The house is too quiet for how loud the day is supposed to be.
No music. No TV. Just the frantic, off-beat thudding of a basketball hitting hardwood somewhere from in the house.
You pause halfway through tying your shoe, listening.
Thud. Thudthud. Thud.
It’s erratic. Aggressive. You straighten slowly, glancing toward the bedroom door before following the sound.
Nicky’s in the living room.
He’s barefoot, already in his game shorts, his Ravens hoodie pulled up over his head. He isn’t practicing. He's just dribbling the ball hard, making it hit the floor with a thud. It snaps back into his hand as he moves through a crossover.
Dribble. Cross. Spin.
The ball careens off the side of the couch, narrowly missing a lamp. He exhales a sharp, jagged breath, dragging both hands back through his hair until it stands on end.
You lean your shoulder against the doorway.
“Careful,” you say softly. “That couch doesn't have a jersey on. It’s a neutral party.”
“I know,” he mutters, his voice tight. He doesn't look at you. He just stalks after the ball.
“The championship isn't for a few hours, Nicks,” you add. “You’re going to burn out before the tip-off.”
“I’m fine.” Dribble. Dribble. “I’m good,” he says
“You’re sweating in a cold house,” you counter, stepping into the room. “What’s actually going on?”
“Nothing.” He looks at his ball.
Immediate. Defensive. He tries to spin the ball on his finger, but his hand is shaking just enough that it wobbles and falls. You catch the ball before it hits the floor, tucking it under your arm. You just wait, giving him a level look. The silence stretches for five seconds before he finally breaks. He sags, the bravado dropping away to reveal a kid who looks significantly younger than he did five minutes ago.
“It’s a lose-lose,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“How do you figure?” You ask.
“If we lose… I let Coach down.” He looks toward the hallway where Yoongi is getting ready. “He put everything into this season. He trusted me to lead the floor. If I choke in the championship, after everything he’s taught me? I can’t look him in the eye.”
“And if you win?” You watch him carefully.
“Then I’m the guy who walked away from his best friends just to beat them. I’ll be standing there with a trophy while they’re on the other side of the court… and it’ll feel like I’m rubbing it in. Like I’m saying, ‘See? I didn't need you. I’m better off without you.’” He explains
He looks back at you, eyes searching for an answer that isn't there.
“They were my brothers before they were my opponents. How am I supposed to play hard against them knowing I’m the one who’s going to break their hearts?” He questions.
You step closer, handing the ball back but keeping your hand on top of it so he has to meet your eyes.
“You think Yoongi wants a perfect player?” You ask.
“He wants a win.” He hesitates before answering.
“He wants a player who shows up for his team,” you correct him. “Yoongi knows the pressure you’re under. He chose you because he knows you can handle the weight, not because he thinks you’re a machine. If you lose, he’ll be disappointed in the result, sure…but he’s never going to be disappointed in you.”
Nicky swallows hard, his grip on the ball loosening.
“And your old team?” You continue. “They’re competitors, Nicks. If you go easy on them, that’s the insult. That’s telling them you don’t think they’re good enough to handle the real you. You want to honor that friendship? You give them the best game of their lives.”
He stands there for a moment, the ball held loosely between his hands. The frantic energy is gone, replaced by a heavy, thoughtful stillness.
“It’s still going to suck,” he says quietly. “Seeing them after the whistle.”
“Yeah,” you admit. “It might. But you aren’t leaving them behind. You’re just growing up and so are they.”
From down the hall, a door opens. The steady footsteps of Yoongi approach. Nicky’s posture shifts instantly. His shoulders straighten, his chin up. He’s putting the mask back on.
However, as he looks at you one last time, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Coach gonna kill me if I scuffed the floor,” he mutters.
“Then you better go out there and win him a trophy to distract him.” You smile.
Nicky snorts, spinning the ball once perfectly steady this time before catching it.
“Deal.” He smiles.
You’re squeezed between Mark and Chris, who is leaning so far over the railing that your dad has to keep a firm grip on the back of his hoodie.
“They haven't even started yet. If he doesn't calm down I’m going to have a heart attack,” Chris mutters, his leg bouncing with enough nervous energy to vibrate the entire row.
He’s been analyzing Nicky like he’s the one with the clipboard, his eyes darting between Nicky and the Bearcats' bench.
“Sit back, Chris, you’re blocking the view for the people behind us,” your mom says, though she’s hardly the picture of calm herself.
She’s clutching her purse in her lap, her knuckles white. She keeps glancing at you, then at the court, then…inevitably at the visitors' sideline. She knows exactly who Keeho is. Her son's assistant coach. She knows about the 2:00 AM departures too.
