourself, mostly, as you sit there, cuddled into him. But you also giggle. Laugh at everything and anything the others say. Beam at Felix when he beams at you. It’s the happiest Changbin has maybe ever seen you.
You must feel his eyes on you because suddenly, you look up at him, and he thinks his world stutters to a halt. You’re right there, cheek smushed against the soft sweater on his shoulder. Grinning, eyes twinkling and sparkling with bliss, looking at him like he’s the reason for it.
He forces himself to smile back, squeezes your side where his hand is resting against you, and you just smile wider, before you tuck yourself back into his side. Wiggle a little until you’re comfortable.
Changbin’s body feels a few sizes too small and his chest is tight. He holds out for a few minutes, just long enough so you don’t think he’s running away from you (because if you got upset with him now, after looking so happy, he would not know how to forgive himself), before he excuses himself, nearly kisses the sweet pout off your face when he dislodges you from his side, and stumbles to the bathroom.
When the door clicks shut behind him, Changbin takes a moment to just stand there and try and catch his breath. He stares at himself in the mirror.
His cheeks are still flushed. They haven’t stopped burning. He feels drunk. High. Half out of his mind, his mind swirling and swirling with the feeling of you in his arms, with the way you smiled up at him, snuggled into him, as if you couldn’t get close enough. His whole side still feels warm with the heat of your body. When he smells his sleeve, it smells like your perfume.
Usually, he has a pretty tight hold on this. His crush. No, it’s not a crush. Never was. He’s madly in love with you, and there was never a point in denying it. But usually, he disguises it behind the fact that he’s affectionate with all of his friends. He’s the soft one, the nice guy who calls his mom twice a week. When he tucks your hair into place and holds your hand as you pass through a busy street, when he pulls out your chair for you at dinner and always drives you places, even when it’s really out of his way – he just brushes it off as being a gentleman. But this is beyond even that.
This night is so bad for him. He wants so badly, and it’s getting really hard to pretend he doesn’t when you act like that. Make him get his hopes up.
He messes with his hair, flushes the toilet when he remembers his excuse, steels himself and opens the door.
He gets shocked out of his sulkiness when he steps back into the living room and watches you, crosslegged on the couch, leaning forward, downing a shot of something dangerously clear alongside Felix and Hyunjin. And before the first one is even down, your face still scrunched up adorably, you pick up the second one – but before you can drink it, Changbin slides back onto the sofa next to you, winds one arm around your wrist and uses the other to pluck the shot glass from your fingers.
You whine, try to lean in to take your shot back from him, but Changbin tightens his grip and stretches his arm as far as he can behind him, holding the glass out of your reach. Your face pulls into the most dramatic, most adorable little pout he’s ever seen on you.
“Yeah, I don’t think two more is a good idea,” he grumbles out softly, but sternly, as he gives you a look. You strain against his hold on your wrist, and he tries not to think too hard about the little grunt you make, the way you struggle but can’t get out of his grip. Felix boos and Hyunjin giggles stupidly.
“Binnieeeeee,” you whine, drag out the end of his name, jostle against his hold as you lean forward, trying to reach for the shot again, but he just holds it further back behind himself. He doesn’t fight you when you lean closer, when you start leaning over his lap, your hand dropping to his thigh, dangerously high up for his already frayed emotional state. He can smell your shampoo, the peach soju on your breath from the shot he wasn’t there to take from you in time.
“Y/Niiieee,” he imitates you, and he loves how he can watch as your eyes widen, when you realise what he’s doing, before they crinkle with an almost smile, that you swallow at the last second. God, your eyes are shimmering in this light. He swears they hold entire galaxies.
Your head cocks to the side and you pout. He cocks his head, too, pouts right back – watches, giddy, drunk on you, as your grin widens, your eyes sparkle even more with amusement. It’s better than a shot of adrenaline straight to the jugular.
He gives you one more look and leans forward to put the shot back onto the little table, while still holding you back and you whine.
“Why do you have to be so strooong, it’s not faaaair!”
God, he wishes it didn’t, but his cock twitches a little in his sweats.
Which is … even worse because when he leans back, with one last stern look at you that tells you not to pick up the shot again, and relaxes back against the sofa, you wrench your hand free from his grasp, dig your fingers into his thigh and suddenly, you’re straddling him.
He’s pretty sure he makes the dumbest noise known to man when your ass hits his thighs, but maybe you didn’t hear him over the screeching and ooh-ing of literally all your other friends behind you.
You don’t seem perturbed, bore your pretty eyes into his, eyebrows drawn into a determined little scowl. Your cheeks are burning.
You catch one of his wrists with one of your hands, then the other and Changbin yelps when you pin them against the back of the sofa next to his head. Changbin’s throat runs dry and he’s pretty sure this is how he dies. You’re staring down at him, eyes a little unfocused and … and … like you want to devour him.
“Not fair,” you mumble, and Changbin knows he has to make a choice right this second. Because if he stays here any longer 1. he’ll get hard, and that’ll be really bad and 2. you’re maybe about to drunkenly kiss him, with an audience of 6 of your closest friends – something you’d most definitely regret tomorrow.
As gently as he can, he slips his wrists out of your grip, winds one arm around your waist, and gets up in one, quick motion. You’re not light, but you’re not heavy either, almost a comforting weight in his arms. You make a little noise of surprise, but wrap your legs around him almost instinctively, your arms slipping around his neck. He can feel the heat of your cheek where it’s pressed against the side of his neck.
“Okay,” he announces, “that’s enough. I’m taking this one home.”
More heckling. Cooing and wolf whistling. Jisung yells “just as it was about to get good” just as Seungmin scoffs out a dry “please, have your foreplay in private”.
Somehow, he manages to make one of them actually collect your phone from the coffee table and your bag from somewhere behind the sofa, plucks your coat off the hook by the door and with one last goodbye and a ‘text you later, fuckers’ makes it out onto the hallway.
He sighs when he pulls the door shut behind himself and only feels your arms tighten around him, making no effort to remove yourself from his hold. Only then does he realise you were quiet the whole time, while he was getting you two out of there.
“You alright, baby?” he asks, as you wait for elevator, cringing when the endearment slips out. But you don’t seem to care. Only nod into his neck. He knows something’s not right, but he doesn’t want to push it. The situation feels fragile all of a sudden. So he holds you quietly, rubs his thumb soothingly over your back, until the elevator arrives and all the way down and to his car, pulls you closer when you shiver against the cool night air.
After he opens his car door, he taps your leg.
“You gotta get off now, sweetheart, or I can’t take you home,” he mumbles, as sweetly as he can, and you finally, reluctantly unfold your legs from his waist and jump onto the floor.
Only when you can no longer avoid it, do you finally meet his eyes, and to Changbin’s surprise you look … embarrassed. He blinks, before he catches himself and smiles.
“Come on, get in, I’ll drive you home, okay?”
You nod and do as he says, and he opens the back door to place your stuff on the back seat before he rounds the car and slips into the driver’s seat.
Before doing anything else, he starts the car and cranks the heat, though what’s blowing at first is nothing but lukewarm air.
“Can we …” you start, but suddenly stop and shake yourself, sliding further down in your seat and redirecting your gaze out the window. You’re shivering slightly. Changbin wills his car to warm up faster.
“Hm? ‘Can we’ what?”
You just shake your head, mumble out a quick little ‘nothing’ and Changbin’s heart squeezes in his chest. He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear softly. Your eyelids flutter at the touch.
“Come on, spit it out.”
You sigh, turn to face him.