“He’s got it, Mom,” you say, though you’re mostly trying to convince yourself.
“I don't like the way that Keeho is looking at the court,” your dad grumbles, his voice low and protective. “He’s looking for a weak spot. He’s looking for Nicky.”
“You don't think he will play…dirty, do you?” Elly looks over at you.
“Why does our final game seem like a set up?” Mark asks.
“Deep breaths, Mark,” you say, sitting down and smoothing your jacket. “The kids are ready.”
“Are they?” Mark gestures toward the court where the Ravens are warming up. “Nicky looks like he’s trying to dribble the ball through the Earth’s crust.”
You follow his gaze. Nicky is a blur of motion, his face a mask of terrifying focus. He’s playing for two ghosts today. The fear of failing Yoongi and the guilt of beating his past.
However, it's then your eyes drift past the Ravens' basket, across the half-court line to the opposing bench.
The Bearcats.
There, standing in front of the visitors' bench with a clipboard tucked under one arm, is Keeho.
He looks exactly the same, which is the most annoying thing about him. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the forearms you remember a little too clearly, and his hair is styled with that effortless I just woke up like this look that you know takes at least twenty minutes in a mirror.
As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Keeho turns his head.
His eyes lock onto yours instantly. He doesn't look surprised. He just watches you for a moment too long, his expression unreadable before a slow, knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. He offers a sharp, mocking little two-finger salute. The same one he used to give you when he was leaving your apartment at 2:00 AM.
Across the court, Keeho leans down to whisper something to his son Chan. Nicky's former best friend. The boy nods, his eyes cutting toward Nicky with a new, aggressive light. Keeho looks back at you, winks, and then turns his full attention to the court as the buzzer sounds for the start of the game.
The whistle blows, and the gym explodes into a deafening roar.
The game didn't just start. It collides. Every time Nicky touches the ball, the Bearcats swarm him. They know his favorite crossover, they know his tendency to lean left when he is tired, and they are using it like a weapon.
Standing on the sideline, Yoongi is a statue of quiet intensity. His eyes flicker briefly from Nicky to Keeho, then up to where you were sitting with Mark. He knows exactly who is across the court. He knows the history, the messy end of it, and the way Keeho used to occupy space in your life. But Yoongi doesn't look angry. He looks focused, his jaw set in that way that means he is calculating the next three moves.
“Nicky’s forcing it,” Mark groans, clutching his knees. “He’s trying to beat the whole team by himself.”
It is painful to watch. Nicky drives into the court, ignoring an open pass to the corner, and tries to muscle through two defenders. One of them being Chan.
Chan, who used to spend Friday nights at your brother's house eating pizza and playing video games, doesn't hold back. He meets Nicky, his shoulder catching Nicky’s chest. The ball gets knocked loose, and the whistle shrieks.
Foul on the Ravens.
Nicky looks at his former friend, face flushed a deep, angry red. He and Chan stand chest-to-chest for a split second, the air between them thick with years of friendship and a sudden, sharp betrayal.
Across the court, Keeho isn't shouting. He’s just leaning back against the scorer’s table, arms crossed, wearing that same infuriating, lazy grin. He catches your eye again before turning to shout a play to Chan.
“He’s playing him,” you whisper, your heart sinking. “Keeho knows exactly how to get under Nicky’s skin.”
“He’s getting under everyone’s skin,” Mark mutters.
Yoongi finally signals for a timeout. He doesn't wait for the players to reach the bench. He meets Nicky halfway. He grabs the front of Nicky’s jersey…not hard, but enough to make the kid stop shaking.
The gym goes quiet for a moment as the two of them stand there. Yoongi leans in, his voice low and dangerous, audible only to Nicky. He isn’t yelling about the score. He was pointing toward the Bearcats' bench and directly at Keeho. Nicky’s eyes dart from Yoongi to Keeho, then briefly up to you.
The Ravens huddle up, Yoongi’s hand resting heavy on Nicky’s shoulder. When they break the huddle, Nicky doesn't look at the scoreboard anymore. He doesn't look at Chan. He looks at the floor, takes a single, deep breath, and wipes the sweat from his forehead.
The buzzer sounds to resume play. As Nicky moves back to the free throw line, Keeho’s grin falters just a fraction. He looks over at Yoongi, who gives him a look so cold it could have frozen the hardwood.
Yoongi knows that Keeho isn't just trying to win a game. He is trying to prove he still has a hand in your world and Yoongi isn't about to let him have it.
Nicky takes the pass. This time, when Chan steps up to press him, Nicky doesn't drive. He doesn't force the contact. He slows down, his eyes scanning the court with a newfound clarity.