“Can … can I maybe sleep at yours?”
It’s a bad idea, he thinks, and it’s like you can read it on his face.
“No, not like that, I swear! I just … I get anxious when I sleep alone when I’m drunk. With everything spinning and all that … it’s just … uncomfortable.”
Changbin lets out a long breath.
“Of course you can,” he says, before he has to turn away to start the car, before he does something stupid, like lean over to try and soothe the worry out of your beautiful mind with a kiss.
The ‘thank you’ you whisper into the air gets drowned out by the engine humming to life.
The drive is silent for a long time. Neither of you ever turned the radio on, so the only sound is the engine, the gears shifting into place, the tires on the road. He stops at a red light, still 10 minutes away from his house. There’s not a single other car on the street, like you’re the only people in the world. It makes the silence hanging between you thicker.
You break it suddenly.
“I’m sorry.”
The words are so quiet that, for a second, Changbin isn’t even sure you were speaking at all. But when he turns to you, you’re already looking at him. You look even more embarrassed than earlier.
“F-for what?” he asks, shakily.
“For what I d- … for how I acted earlier. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” you mumble, and once the apology is out, you shift in your seat, turn forwards until you’re no longer forced to look at him. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and start worrying it there, your arms coming to wrap around yourself protectively.
“I- I wasn’t thinking. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. But I need to say it now because otherwise I’ll never say it. God knows I won’t say it sober,” you laugh dryly. You look so sad it makes Changbin’s heart bleed.
“It’s stupid because I’m in love with you. And sometimes I let myself believe you might like me, too. And my drunk brain tonight decided to do something stupid like get– like flirt with you, and it made you uncomfortable. So I’m sorry.”
Changbin is too stunned to speak. The light has long since turned green, but the car is still idling. He’s staring at you – staring at the centre of his fucking universe, the woman he’s been silently dreaming of one day marrying for the better part of the last two years, who just told him she’s in love with him, too. He feels dizzy, overwhelmed with how his heart is filling with so much love.
He tries to take a deep breath, but it comes out stuttery. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do, but he has to be strong. Has to resist the temptation because you deserve better than in the car in the middle of the night on a Thursday, he in sweats and you half drunk.
He just hopes you remember this tomorrow.
You huff, your chest trembling with something that isn’t the cold. You sniffle quietly, before you rub the back of your hand over your nose angrily.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get over it.”
Changbin shakes his head before he realises you can’t see him.
“Hey,” he whispers. His voice is shaky, barely there.
You turn to him. He reaches out, cups your face with his palm. Wipes the tear running down your cheek away with his thumb.
“Don’t,” he somehow manages to say, “we’ll talk tomorrow. But just … don’t. Don’t get over it. … Please.”
You stare at him, eyes wide, your mouth hanging slightly open.
He waits until you nod, before he retracts his hand, shifts into first gear and finally pulls away from the stoplight.
When he pulls into his parking spot in front of his house and looks over, you’re fast asleep. Slumped against the car door, your arms still wrapped around yourself tightly, you look small. Vulnerable. It makes something so protective flare up in Changbin’s chest that for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so overcome is he with the sheer magnitude of what he feels for you.
But before long, he has to shut off the car. As quietly as he can, he gets out, collects your things from the back seat, before he wakes you just enough to coax you back into his arms so he can carry you inside.
By now it seems like your tipsiness has given way to a bone deep tiredness because you barely manage to keep your eyes open. So he carries you all the way into his bedroom, sits you down on the bed. He goes to the kitchen to get you some water, and by the time he comes back he finds you curled up on top of the sheets, fully dressed, back asleep. He wakes you softly, helps you sit up to drink, but you sway and nearly topple over, so he holds the bottle to your lips, forces you to drink at least half, before he closes it back up and places it on the bedside table. Coaxing you along with quiet words, he asks you to take off your jeans, helps you out of them, his eyes glued to your face until he has folded the bedsheets over your bare legs, and hands you one of his t-shirts, asking you to change into it. You rip your shirt over your head, and Changbin just about manages to turn around before you slip out of your bra and shrug his shirt on.
Only once he hears you settle into the sheets does he turn around. As gently as he can, he tucks the duvet in behind your back and brushes your hair away from your face gently. You shiver under his touch, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second, before he gets overwhelmed. As you doze off, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, stores in it all the care, all the love he has for you – and a silent wish, a prayer that you wake up tomorrow, and you still remember what you said to him. That you meant it.
Then you’re asleep. Breathing quietly, face pressed into his pillows.
He gets up. Collects your clothes from the floor, before he slips into the bathroom, changes into a fresh shirt and gets out of his sweats, and slides into bed with you. He lies there, awake, next to you, without touching you, for a long time, just listening to you breathing, wondering what will happen tomorrow morning.
When you wake up, you don’t know where you are for all of 2 seconds before you blink open your eyes, and you’re met with Changbin’s adorable, sleeping face.
He’s on his back, thick chest rising and falling with deep breaths, his head lolled towards you. His sweet, heart-shaped lips are slightly open, little snores tumbling from them. The back of his hand is resting against your knee. It twitches slightly as he dreams.
You’ve slept over at his place countless times over the years, though usually, he sets you up on the pull-out couch. You’ve never woken up in his bed before.
You smile. Can’t help it. He’s adorable. Gorgeous. Pink and sleep-soft, warm and kind and safe. You trust him unconditionally, know that you can because he’s him. You’ve been in love with him ever since you met him.
The memory of last night doesn’t crash over you. Rather, it settles into your bones quietly, calmly. You’d said it. You’d finally said it. The relief was enough, no matter how much it hurt, but then he’d spoken. He’d looked at you like you only ever dreamed of, and he’d told you not to get over it.
He loves you, too.
You want to snuggle close to him, maybe wake him with a hesitant, first little kiss to his cheek, but you’re thirsty. You need to pee. You need to take at least one painkiller, though your headache isn’t bad. You hadn’t actually been that drunk last night. Only sentimental. Spurred on by a heart-to-heart with Hyunjin and a kind of frustrated determination to finally stop pining over your best friend.
You slip out of bed without waking him, grabbing the half empty water bottle and quietly lock yourself in the bathroom. You know where he keeps it all – get the painkillers out of the top cabinet, swallow one with some water. You pee, then get your toothbrush out of the bottom cabinet, where he always keeps it. Brush your teeth quietly.
When you slip back into the bedroom, Changbin is sitting up against his headboard. He’s a picture –squinting into the morning sunlight, rubbing at his eye with the ball of his hand. His curly hair is sticking up in all directions. The muscles in his arms bulge distractingly against the fabric of his shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice still deep and thick with sleep, “you didn’t throw up, did you?”
You huff out a soft little laugh, shake your head. “Just went to pee. Brushed my teeth.”
He nods blearily, but relieved.
Your patience runs out. You skip back over to the bed, just about resisting the urge to run, giggling, your heart beating erratically, giddily in your ears as you get back under the covers, slide over until your bare legs find his. Before he can stop you, you crawl over him –and collapse onto his chest with a happy hum.
Changbin freezes underneath you. You’re pretty sure he isn’t even breathing, but his heartbeat is loud. It thunders under your ear as you sink into his sleep warm, no, sleep hot body with a barely contained shudder. When he finally wraps his arms around you, you think you could cry. You’re so happy.
“Baby?” he asks, softly, and you sigh, lift your head enough to look at him. He’s staring at you with so much astonishment, you can’t help but smile. “So, you remember last night.”
You huff out a laugh, feel your cheeks warming. But you nod.