He makes the pass.
The game is far from over, but the rhythm has changed.
The final quarter is harsher. The scoreboard shows the Ravens up by six, but the physicality has reached a fever pitch. The Bearcats are desperate, and desperation is a dangerous thing on a basketball court.
Nicky is bringing the ball up, his movements fluid despite the fatigue. He crosses the court, looking to set up another play for Jun, when it happens.
It isn't Chan. It was a Bearcat forward. A kid named Miller who has always been the muscle of the team. As Nicky pivots to pass, Miller doesn't make a play for the ball. He lowers his shoulder and levels Nicky, a deliberate, blind-side shove that sends Nicky flying into the hardwood.
The sound of Nicky hitting the floor is a sickening, hollow thud that's momentarily louder than the crowd. The whistle blows instantly, but the air in the gym turns electric and volatile.
"Hey!" Jungkook is the first one off the bench.
As the assistant coach, he is usually the good cop, but seeing Nicky go down like that snaps something. He is on the court in a sprint, his eyes flashing with a protective fire. Yoongi is right behind him, not sprinting, but moving with a terrifying, redirected purpose that feels even more ominous.
However, before the coaches can even reach him, a different voice cuts through the chaos.
"What are you doing?!"
It’s Chan. He isn't looking at the ref or the scoreboard. He is standing over Miller, his face twists in pure fury.
"That was dirty, man! What is wrong with you?" He asks his teammate.
Miller tries to shrug it off, muttering something about "setting the tone," but Chan doesn't back down. He steps into Miller’s space, shoving his own teammate back toward the bench.
"He’s my brother, you idiot! We don't play like that! Get out of here!" Chan snaps at him.
The Bearcats' bench goes silent. Across the court, Keeho looks stunned, his clipboard frozen mid-air. He has coached them to be aggressive, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that loyalty runs deeper than a jersey color.
Your family watches, frozen as Jungkook reaches Nicky first, sliding onto his knees and putting a steadying hand on Nicky's shoulder.
Yoongi stands over them both, his shadow falling across Nicky. He doesn't look at Miller. He looks directly at Keeho. It isn't a look of anger. It's a look of profound disappointment, the kind that cuts deeper than a shout. It's a look that clearly asks, “Is this the kind of team you lead?”
Nicky groans, rolling onto his back. He winces, clutching his ribs, but his eyes are fixed on Chan.
Chan looks back, his chest heaving, the anger leaving him as quickly as it had come, replaced by a raw, aching worry. For a second, the championship doesn't exist. It's just two kids who used to share a locker room, one on the floor and one standing over him, both realizing that some things are too important to break.
"You okay?" Chan asks, his voice cracking just enough for Nicky to hear.
Nicky takes a ragged breath, leaning into Jungkook’s support as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He looks at Chan, then at the scoreboard, then back at his old friend.
"I'm fine," Nicky rasps, offering a small, pained nod. "Better than your defense, anyway."
A ghost of a smile touches Chan’s lips. Yoongi reaches down, offering Nicky a hand. As he pulls him up, he leans into Nicky’s ear.
"Finish it," he says, his voice like iron. "No more talk. Just finish it."
The whistle slices through the noise, sharp enough to make you flinch.
“Two shots. Ball stays.”
The gym erupts…half outrage, half approval…but it all blends together as you lean forward on the bleachers, your hands gripping the railing in front of you.
“Okay. Okay, this is good. This is… this is points. We like points.” Chris says.
You don’t answer.
Nicky shakes off the haze, takes a ragged breath, and heads to the free-throw line. The walk feels miles long. The gym narrows down to this one, fragile moment.
“He’s got this.” Your dad says, as he leans in.
Nicky doesn’t shoot right away. He stands there, grounding himself. He dribbles once, twice…tension easing out of his shoulders instead of building up.
Swish.
The first one snaps through the net. The second follows a moment later….clean, confident, perfect. As the Ravens take the ball again, you see the shift. Nicky isn't forcing it anymore. He pivots, draws in the team, and snaps a crisp pass to Jun on the wing.
Another swish.
The lead stretches, and the gym explodes. Elly is jumping up and down, accidentally elbowing Chris, while your mom finally lets out a breath, her eyes bright with pride. Across the court, Keeho’s easy confidence is cracked at the edges. Yoongi offers the smallest, faintest nod of approval. Nicky doesn't celebrate. He just retreats on defense, focused and composed, no longer caught between past and present. He’s just playing. He’s finally leading.