“You really … you … me?”
You watch as he struggles around the words, watch his cheeks tint pink, and his composure wane the longer you’re silent. You decide to take pity on him.
“I’m really in love with you, yeah,” you whisper. You feel yourself blush harder as you say the words. And despite how clear he was last night, there’s an agonising second where you wonder if you read it all wrong.
But then he smiles. Throws his head back and laughs, disbelieving, winded.
“I can’t … is this real life?!”
You giggle right back, sit back, straddling his hips, bring your hands to cup his face.
“Say it back,” you mumble, only half serious. You can feel his love seeping into through every inch of his skin pressed against yours, already. It’s dizzying.
He inhales shakily, places his own hands over yours on his face and finally looks at you.
“I love you, too, baby. Have for a long time.”
You can’t resist it. You squeal, dip in to press your forehead against his, leaning in slowly, but he chokes, turns his head.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!”
He looks genuinely worried, but you shrug. You rub your thumb over the soft skin of his cheeks, lean in again until your lips brush against his and whisper three words before you lean in and finally kiss him.
“I don’t care.”
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
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if there's one thing jisung knows about you, it's that you are... probably the most affectionate drunk he's ever met. the giggliest, too, because you've giggled at too many of his friends' bad jokes at this point in the night. he's got an arm loosely around you as the two of you lean against the side of minho's car, waiting for him to finally round up felix and drive all of you home. all jisung wants right now is to go home and recharge for a week straight... and maybe also cuddle with you as soon as he possibly can, if you're up to it.
but right now, you're giggling at penguin videos on his phone (distraction tactic... employed by yourself to use on yourself, apparently), and all he can do is just smile as he watches you.
"jisungie... gonna find you a nice rock..." you sway into his side a little, grinning to yourself as you keep your eyes glued to his phone. he'll end up with so, so many more videos... but he isn't complaining. "gonna get you some kinda pebble..."
he snorts a little, pressing a kiss against the side of your face. "and if i already bought you a rock?"
"gonna buy you one anyway." you finally look away from his phone, just to lean in and start pressing kisses against his cheeks. you're still giggling, all too giddy to have him next to you, and he just fights back the urge to laugh. "gotta make sure my baby has all the pretty things..."
maybe it's a good thing he never carries the ring on him. he'd be getting down on one knee right here and now if he did.
akjsdhkhjs THANK U FOR SENDING ME THE BRAINWORMS AND BETAING THIS skzms revival yippie
summary: grumpy seung becomes angry seung when a guy gets belligerent at jisung's birthday party . it probably shouldn't be hot, but...
warnings: not much; swearing, some homophobic comments, some making out and grinding in semi-public
word count: 3k
“Listen, we don’t have to stay long, okay?” you yell over the music as you drag Seungmin through the packed, sticky living room of Jisung and Felix’s apartment and steer him towards a quieter corner on the outskirts of the room, close to the exit, where the music isn’t drowning out every last one of your thoughts, and you can take a moment to breathe.
Seungmin grumbles behind you, but his thumb swipes over the back of your hand.
When you stop and turn around to face him, his eyebrows are drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. He came home earlier, kicked his shoes off so hard they thunked into the wall and left a scuff in the paint. He barely mumbled a response to your greeting, and you already knew.
“It’s Jisung’s birthday party tonight. Do you want me to cancel?”
And he could’ve said yes, but of course, he didn’t. Stubborn as he is. He’d glared at the scuff in the wall and then turned and stomped towards the bedroom with a grumble of “don’t bother, it’s not like it fucking matters.”
You heard the wardrobe doors open and slam shut again and watched as Seungmin made his way into bathroom, slammed that door, too, and locked it behind him – a sign you long ago understood was his way of saying “I’m in a really shitty mood, and I’m not very lovable right now, so please give me a minute to calm down”. Not that you ever thought him any less lovable, just because he’s in a shitty mood. But he doesn’t agree, so you allow him his space. He locks the bathroom door, and you don’t knock, just wait until he finds his way back to you.
And a long shower later he did – and after a hesitant, apologetic, impossibly soft hug and a lingering kiss you somehow made it to Felix and Jisung’s place only an hour late.
Not like anyone noticed your absence – by the time Felix opens the door, his freckled face is already flushed and there’s tequila on his breath that he fans right into Seungmin’s reluctant face with a happy laugh.
The pink and purple LEDs dotted around the living room play off Seungmin’s scowl, and you sigh, take a step closer, into his space, just close enough to smell the crisp musk of his shampoo, the smell of your detergent on his soft, blue sweater that matches your cardigan perfectly. Matching outfits are something that are exclusively reserved for days when Seungmin either feels particularly soft or feels guilty about something. Today, he’d suggested it.
When you look up and your eyes meet his, you see the fondness in your eyes melt some of his tightness as his gaze flits over your face.
You’re about to say something, thank him for making the effort to come, or tell him how beautiful he looks in blue, but you’re interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hallway. Felix’s voice floats above the music, his usual giddy baritone soured into an angry tenor.
“Hey, man, what the fuck?!”
A tall, heavy body shoves through the door behind you and collides with your back so hard it sends you stumbling forward. Seungmin’s arms fold around you instinctively, holding you up and against himself, his eyes flitting over your form, wordlessly asking if you’re okay.
“Ha, sorry, sweetheart,” a smarmy voice laughs out behind you.
You whirl around and come face to face with the guy. You’ve met before, briefly, you think, but you barely remember his name. Woo-something. His grin is self-satisfied, and his eyes are too far apart, and he’s not sorry at all. When his eyes drag down your body, every single alarm bell in your brain goes off.
Chan gets in between you and him before you can do something you regret.
“Okay, let’s calm down, okay? You’re drunk. Who did you come with? Maybe they can take you home.”
The guy’s good-natured grin falters.
“I’m not fucking drunk,” he snarls, takes a step towards Chan, who lifts his hands defensively. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to escalate the situation, start a fight in the middle of Felix and Jisung’s apartment, with a guy who, albeit probably much weaker than, looks aggressive enough to do some serious damage.
Chan places a soothing hand on the guy’s shoulder and tries to lead him away, but the dude catches your gaze over Chan’s shoulder and sends you a stupid smirk.
“Hey pretty, sorry for bumping into you like that. Lemme make it up to you. Lemme get you a drink.”
His eyes lid as his eyes drag down to your cleavage again, and rage zips sharply through your veins. Seungmin’s hand tightens on your waist, and he takes a step forward.
“In your fucking dreams,” you spit, as Seungmin gently pushes you behind him. He doesn’t pull his hand back, lets it hover next to your waist. It’s trembling.
The guy barks out a laugh.
“Oh, are you the boyfriend? Or just the friend zoned guard puppy who’s never allowed to hit?” he chuckles, breaks out into a series of doglike yips before he nearly folds over in laughter, evidently finding himself hilarious.
You scoff loudly, raise a condescending eyebrow at him over Seungmin’s shoulder and Woo-something stops laughing, something dangerous rising in his eyes. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. In front of you, a muscle in Seungmin’s neck ticks, but apart from that he’s dead still. Too still. It’s almost unnerving.
Chan tries to drag the guy away again, pulls him vaguely into the direction of the front door.
“Come on, dude, stop it,” Chan beseeches him, but the guy doesn’t budge. His eyes are glued to Seungmin’s. The shift in the air is palpable.
When Seungmin speaks, it takes you a full few seconds to realise it’s his voice you’re hearing.
“I think you should calm down,” Seungmin says, his voice surprisingly clear and calm. “It’s Jisung’s birthday. Don’t ruin his party for him.”
The guy’s eyebrows fly up, and he barks out a laugh before he cocks his head to the side, squares his shoulders.
“What’s a twink like you gonna do about it?”
When Seungmin scoffs and shakes his head, you finally get a look at his face. His jaw is set, mouth curled up into something resembling a snarl, his wide, beautiful nose no longer serving to make him look soft, but instead lending his face something darker as his cold eyes stare the stranger down. He looks eerily calm, but you can see his chest rising and falling heavily, with a barely perceptible tremor, like he’s trying to keep it together. His heartbeat thrums in his neck.
“Calling someone gay as an insult. Very progressive. Though not surprising that your mental development stopped about 15 years ago,” he deadpans with such cold venom you can’t hold back the laugh it shocks out of you. You can’t believe he just said that.
This time, when Seungmin reaches out for you, his hand is still. He finds your waist, gives it a squeeze. Soft enough to be reassuring but hard enough to make your whole body light up with something entirely different, the adrenaline of the situation settling deep in your belly, making everything around you sharpen and your body burn. You take a step closer to Seungmin, reach for him, your hand meeting the expanse of his back. You curl your fingers into the material of his sweater and his breath hitches barely perceptibly.
Seungmin’s comment seems to get to the guy because he reels. He huffs, squares his shoulders, but he’s still too drunk, and his feet get tangled up in each other. Instead of forwards, he stumbles an unstable step back and knocks into a side table. The pretty, clearly handmade clay vase standing on it, filled with sunflowers, wobbles, tips over and crashes to the floor, shattering into so many pieces it makes you wince. Felix stares down at it with wide eyes and then deflates with the saddest little sigh you’ve ever heard. He looks heartbroken. Judging by the sudden movement of Seungmin’s head, he sees it, too, and it sends him a step forward, sneaker crunching into the wet shards and flowers and carpet as he gets into the guy’s face so fast you can barely keep up.
“I think you should leave,” he all but growls, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Right now.”
Seungmin’s not muscular, really, but what he lacks in that department, he makes up for in height and the width of his shoulders, that dwarf the other guy completely.
Your eyes are glued to Seungmin, half in fear, half in a sick sort of fascination. Something dizzying as you watch that makes you pulse between your legs as you watch his chest rise and fall.
The guy steps forward, bumps into Seungmin and there’s a zap of fear, but Seungmin doesn’t back up. Only steps closer, stares the guy down, his chest rising and falling heavily with each laboured breath. The rage radiates off him in waves.
Everything happens fast.
The guy brings his hands up and shoves Seungmin back, but Seungmin is stronger. He only reels back one step, blinks once, twice, before he makes for the guy, murder in his eyes.
Seungmin gets in one good shove against his chest before Chan gets in between them and you and Felix step forward, pulling Seungmin back. He goes willingly, unlike the other guy. He’s spewing expletives, calling Seungmin every derogatory name under the sun, but Chan is no longer gentle. With a tight grip on the back of the guy’s neck and fingers wrapped around his arm, he turns and leads him out of the room.
You don’t dare move until you hear the guy’s voice fade and finally disappear when the front door clicks shut.
Felix next to you shifts from one foot to the other uneasily, before he turns to you.
“You got this, right? I can’t … I gotta …”
His eyes flick back and forth between you and Seungmin and the door that Chan just disappeared behind, and you just nod. He gives you a grateful smile and bolts after Chan.
Only then do you finally take a glance at your boyfriend, whose arm is still in your vice grip.
He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling erratically, like his rage is only barely contained. His eyebrows are furrowed, gaze still locked on the door, like he’s expecting the guy to come barging right back in any second.
“Hey,” you whisper, just loud enough for it to reach over the music, and his gaze snaps to yours so fast it makes you dizzy. His eyes are intense, dark, and bottomless. It sends a shiver down your spine.
“You okay?”
He just blinks, looks away from you like he’s trying to anchor himself, huffs out a frustrated breath through his nose.
You lift your hand, cup his face softly, turn it back to you.
“Hey,” you repeat, wait until he blinks at you and nods, “let’s go somewhere quieter, okay?”
Once he nods again, you slip his fingers into yours and to the first place you can think of, and you’re lucky – the kitchen is deserted at this point, all the booze scatted around the living room.
As soon as the noise of the party fades, it’s like a switch flips in Seungmin, and he breathes out shakily, starts pacing back and forth in front of you, running his hands through his hair. He’s still breathing heavily, his face pulled into a grimace of anger.
“Holy shit ….” he mumbles, “holy fucking shit, I’m so fucking angry.”
He laughs humourlessly, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. You watch the sleeves of his sweater fall down his arm, the muscles in his hand flex.
“What the fuck … What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with that guy? You know Hyune made Yongbok that vase? Like three years ago. Yongbok loved that fucking vase. Fuck!”
You take a step forward, right into his path, planning to do something, anything to calm him down, but when Seungmin’s eyes zero in on you, his gaze piercing and his whole body thrumming with adrenaline, your mouth dries up.
“And how he spoke to you,” Seungmin growls, takes a step into your space.
Big hands find your waist, pull you against his body until your stomach is pressed flush against his. With a ragged sigh, Seungmin’s forehead falls against yours. His gaze dips from your eyes to your lips for only a split second, but it’s like your body is fine-tuned to him now. His breath puffs against your face with his next words, hot and sweltering. “How he fucking spoke to you. You should’ve been meaner. I could’ve taken him. I could’ve killed him …”
You don’t know who moved first. If it’s Seungmin who dipped down or you who pressed up to smash your lips together, but all you know is you’re kissing now – though kissing feels like an understatement. Like it doesn’t do justice to the way you feel like Seungmin is devouring you.
Because he’s never kissed you like this before. You’ve never been kissed like this before, period.
It’s aggressive. Teeth against your lips, tongues so deep in each other’s mouths like you’re trying to devour each other, Seungmin’s laboured breaths no longer trapped in his chest, but finding their way into your mouth.
His fingers dig into your hips and your mind chants a mad chorus of more, more, more as your fingers scramble for purchase on his shoulders, dragging at his sweater until you’re sure it must be riding up his back, but he doesn’t seem to care. Vaguely, you register him walking you backwards, until your lower back bumps into the kitchen counter. The gasp it shocks out of you breaks the kiss for the first time in minutes, and it makes Seungmin pull back, panting. He looks almost surprised, like he isn’t sure what’s going on, but the press of his half hard cock against your hip betrays him.
“Is this … is this alright? I don’t … I … I’m sorry, we can stop …”
You’d laugh, but you don’t feel like laughing because the thought of him stopping now, after kissing you like that – it makes the arousal in your guts curdle into something more akin to insanity. So you shake your head, thread one hand into the short, black hair at the back of his neck and drag him back in.
Seungmin goes willingly, presses his lips back to yours, melts his body into yours and drags his tongue against yours with a shuddering sigh into your open mouth. The strength with which he traps you between his broad chest and the hard stone of the counter behind you is new, so is the filthy eagerness of his usually so gentle and controlled mouth – and the hand runs down your body and then drips under your shirt, hot palms sliding over the skin of your waist and around your back until he can hold you up when he suddenly kicks your legs apart enough to shove his thigh in between your legs and right against your clothed core.
You moan into his mouth, high and keening and so gone, and he growls back, presses his own hips against yours and rocks it forward.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’re in Jisung and Felix’s kitchen, that there’s a party going on just outside of this room, that someone could come in any second – but something about the way Seungmin is handling you, the way his touches carry not a single shred of doubt; you just can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. Let them see.