The final two minutes transform the gym into a pressure cooker. On the scoreboard, the six-point lead feels like nothing. A thin glass wall the Bearcats are trying to shatter with every possession.
“Stay home! Stay home!” Chris screams from the railing, his voice raw as he gestures wildly at the defensive line.
Keeho is no longer leaning lazily against the scorer’s table. He’s pacing the sideline, his clipboard discarded, barking orders that sound more like threats. He’s desperate. Every time his eyes flicker toward you, he finds you flanked by your family. A solid, unbreakable front. The smirk is long gone, replaced by a frantic, tight-lipped grimace.
On the court, the physicality reaches its peak. Chan is guarding Nicky with a ferocity that is respectful but relentless. They are a blur of sweat and jerseys, two athletes who know each other’s heartbeats.
“Ten seconds!” Elly shrieks, clutching your hand so tightly your fingers are numb.
The Bearcats launch a desperate three-pointer. It clangs off the rim, a harsh metallic sound that makes everyone gasp. The ball flies into the air. Miller leaps for it, but Nicky…ignoring the ache in his ribs from the earlier hit, rockets off the floor. He snatches the rebound out of the air with both hands, a statement of pure ownership.
“Go, Nicky, go!” Your mom yells, her voice soaring above the roar.
Nicky doesn’t look for a foul. He doesn’t look for the clock. He passes the ball to Jun, who runs down the court. The Bearcats scramble, but they’re chasing a ghost. Jun layups it in just as the buzzer sounds. A long, soul-piercing wail that signals the end of the war.
*Ravens: 74 Bearcats: 66
The explosion of sound is instantaneous. The Raven section pours over the railings like a tidal wave. In your row, the celebration is a chaotic blur of limbs. Chris hoists Elly onto his shoulders, nearly knocking Mark over in the process. While your dad pulls your mom into a massive bear hug.
You stand there, breathless, your eyes searching the hardwood through the sea of jumping bodies.
You find them in the center of the court. Nicky and Chan are standing chest-to-chest again, but the tension is gone. Chan reaches out, ruffling Nicky’s hair before pulling him into a brief, rough embrace. It’s a silent truce, a bridge rebuilt in the ruins of a championship game.
Then, you see Yoongi. He’s standing back from the celebration, watching Nicky with a steady, quiet pride. He catches your eye across the distance. No smirk, no salute…just a slow nod that says we made it.
A few feet away, Keeho is staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped as he watches his team begin the long walk to the locker room. He looks up, searching for you one last time, but you’ve already turned away. You’re looking at Chris high-fiving Mark, at your mom wiping a stray tear of relief, and at Nicky, who is finally smiling as he fights his way toward the bleachers to find his family.
The ghosts are gone.
The game is over.
The court dissolves into chaos the second the buzzer dies.
It’s not organized, not graceful…just a surge. Bodies spilling over the sidelines, sneakers squeaking, voices cracking into laughter and shouts and half-choked sobs. The Ravens are swallowed whole by it.
And then your family moves.
“Go, go, go!” Chris is already halfway down the bleachers before anyone can stop him, Elly shrieking as she scrambles after him. Your dad mutters something about not breaking an ankle but he’s moving too, one hand locked around your mom’s as she laughs breathlessly, already crying.
You don’t remember deciding to move. One second you’re standing there, watching it all unfold, and the next you’re pushing through the edge of the crowd, your heart hammering so loud it drowns everything else out.
“Nicky!” Elly’s voice cuts through the noise like a siren.
He turns at the sound of it.
For a split second, he just stands there sweaty, exhausted, jersey clinging to him, chest rising and falling hard like he can’t quite process that it’s over.
Then he sees you all and something in his face breaks open.
“Hey…HEY!” Chris barrels into him first, nearly tackling him backward. “You did it! You actually did it!”
“Careful…my ribs!” Nicky wheezes, but he’s laughing, really laughing now, the sound rough and bright and completely unguarded.
Your mom gets there next, pulling him into a hug that’s firm and grounding and just a little bit desperate.
“You scared me,” she murmurs against his shoulder, voice thick. “You played so hard, honey.”
“I’m okay, grandma,” he says, softer now. “I’m okay.”
Your dad doesn’t say anything at first. He just grips the back of Nicky’s neck, pulls him in, and presses his forehead briefly against his. It’s quiet. Solid. Enough.
Elly wraps around his arm like she’s afraid he might disappear. “You were insane,” she says. “Like…actually terrifying. In a good way.”
“In a great way,” Chris adds.
You hang back for half a second, watching it all…this messy, loud, overwhelming pile of people that somehow still feels like home.
Then Nicky looks up.
Finds you.