Your hips pitch forward, your clothed pussy dragging across Seungmin’s thigh, and you mewl into his open mouth, spit smearing over your lips, and you drag him closer. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he groans, rocks his own hips forward, grinding his rock-hard cock into your hip. One of your frantic hands drags down, shoves itself past the waistband of his jeans to drag him closer by his stupidly pretty ass, the other copies his, finds its way under his shirt, making him shiver.
The kiss is filthy now, Seungmin’s hand buried in your hair, angling your head to the side to lick deeper, breathe filthy moans into your mouth as you grind against each other. With a particularly good rut of your clit against his thigh, your fingernails dig into Seungmin’s back, but the noise it rips out of him, something between a growl and a moan only makes you want to do it again and again …
“JESUS fucking christ,” someone screeches, and it makes Seungmin jolt away from you.
Jisung is standing in the door, his mouth agape.
“S-sorry,” he mumbles, his mouth snapping shut when he sees the death glare Seungmin sends him. Seungmin looks gorgeous. Hair a godawful mess, lips swollen and bruised, his sweater half ridden up his beautiful torso. You want your hands back on him. “S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you two of all people to be …. Like almost fucking in my kitchen.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t respond, just blushes darker and shuffles over to the fridge. It’s dead quiet, as he opens the freezer compartment, pulls out a bag of ice and shuts it again.
Seungmin’s eyes are glued to you. You’re watching Jisung. Without another word, only a wary glance that isn’t difficult to read as please get a room, he stumbles out of the kitchen.
Your gaze finds Seungmin’s. His is burning into you. He licks his lips, nods towards the door. His face is still flushed, something in his eyes still telling a story of disbelief, like he doesn’t quite know how you got here, but that he would like to find out if you’re willing.
Of course, you are.
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library
🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!
original ask: requested by @tattywood: ❛ i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty. ❜ would 100000% fit Hyunjin 🩶 + requested by anonymous: ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ with hyunjin? thank you
pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader
content info: artist of the month!hyunjin was inspo here. gangster stuff, reader has been kidnapped and is in a see through nightdress, most violence off page though, bad guy hyunjin who is actually a good guy, arranged marriage, multiple smut scenes, not great communication but gets better lol. smut includes fingering, blow jobs, pussy eating, piv, spanking, light choking, husband/wife kink.
word count: 6300 words.
masterlist.
part of the valentine’s day stories series.
credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy! <3
-
“I’ve already explained,” you say, equal parts frustrated and exhausted. “My husband isn’t coming for me.”
The gangster cronies still don’t seem to understand. You are tied to a chair in their basement (because they are preposterously corny goons, tying you up like a comically silly damsel in a ridiculous film) while they berate you for your husband’s tardiness.
You have tried explaining, over and over, that Hyunjin is not coming, but they won’t accept that answer. The fools try in vain to reach him again, but his line leads straight to a dial tone.
He went radio silent after the initial video contact, when your captors demanded a price for your healthy return.
Hyunjin was quiet on the call. Your husband is a quiet man in general, though he knows how to use his charms and work a room, and he has certainly perfected the art of severe intimidation. When your marriage was arranged, one mob family to the other, you mistakenly assumed you were marrying a monster.
Hyunjin is very reserved when not conducting business. He doesn’t engage in any of the more debauched sides of the business, unlike the men in your family. Evenings at home are silent and still, the penthouse view of the glittering cityscape the only real bustle.
Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you. When he took over his family’s business, Hyunjin altered a lot of their practices, cutting the crueler sectors, opting for illicit crimes of more practical varieties.
The country is in a political chokehold, government affairs conducted none too differently from the criminal underworld. The cops are all dirty, the politicians corrupt, the wealthy depraved. Hyunjin has taken it upon himself to alleviate the pressure suffered by the regular people, the civilians who truly pay the price of a broken system.
In a world with no good guys, sometimes only villains can be heroes.
You think of his face now, how he certainly looked the part of a villain on the video call. Hyunjin has a very austere demeanour, exacerbated by his severe appearance: sharp marble features and dark, vicious eyes often further darkened with heavy lining, sleek black hair, scattered scars and tattoos, and the sort of regard that judges at a glance. He is young, but he has the air of a man who has already traversed the universe and found it wanting.
You think of his face now, the silent perusal he gave your bound body on that video call. You are dressed in your favourite nightgown, your underthings partially visible through the light material, but it was not willingly donned. At the time of your kidnapping, you were attired appropriately for the wealthy wife of a famous gangster. You were returning from a family visit when your captors intercepted you in transit from the airport.
Either to intimidate or threaten or just because they could, they made you remove all your jewelry and fine clothes. They rifled through your luggage and demanded you change into the nightgown.
Hyunjin recognized the nightdress, realized you must have been stripped, and likely inferred the very worst.
“Address,” was the only word Hyunjin said. He ended the call seconds later.
“Oh, he’ll come,” your captor says. He points at you with a hand that feels more threatening than a knife. It makes your terrified heart leap into your throat. “Or else.”
“He won’t, though!” you exclaim. “You’re wasting your time!”
They are not listening. They leave the basement, slamming the door behind them.
You huff and settle back in your bonds.
It is only a matter of time before they realize you are telling the truth. Hyunjin will not waste the money or resources to rescue you. He has always been respectful of the marriage arrangement, but your husband is not sentimental. There is a professional distance between you. His decision will be based in the logic of all his strategies: nothing personal, just a matter of business.
You sometimes see a different side of him, something buried under that quiet intensity. He collects fine art and spends hours poring over his favourite pieces, listening to music, losing himself to artistic fantasies. He always comes back, but you know there are other worlds in his mind.
Every attempt to bridge the gap has been gently rebuffed, but there have been moments when your husband seems curious about you. You often catch him staring. He gets a wistful look that softens his face, even with that shield of make-up. His eyes are gentle when you talk about your passions. You never let his quietude deter your friendly penchant for chatter. He seems more than content to listen. He remembers everything too.
You know he finds you attractive, if nothing else. He has caved on that front several times over, though not right away. He didn’t touch you on the wedding night, nor the honeymoon. He left your beach holiday early to return to business, leaving you in a villa with security and his credit card. It was the first time you realized the material world was no replacement for true companionship. You missed his dark eyes.
Your family also had expectations. There would be consequences if the marriage fell through. You would be blamed, not him. Worried he would renege on the nuptials, you did everything to try and seduce him.
He politely rejected you at every turn.
Just when you were resigned, he arrived home after a job. It was almost three in the morning when he entered the penthouse. You have separate bedrooms but they share a connecting bathroom. You could hear him cursing above the running water.
You only meant to peek. The sliding door on your side was partially ajar so you tip-toed over.
Hyunjin was standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, pressing a rag to his wounded shoulder. There was a mess of blood streaked down his back, making you gasp at the terrible mosaic of pain, his body littered with violent scars.
That gasp contained multitudes, for the horror, for his beauty. His dark eyes were as severely lined as ever, expression intense as he breathed hard through the pain. Smooth black hair fell across his face when he tipped his head.
He froze at the sound of your gasp. His turn was very slow, eyes peeking through the curtain of his short hair. They captured yours.
You held your breath.
Eventually, he straightened, flicking his hair out of his face. He looked in the mirror and sighed.
“You can come in,” he said. “This is your home too.”
You slid the door open, just enough to squeeze through. Your attention was utterly transfixed on his bleeding shoulder. You could see the wound was a thin stripe. It was not deep so stitches were not necessary, but it was slightly out of his reach as it sloped towards his back.
“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said, thoughtlessly taking the rag right out of his hands.
In spite of the violence that raised you, or maybe because of it, you can’t stand to see suffering. You and Hyunjin have had that in common from the start. You were quick to help him clean the wound, wordlessly wiping all the blood then applying cream across the clotted cut.
He flinched when the stinging cream made contact. You went to apologize but your words evaporated when your eyes met through the mirror. You were surprised to find him already looking at you, that expressive gaze as thoughtful as ever.
“How did this happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, eyes rivetted to his reflection. “You – you have people to protect you.” You managed to rip your gaze away, looking at your task, feeling hot in the face.
“I do,” he said. “But I’d never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”
This did not surprise you to hear. It is obvious that Hyunjin cares very deeply about the wellbeing of other people. It is a fact known to few. It aggravates you at times, but his reputation does not seem to bother him. He would rather people think him a monster while he secretly does good rather than be praised in public while cruel in private.
You have never known another man like him. Looking at that scar that night, the realization truly struck you.
Your fingers began to tremble where they brushed his bare skin, your eyes widening as you looked at the scar and many others. If something happened to him, what would become of you? Certainly, as his widow, you would be financially sound, but what did that matter? This world would lose something irreplaceable if it lost Hwang Hyunjin. This penthouse could be brimming with silver and gold and it would be empty, worthless.
Tears in your eyes, you succumbed to desire, kissing him very gently on his hurt shoulder.
“Hyunjin,” you said, your eyes closed, lips grazing his skin as you spoke. “Please make sure you always come home, okay?”
He did not answer at first. When you lifted your eyes and looked in the mirror, those dark eyes were so enflamed that you were surprised nothing caught fire.
“Hyunjin?” you said softly.
“You mean that,” he said, not quite a question, more like a realization.
“Of course,” you replied. You looked at his scarred back again, let your fingertips brush down the length of his spine. It made him stand a little straighter. “Have you ever known me to lie?” you asked.
He finally turned around, looking at you with an long-engrained wariness, but also a hunger. He was a starving man presented with a banquet, but one who did not easily trust when sitting at someone else’s table.
“You’re a smart woman,” he said. “I know that. And I know that you’re – good.”
Good was an exhale, like the word was too heavy for his tongue. You realized that his wariness was less suspicion for you than hesitation regarding himself. He was only starving because he though himself undeserving of the meal he wanted.
“You’ve seen – and done – many bad things tonight, haven’t you?” you asked.
Having the full force of his gaze was overwhelmingly heady. You remember how it made your heart race like you were being chased, your breath catching over and over until you were almost panting.
Arousal struck quickly, a sensation like you never experienced before. You thought you understood attraction, but not until that moment when he released a breath, so close to your face, and you became truly aware of his proximity. Of him, of all that he was, all that he did. His character, his hidden depths.
Your husband.
It made your racing heart thunder something fierce, your blood pumping hotly, throbbing places you did not know were so sensitive.
You desperately wondered what was on his mind. The gears in his head were spinning and whirring, delaying his response. Was he feeling the same tension? Were his thoughts the same realization?
My wife.
“Yes,” he finally said.
“Is there something I can do to help?” you asked.
His tattooed hand cupped your head, tilting it just so. It made your lips part with a gasp, eyelids heavy with anticipation for a kiss.
He took his time looking at you, like he was scrubbing all those bad memories away, replacing them with the flustered look on his aroused wife’s face.
“Yes,” he said again, and kissed you for the first time.
You were so glad he rebuffed your previous half-hearted advances, clumsy seductions made out of obligation rather than desire. It was so different to that kiss. You would not have known how to even ask for a kiss like that. You never knew what you were missing.
Your quiet husband and his multitudes. All that simmering intensity, hot just below the surface of his icy demeanour, burned right through his skin. His kiss was ravishing, entirely possessive, like he wished to take your whole essence into him and hold it forever.
He walked you backwards. With a snap of his wrist, he slid the door open the rest of the way, so sharp that it tried to bounce back. He continued onward, kissing you until you were dizzy with it.
He picked you up just to put you on the bed himself. Your kiss separated only then as you landed with a bounce and a breath.
He loomed over the edge of the bed, this man who was both stranger and husband, hero and villain. He looked at you like he already loved you. He looked at you and saw the reciprocation. You had fallen for him without realizing you had ever even stumbled.
He ran his hands through his hair, the sleek black locks fluttering back into place. His eyes were still rivetted to your face, to your body. You were wearing the nightdress you are wearing now. It is why it became your favourite.
He looked down at you, the material translucent enough to see the details of your body. It broke through that last layer of ice. He surrendered with a choked breath.
He unclasped a holster on his thigh, dropped a knife that was hidden in a pocket. Once unarmed, his hands went to his belt. You watched those nimble, efficient fingers, swallowing hard. You were aching to an embarrassing degree, undoubtedly obvious in your desires. No one ever warned you it would feel like this, just being looked at, never mind touched.
Then his belt was on the floor and he touchedyou for real. His calloused hands moved up your thighs, pushing the nightdress up and out of his way. He climbed on top of you, swift as a feline, mouth descending onto yours with that same desperate hunger as before.
Recollection makes you crave another kiss. You think you will always be starving for more.
“Hyunjin,” you whispered, hands on his face, his shoulders, down to his chest.
He took your hands and laced your fingers with his, pinning those hands to the bed. He kissed you again, long and slow. It was all more sensual than desperate.
His voice, however, was desperate when he begged, “Let me make you feel good, please.” He kissed down your face, your jaw, your throat. “Please, my wife.” He kissed further down still, through your nightdress, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue, wetting the material and awakening every nerve beneath it. “My wife,” he repeated.
“My husband.” The words left your lips in a dizzy, delirious whisper.
It was all the confirmation he needed. Those deft and skilled hands, so quick to assemble weapons and pull triggers, applied themselves with a startling gentleness. He took you apart and put you together with the same efficient ease.
He hooked his fingers in the only material between him and his desire, tugged it out of his way. His fingers went to you, slipping through all that wetness. Those intense eyes rolled back even though it was just his fingers inside you, then he closed his eyes like it was too much, and it seemed he had to temper himself, murmuring nonsense as he let his fingers sink into you.
He kissed you again, drinking down every sigh and gasp and moan while he fucked you with his long fingers. It was like he could taste your pleasure, like he was trying to get drunk on it, every noise you made filling his mouth. He gave them back and brought you over a peak, first with his hands, then with his mouth. He laid between your legs and put your thighs around his head, losing himself entirely in you.
He did not remove a single article of your clothing nor his pants, not that first time. He simply held the material to the side as he unzipped and finally got inside you. It made your whole body keen, coming to life like it never had before. You forgot all your sensibilities and let every wanton sound and action loose.
He responded in kind. His kiss tasted like your pleasure, his heart pounding as fast as yours where your chests pressed together. You were careful near his injured shoulder, fingertips dodging scars. Your soft touch made him whimper, this powerful man entirely undone by a few caresses.
His skin was hot and he worked up a sweat, but his stamina seemed endless. He always wanted more.
You fell asleep tucked in his arms, content to believe the walls had crumbled. However, they revealed themselves in the morning light, as concrete as ever. He slipped away and left a note to excuse his absence as he was called away to business. You thought about phoning or messaging him, but those lines were not always secure, not for such intimate conversations.