And everything else fades out again.
He pulls free from the group just enough to step toward you, his smile softening into something quieter, something real.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you echo, your voice catching just a little.
“You were right, Sunshine,” he adds after a beat, glancing back briefly at where Chan is laughing with his teammates. “About… all of it.”
“I usually am,” you say lightly.
“Yeah, yeah.” He snorts.
He reaches out quickly, impulsive and pulls you into a hug. It’s tight. Grateful. A little shaky around the edges.
“Thank you,” he murmurs as you squeeze back.
“Go celebrate,” you tell him when he pulls away. “Your team needs their Goalie of the Year.”
“Don’t start that.” He rolls his eyes.
“Go,” you repeat laughing, nudging him.
He goes.
Back into the storm of his team, into the noise and the victory and the future that doesn’t look so heavy anymore.
And that’s when you see him.
Yoongi is still standing a few feet back from it all, exactly where he was before. Same posture. Same quiet presence. Like the center of gravity everything else is orbiting around.
He’s watching his team but when you step closer, his gaze shifts finding you instantly. There’s no big reaction. No dramatic smile. Just that same steady look, softened now, the sharp edges worn down into something warmer.
“You did it again, Coach,” you say as you reach him.
“We did,” he corrects, his mouth tilting slightly.
“You’re the one who pulled him out of that spiral.” You huff out a quiet laugh.
“He chose to listen,” Yoongi replies simply. His eyes flick briefly back to Nicky. “That’s the part that matters.”
You follow his gaze. Nicky’s in the middle of his team now, getting shoved and shouted at and pulled into celebrations he’s not even trying to resist anymore. He looks lighter. Freer.
Like the weight finally gone.
When you look back at Yoongi, he’s already watching you again. There’s something different there now. Not just focus. Not just determination.
Relief.
“You were worried,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“He didn’t let you down.” You look up at him.
“I know.” He nods again.
The adrenaline of the buzzer is still cooling, but the reality of the season’s end is already settling over the court like a heavy blanket.
You stand beside Yoongi, watching the Ravens. They aren’t just a team anymore. They’re a unit that survived a middle school war. In a few months, this specific magic will dissolve. Black and Blue jerseys will be traded for high school colors, as they hope to stay together into the next chapter of their lives.
“It’s weird, isn't it?” You ask. “Knowing this was the last time this specific group plays together?”
Yoongi’s eyes don't leave Nicky, who is currently being hoisted onto Jun’s shoulders.
“The timing is always the hardest part of coaching. You spend months… years building a machine, and just when it starts running perfectly, you have to take it apart,” he says.
“What are you going to do now?” You ask, turning to look at him. “Your stars are moving on to bigger things. High school ball is a whole different beast. Nicky’s going to be a freshman, fighting for a spot on a high school roster where he actually has to try out. What happens to the guy left behind with the empty gym?”
Yoongi lets out a long, slow sigh. It’s not a tired sound. It's the sound of a man who has carried the hopes of fifteen boys on his back for years. He shoves his hands deep into his jacket pockets and finally looks away from the court, his gaze dropping to the scuffed hardwood at his feet.
“Well,” he says, his voice low and steady. He pauses, a small, tired smile ghosting across his lips. “I start all over again.”
“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” You press softly. “Teaching the same footwork, the same defensive rotations, watching the same mistakes until they finally click. Then you have to give the finished product away to someone else?”
Yoongi finally looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before his eyes soften.
“Every year, I think it will be,” he admits. “I think, maybe this is the year I just stay in the office and let someone else handle the whistles. But then I see a kid like Nicky…someone who thinks he’s alone even when he’s standing in a crowd and I realize I’m not just teaching them how to put a ball in a hoop.”
He gestures toward the center of the court where Nicky is laughing. The two of you remember the broken boy who joined the team, trying to figure out where he belonged.
“I’m teaching them how to stand up,” Yoongi says. “And if I have to start at square one tomorrow with a group of kids who can't even dribble with their left hands just to see one of them find that kind of confidence? Then yeah. I'll be here opening the gym. Starting over.”
He looks at you, and for the first time since the game started, the Coach mask is completely gone. There’s just the man underneath. The one who cares a little too much.
“Besides,” he adds with a flick of his eyes toward you. “Starting over isn't so bad when you know what you’re building toward.”
The front door barely has time to shut before Nicky is already talking.
“I’m serious, Coach…no, listen…listen,” he says, walking backward into the living room, still half in his jersey, hair damp, energy practically sparking off him. “You should’ve seen Miller’s face when Chan started yelling at him…like, dude short-circuited … oh! And Jun…did you see that last play? I knew he was gonna cut…”
“You’re tracking mud across the floor,” Yoongi cuts in calmly, toeing off his shoes by the door.
Nicky freezes mid-sentence and looks down.
“It’s victory mud.” He blinks and you try to muffle your laughter.
“It’s still mud,” Yoongi tells him.
Nicky hurriedly kicks his shoes off, nearly tripping over himself in the process before bouncing right back into motion like nothing happened.
“Okay, but listen…next season,” he continues, already pivoting, already thinking ahead. “You’re gonna need help, right? New team, new kids…half of them probably don’t even know how to dribble properly…”
“They don’t,” Yoongi says dryly, hanging up his jacket.
“Exactly! Which is why I can help.” Nicky points at himself like this is the most obvious solution in the world. “I can come by after school, run drills, teach them the basics…like, real basics. Footwork, spacing, how not to panic when someone actually defends them…”
“No.” Yoongi shakes his head.
The word lands flat. Immediate.
“What?” Nicky blinks. “Sunshine?”
“Leave me out of it,” you say.
Yoongi doesn’t even look at him at first, just walks into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water like this is a completely normal, already-settled conversation.
“You’re not helping with the eight-year-olds,” he says, taking a sip.
“Why not? I just won you a championship…” Nicky follows him instantly.
“And now you’re going to work toward making a high school team,” Yoongi replies, finally glancing at him. “Which means conditioning, fundamentals, tryouts. You think varsity coaches care that you can teach third graders how to do a chest pass?”
“I can multitask,” Nicky says.
“You can barely stand still.” Yoongi laughs.
“That’s…okay, that’s not the point…” Nicky shakes his head.
Yoongi sets the glass down with a quiet clink, turning fully toward him now.
“The point,” he says evenly. “Is that you don’t get to plateau right after you win something.”
That hits a little harder. Nicky’s grin falters a little bit after taking in Yoongi's words
“You want to help?” Yoongi continues. “Then get better. Faster first step. Stronger core. Learn to read defenses before they collapse on you. That’s how you help me.”
Nicky exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the leftover adrenaline.
“I can still come by sometimes,” he mutters, not quite giving up.
Yoongi’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
“Sometimes,” he allows. “When your work is done.”
“Deal.” Nicky perks up immediately.
And just like that, he’s back…energy restored, already halfway to the living room again.
“Also,” he adds over his shoulder, “I’m way better with kids than you are.”
“You are a kid.” Yoongi scoffs.
“Yeah, but I’m a champion kid.” He points out.
From the kitchen doorway, you can’t help it…you laugh.
They both glance over and Nicky beams instantly.
“Hey…tell him I’d be a good assistant coach.” Nicky whines.
You walk over to them arms crossed, taking your time like you’re actually considering it.
“You’d scare them,” you say.
“What?” Nicky questions.
“You’d be pacing like a maniac, yelling about defensive rotations to a group that still thinks double-dribbling is optional,” you tell him.
“That is not..okay, first of all…” Nicky stutters.
“And,” you add, nodding toward Yoongi. “He’s right.”
“Wow. Betrayal. In my own house.” Nicky groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face.
“You don’t own this house,” Yoongi says.
“I brought glory to this house.” He points to himself.
“You tracked mud into this house.” Yoongi points to the dirt clumps on the floor making you snort.
Nicky points at both of you like he’s being personally victimized. “Unbelievable. I win a championship and suddenly nobody’s on my side,” he says
“You have a side,” you say lightly. “It’s just… focused on your future.”
That slows him down again.
Just a little.
He looks between you and Yoongi…really looks this time, not just bouncing off the moment and something steadier settles in his expression beneath all that leftover excitement.
“High school’s gonna be rough, huh?” He admits.
“Yeah.” Yoongi doesn’t sugarcoat it. “But you won’t be the same player walking in as you would’ve been a year ago.”
Nicky nods slowly.
Processing.
Growing into it, piece by piece.
“Okay,” he says finally. Then, with a small grin creeping back, “But when I make varsity…”
“If,” Yoongi corrects.
“When,” Nicky insists, pointing at him. “You’re letting me run a practice.”
“We’ll see.” Yoongi sighs.
“That’s a yes.” Nicky smiles.
“That’s not a yes.” Yoongi shakes his head.
Yoongi turns away like the conversation is over. Like it’s already settled but Nicky doesn’t move. He’s still standing there in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling a little too fast for someone who’s supposedly done playing for the day. His fingers flex at his sides, like they’re still looking for the ball.
“You’re really not gonna let me?” He presses.