When he returned a few days later, he hid behind those concrete walls, but too much had changed. There was now an awareness of your proximity and your distance. The lack of intimacy was not called into question before, the absence of something being a nothing. But now that nothing was something, or had been something for a moment, and it made you both very aware of how it was now missing – and anticipating always when it might again appear.
He tried very hard to keep away, to stay cordial at best, his habitual quietude even heavier than before. But while his silence was significant, so was his glance. Every time you turned around, he was already looking at you, a longing in his eyes and a thought on his lips that he never dared to speak aloud.
You granted him some distance for a time. When it became abundantly obvious he was holding himself in check, you realized that your own vulnerability was required to bridge the gap.
One night you crossed through the bathroom, slid open the door on his side. You found him at his desk, dressed down in a white dress shirt and pants. His blazer was discarded on the floor, his face still made up.
He stood quickly when you entered, though he didn’t say anything.
It was strange to imagine this man would need any reassurance, but you felt that was the case. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, his roving eyes studious.
You said nothing. You approached him, laid your hands on his chest, and gently guided him back into his chair. He sat slowly, his eyes on your face the entire time, even when he had to tip his head back to peer up at you.
You ran your fingers through his hair. When you entered the room, his face was tightly screwed in an expression of aggravation, but all those harsh lines softened as you traced a thumb down the sharp slope of his cheek.
There were some wipes on his desk. You took one and began to carefully remove that shield of dark make-up. His hand lifted but not to stop you, simply to rest his palm on your waist. He began to really touch you, feeling the shape of your body through your robe as you helped him come back to himself.
“Hello,” you finally said, looking at his bare face. Still impossibly beautiful.
“Hello,” he replied.
His fingertips dipped towards the hem of the robe. Before he could distract you with your own pleasure, you sunk to your knees in front of him. This startled him, his hand frozen in the air as you fit yourself between his open knees.
He caught your hand, his reflexes fast, before it could reach his fly. You could see he was already affected, a heavy bulge in the black material making your mouth water and core tighten.
He squeezed your hand and you looked up at his face. He tipped his head, blinked rapidly, an expression of mild confusion.
You took your hand back and unknotted your robe. The silk fell from your shoulders and down, sliding like water right off your body. You were completedly naked underneath.
It clarified everything, his confusion gone, replaced with surprise.
“You—” he began. It was interrupted when you put your head in his lap, resting on his thigh. You led his hand to the back of your neck and kissed him through his pants. It made his fingers clasp tighter around you.
“Please,” you said.
He would never deny you anything. Not the smallest gift nor grandest gesture. When you started a new charity to further your combined philanthropic efforts, he spared no expense in aiding the endeavour. You shared passions, and now you shared this.
He was stiff at the start, but gradually let himself go lax in his seat. His hand kept a steady grip on the back of your neck, not guiding but holding, like he thought you might disappear otherwise. He murmured your name, letting his head fall back as you worked him in your mouth.
You intended to make him finish like that, seeking nothing for yourself at that precise moment. He had other ideas, needing more of your shared pleasure to take him over that brink.
He lifted your face, adjusted his pants, and was on his feet in a matter of seconds. That hand on your neck dragged you up, up, up until your naked body was pressed against his clothed one. He clung to you needily, claiming your mouth in a wanting kiss.
His hands moved over you, every new inch of skin making him moan as he walked you towards the bed. The kiss only broke when you both sat down, his lips against yours as he breathed, almost smiling, “My pretty wife.”
“Hyunjin,” you said, shaking your head, feeling suddenly shy just because of a simple compliment.
He did not allow you to curl into yourself with any shame. When you tried, he seized you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled it. His eyes moved up and down your body, hands following, from your thighs to hips to waist and up.
“What are you doing?” you said, laughing helplessly when he kissed somewhere ticklish on your throat. The sound made him smile, even softer than before, though it turned a little wicked as his mouth went lower.
“I’m simply enjoying the view,” he said, then wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your breast, ran his tongue up and over. He licked and kissed back up to your mouth. “It’s not everyday I get to fuck someone so pretty.”
As he said this, he opened his pants again, eyes on yours as he grabbed your thighs and moved you so he could thrust up into you. His hips moved with a slow roll, letting you adjust to him. It had been a little while, and this angle was different.
And Hyunjin is not small. Your husband is built in perfect proportion, his body a long, hard, slender build – everything inside you at that moment was no exception. This angle made you whimper, clinging to him like he was a life preserver in a storm. The roll of his hips kept coming like waves and you were sure you would drown otherwise.
Your arms were around his neck, his graceful but strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you. He felt impossibly deep, every upward stroke feeling like it was bursting past something, pushing everything inside your body up to your throat.
You swallowed again and again, the taste of him still on your lips, the feel of him inside every inch of you. You clenched and tightened involuntarily, just pure animal reaction, and it made him moan and find all those sweet spots to make it happen again.
“Help,” was your somewhat nonsensical request, blurted in the midst of some moaning babbling.
Fortunately, he was and is a smart man. He understood. He clasped you tight to his body and fell back on the bed, thrusting up into you with sharper, more focussed determination, faster until you were weeping on his chest, delirious with pleasure. His shirt was unbuttoned and you accidentally ripped a few buttons right off, trying to press your face to bare skin.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you said as you tumbled over a height you never reached before. You never knew you could come just from that, stimulated somewhere so deep inside you, but it made you come undone in his arms.
He watched you unravel and it made him follow, clinging to you as he just barely pulled out before coming between your dripping thighs. It was all so messy and wet, your legs trembling, but it felt so good that it hardly mattered.
He caught his breath, then looked at your face just lose that breath again. He moaned and dragged you in for another kiss.
Then you were on your back, the night far from over.
That second night is the one that truly opened the door to more. Though your husband can be reticent in other regards, he is not quiet when he is inside you. You have come together again and again, a conversation with your bodies as you look for pleasure in a dangerous world. You always find it, tucked in the protective circle of his arms, wrapped around every inch of him.
You have been out of his arms for too long. Your visit to your family grew tedious before long. Your home is with Hyunjin now and you were eager to return.
Now it seems you may never see it again. You may never see him again.
No.
Just like the night when you took control for yourself, you must take control now. You realize if anything is to happen, then you must take the reins of your own rescue. You would not want Hyunjin to compromise himself or his important business. You know if something bad happened to you, it would weigh on his conscious, even if it was the better business decision. You must eliminate the need for choice.
It turns out, comical rope bindings are truly best suited for silly movies. When the men come to check on you again, you have slipped free of your bindings. There was an array of weapons in the room, so carelessly disposed because the assailants never assumed you would get free – or, if you did get free, that you would not know how to use them.
It is true, you do not like violence.
That does not mean you do not understand it.
You leave the two men unconscious in their basement. Unfortunately, you cannot find your suitcase and you do not want to hang around, so you venture outside in your nightgown. You are debating your next move when a car pulls into the driveway.
You back away quickly, raising the gun you stole as more men get out of the vehicle. You only stay your hand because you recognize one of them, though it takes a second to place him as one of Hyunjin’s lieutenants.
Then Hyunjin emerges. You have seen your husband before and after a confrontation, but never during it. If you thought he was an intimidating figure in the aftermath, he is all danger and darkness as he storms up the driveway now. There is such an energy radiating from him, it makes you stumble and forget yourself entirely.
Then he stumbles, recognizing you. You are both startled, staring at each other with the gun raised between you.
He looks nowhere but your eyes.
“Hyunjin?” you finally say.
“I—” He looks at you, the gun, the nightdress. He shakes his head. Some of that bravado returns when he says, “I’m here to save you.”