Yoongi pauses just for a second before he exhales slowly through his nose and glances over his shoulder.
“You don’t need another team right now,” he says. “You need yourself.”
“That sounds like something you say when you’re about to make me run suicides.” Nicky stares at him.
“It’s exactly that,” Yoongi replies without missing a beat.
You laugh under your breath. Nicky groans, but there’s no real complaint behind it…just the reflex. The habit of pushing back before he accepts what he already knows is true.
“I just don’t want it to be over,” he admits after a moment.
“It’s not,” Yoongi says after studying him for a moment.
Nicky looks up.
“You think this was the finish line?” Yoongi continues, one brow lifting slightly. “This was the start.”
Yoongi nods toward the kitchen. Toward the backdoor where the basketball stands in the backyard.
“New team. New coaches. Bigger players. Faster game. Nobody cares what you did here,” Yoongi says.
“You’re really good at pep talks.” Nicky’s mouth twitches.
“I’m not giving you a pep talk,” Yoongi says. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m also telling you… you’re ready for it.”
That’s the one that sticks.
You can see it.
The way Nicky straightens just a little, not puffed up, not cocky.
Like something clicked into place.
“Okay,” he says again, but this time it sounds different. Steadier. Real.
Yoongi nods once, like that’s all he needed. Then he turns fully, heading toward the hallway.
“Shoes,” he says over his shoulder. “Five minutes.”
“Wait…what?” Nicky blinks.
“Conditioning doesn’t stop because you won a trophy.” Yoongi informs him.
“You are unbelievable…we just played a full game!” Nicky exclaims.
“And you want to make varsity.” Yoongi stares at him
“I hate it here.” Nicky drags a hand down his face.
“You love it here.” You smile.
“I love it here,” he mutters.
You watch, grinning as Nicky jogs past you to grab his shoes, still grumbling under his breath about post-championship child labor and this is how dynasties collapse.
Yoongi pauses as he passes you.
“Five minutes,” he repeats quietly.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You nod.
The driveway is cool under the fading evening light. The air smells like grass and asphalt and the last echoes of a long day finally settling into night. Nicky is already bouncing on the balls of his feet, laces half-tied, energy somehow still not gone.
“You’re insane, you know that?” He says, pointing at Yoongi. “Normal people celebrate after championships.”
“Normal people don’t make varsity,” Yoongi replies.
“You really need new material.” Nicky glares.
“Start running.” Yoongi glares back.
Nicky groans but he starts. Because of course he does, he always listens. A few sprints in, the complaints fade. The rhythm takes over. Breath, steps, focus. Same as always.
You lean against the porch railing, arms folded, watching them.
Coach and player.
Start and future.
Yoongi doesn’t run with him…not exactly. However. he tracks every step, every slowdown, every push forward. Present in that quiet, steady way that never asks for attention but always demands effort.
After the last sprint, Nicky bends over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
“Okay…okay…” he pants. “I’m done. I’m actually done.”
“Again.” Yoongi checks his watch.
“You cannot be serious.” Nicky looks up like he’s been personally betrayed by the universe.
“Last one.” Yoongi promises.
“Fine.” Nicky groans.
He pushes off again and this one’s different. Not fast at the start. Not explosive…just determined. Every step is deliberate. Every breath earned. By the time he finishes, he doesn’t collapse.
He just slows.
Stops.
Stands there, chest heaving but upright.
“Better.” Yoongi gives a small nod.
“That’s all I get? ‘Better?’ I almost died.” Nicky squints at him.
“You didn’t.” Yoongi looks at him.
“Felt like it,” Nicky says.
Yoongi steps closer, crossing his arms. For a second, neither of them says anything. Then Nicky straightens fully, rolling his shoulders back despite the exhaustion, a grin slowly breaking through again.
“So,” he says, holding out his hand.
“What is this?” Yoongi looks at it with a raised brow.
“You know what this is,” Nicky says. “Don’t act like you don’t know what this is.”
Yoongi sighs but he steps in anyway and grips Nicky’s hand.
Firm.
Familiar.
“On three.” Nicky’s grin widens, even through the exhaustion.
Yoongi shakes his head like this is ridiculous but he doesn’t let go.
“On three,” he agrees.
You watch from the porch, smiling before you can stop yourself.
“Ready?” Nicky says, already bouncing a little again despite everything.
“One,” Yoongi says.
“Two…” Nicky smiles.
“Three.” Yoongi finishes
“Champions.” They say together.
Their hands break apart at the same time.
And for a second…
Just a second…
It’s not about the game.
Not about the next season.
Not about high school or pressure or anything waiting down the road.