“Ah,” you say. You slowly lower the gun, at a loss how to reply. You were so resigned to the idea this was all still business. The reality of your husband risking himself to rescue you from unknown hostiles is making your heart pound.
In the end, all you can think to say is, “Sorry. You’re late.”
That wicked smile crosses his face, his tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth. He is suddenly nothing but amused, looking at you, then at the house.
“I can see that,” he says.
He whistles sharply and gestures to the house with a gloved hand. His lieutenants run past you and charge the door, no doubt heading inside to finish the job you started.
You turn to watch them go. In your distraction, Hyunjin grabs your arm. He is fast, effectively disarming you. He catches the gun with a twirl before tossing it aside.
It is not the gun he wants; it’s you.
Still holding your wrist, he tugs you into him. You throw your arms around him. The hug is surprisingly chaste, his face in your neck as he squeezes you like it is the only thing keeping him alive and standing.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
When in his arms, it seems impossible to consider you could ever feel any pain.
You shake your head, daring to kiss his cheek. He turns his face to yours, your lips close enough to brush in a swipe.
“I’m all right now,” you say. “Sorry I beat you to the punch. I – I wasn’t sure if—”
His brow crinkles. That gloved hand goes from your wrist to your chin, seizing it between thumb and forefinger. He tips your head so he can look at your face. He always regards you like he does one of his masterpieces, like he can never get his fill, like there is always something new to find. He is enchanted every time.
“You’re mine,” he says. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”
You gasp when those fingers go from your chin to your throat, just enough to pull you in that last breath of a space. He kisses you there in the sunlight, utterly shameless.
“Do not ever doubt that,” he says. His eyes are soft with his affection, but his voice is hard, skirting the edge of a threat he would issue an adversary. It makes you tingle from head to toe. “Do I need to remind you?”
You never actually answer. You are not sure if your answer would have made a difference, as Hyunjin is determined to show you the very second you are home.
You reach the penthouse. There is no time to shower or decompress once you cross the threshhold. He sweeps you off your feet, your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. You are wearing his blazer over your nightdress to preserve your modesty – not that it will last long.
He carries you to the bedroom where so many slow and subtle exchanges took place. Now, he is not slow or subtle. He is a force of nature. He tells you that he held no greater fear than losing you and he tried to keep his distance, but he regretted it the moment he saw you on that video call.
“You’re my wife,” he says, peeling his blazer off your body. “I’m your husband. There is nothing I should be holding back.”
“Yes,” you say, running your fingers through that smooth black hair. You shiver as he bunches the fabric of your nightdress, the material spilling over his fingers. “Don’t hold back,” you say, mouth open against his, stealing his every breath. “Do whatever you want.”
He tells you exactly what he wants, using his words for a change, finally letting those walls come down. He whispers every filthy thought into your ear, between kisses, between bites. You shiver at every suggestion.
And so, moments later, he is sitting on your bed. He arranges you to lay across his lap, facedown in the pillows while he runs his hands down your spine and over the curve of your ass.
“You’re my wife,” he says. The first tap of his open palm is through the thin material of your nightdress. It is truly just a warning tap, just enough to make you bounce. “Don’t ever doubt me again,” he says, swinging that strong hand a little harder.
This time a yelp escapes your lips. You wriggle until he pins you down, a hand on the back of your neck and the other lifting your dress. He already stripped your underthings, his open palm smoothing down all that bare skin.
You tingle with anticipation, braced yet still unprepared for the sharp smack he next delivers. You feel it tingle all the way up to your head, as well as the next one, and the next. You squirm under his firm grip, groaning his name as your thighs get tense and press together.
“Don’t say my name,” he says, and smacks you again. “Who am I?”
“M-my husband,” you say, practically mewling like a kitten when he next brings his hand down. “My husband,” you say again.
“And you are—”
“Your wife,” you say, though it comes out almost like a sob, a desperate gasp as he slips his fingers between your thighs and finds a new way to torture you. With your backside hot and stinging, the pleasure of his hand in that sensitive place feels amplified by a tenfold.
“Husband,” you say, hips bucking. His free hand goes from the back of your neck to your lower spine, holding you in his lap as he slowly finger-fucks you.
“Yes?” he says.
You do not even remember what you were going to say, or beg, or plead. You are overcome with sensation, tingling all over, intensifying the press of his fingers as he curls his fingers into that soft, soft place. Then you are really squirming, helplessly, instinctively, whining into the pillows.
“I make you feel good,” he says. “I take care of you. You, who are so good, and so smart, but so—”
You cry out when he angles his hand just a little differently. Your vision swims with stars as he speeds up.
“So soft,” he says, his own voice going soft, just a whisper as he makes you come all over his hand in a throbbing, aching, desperate wet mess. “Just for me,” he says in that whisper. “Just for your husband.”
“Mmmf,” is all the response you have left in you.
Your thighs are trembling and your pussy throbbing with aftershocks when he picks you up. He stands and turns, laying you on your side in the bed. You are grateful, as your backside still stings, though you suspect he is not done yet.
He strips out of his clothes, tearing through his shirt, leaving the pants in a heap. He forgets to remove his necklace. All that silver is cold against your hot skin as he lays down behind you. You do not have time to linger on it, as he gathers up the hem of your dress and adjusts himself behind you.
He has taken you many times, in many ways, many positions. When you are on your hands and knees, he is overtaken by a primal urge, your hips as leverage in his hands as he pounds into you like it is a chase. When you are on your back, he sinks into you slowly and deeply, rocking his hips into yours like he intends to fuck you forever. When you are in his lap, he rolls his hips in steady, needy waves, captivated by the sight of you in his arms.
He lays behind you now and wraps his arms around you, coaxes your thighs apart. Your nightdress is bunched every which way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and you feel especially exposed and vulnerable in this position somehow. Perhaps it is the fact he is the one holding you open, keeping you in position so he can take you.
You let yourself fall into it, fall into him. You let him tell you, with words and actions, exactly how he feels.
Before it ends, you change position. He lays back and you straddle his hips while stripping off your dress entirely. He keeps rolling up into you, only stopping when you plant your hands on his chest to slow him down. Then he practically sinks in the mattress, murmuring your name. His make-up is smudged, his calloused hands rough on your body. Whatever pains you experienced have been overtaken by his hands, by the smarting on your backside, still tender as you bring your body down onto his again and again. He has completely claimed you for himself and you take the same in turn.
“Hyunjin,” you say. “My husband, oh—”
He kisses your hand, long and hard, like he needs his mouth on some part of you desperately. Your fingers are curled into his pretty mouth when he comes, his hands on your hips and his cock buried inside you.
“Oh,” is your final sound before you slump on top of him, skin to skin.
He rolls you onto your side, though he keeps you wrapped around him, his arms around you in turn. His hair is already a sweaty mess and you rub your thumb through some of his shadowy make-up, but those familiar dark eyes are gazing at you with so much warmth. There is no more ice, no more cold concrete.
“I should let you rescue me more often,” you say with a laugh.
He doesn’t laugh back, but he does smile softly. It should be incongruous with his severe appearance, but it somehow comes together, layers of him exposed all at once as he strokes your cheek.
He looks at you like his favourite work of art.
“You were the one who rescued you,” he says. “Just like you rescued me.”
You cannot find the words to reply, so you kiss him. It speaks volumes, and he replies, kissing back.
You lose yourself to the sweetness, to the heat, to the passion, to all those things more, knowing there are many more to come with this man as your husband.