Summary: You find out your roommate Namjoon is an OnlyFans creator and had a collab fall through. He is worried about making rent on time and asks you to be in a video with him to help him make his deadline. Before you make your decision, you do your own research.
Preview: “Did you like what you watched?” He persisted, taking another sip of his drink.
“I uh, didn’t watch anything. I just scrolled really.” You lied very unconvincingly.
“You know, these walls are very thin.” He explained, using his finger to tap against the eggshell white paint of the kitchen. “Any little sound, or buzzing noise, can be heard very well. So let’s try answering that question again.”
Content Warning: 18+ NSFW. NO MINORS. Service Dom! Namjoon. Sub! Reader. Reader is kind of annoying and pushy in the beginning for the plot sorry. Masturbation (f). Mention of watching porn w description of m/m videos (bisexual Namjoon), solo videos, and m/f videos. Talk about porn/sex. Nipple play. Dry humping. Oral sex. (M and f receiving) Fingering. Major overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Pussy worship. Use of sex toys. Squirting. P in V. Dirty talk. Use of pet names like: baby, good girl. Praise. Birth control is implied idk.
Tag list: @woohwachaos @mintyunho @nowornevermarie @dayho3 @hoofymalone @auxiny @daeteez @b-tangkitten
Namjoon was a pretty decent roommate. You had connected with him on Facebook while searching for somebody to move into your spare room in your apartment when your last roommate moved out unexpectedly. He was quick to take you up on the offer.
He kept things tidy, relatively quiet. He read a lot and liked to sing in the shower. Your schedules seem to be quite the opposite: while you were at work, he was home. And while you were home, he was out or hidden away in his room. Your interactions were always pleasant. He was a genuinely nice guy who even left you meals in the fridge if he had any food left over from his dinner. You didn’t know much about him: who his friends were, where or what he did for work, or even what his last name was but he paid rent on time and didn’t bring drama. That’s all you could ask for.
You sat in your shared living room watching tv, lounging and relaxing after work when Namjoon came out of his room with a frustrated look on his face. His fingers were furiously typing against his phone screen.
“Hey.” You greeted him. “Didn’t realize you were home.”
“Uh, yeah.” He said without looking up, still focused on whoever he was texting.
“Is everything okay?” You asked, never having seen him in any mood other than a pleasant one. He took a second to glance up at you, a fake and tight smile on his face.
“Yeah. All good.”
“Okay.” You shrug. “You just seem a little stressed out or something.”
“It’s just a work thing.” He said, brushing it off but this peaked your interest never hearing him mention anything about his work. Or much of anything really.
“Oh? Anything I can do to help?” You offered causing Namjoon to snicker a bit, a laugh that made you feel a bit insecure for some reason. Almost as if he was laughing at some sort of an inside joke. “What’s so funny?”
“I uh- I don’t think this is something you could help me with.” He said, plopping down on the couch beside you in a huff. This was the first time you had had a conversation this long, let alone sat so close together. It excited you a bit.
“Come on, I’m good at my job. I’m a supervisor. I manage a whole team. I’m sure I can help you out with whatever is going on.” You pushed. “What kind of work are you in?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “Im a content creator.. I guess you could say.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Maybe I’ve seen some of your work.” You said excitedly while taking your phone out. “What platforms are you on?”
“I definitely don’t think you’ve seen my content or I think we would have crossed that bridge by now.” He chuckled, a hint of a darker tone behind his words that you caught onto quickly.
“What? Am I crossing the line or something?” You ask, panicking a bit. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t gotten to know you so I guess I got a bit excited.”
“Well, although that’s very cute, I don’t know if this is something I’m ready to share with you.”
“Do you make cringey videos or something?” You chuckle but Namjoon didn’t laugh along with you.
“No.” He said, sighing deeply. “Definitely not cringey.”
“Okay, you kinda have to tell me now. I’m way too curious.” You pester, not allowing him to shy away from the topic. He groaned, running both his hands through his hair dramatically before finally giving you an inch.
“Do you promise not to judge me?”
“I promise.” You say, crossing your heart like a school-girl. “Cross my heart.”
“Oh god-okay.” Namjoon rolled his eyes at your cliche but continued. “I make content for Only Fans.”
“Wait, isn’t that.. the porn site?” You ask with a bit more emphasis on the word porn than Namjoon appreciated.
“You said you wouldn’t judge.”
“I’m not I’m just.. I guess I can’t really picture you doing.. that.” You said, your voice still full of judgment. Namjoon was admittedly very, very, attractive. But in more of a ‘hot teachers assistant’ way. He was tall, studious, and came off very private. You couldn’t imagine him filming himself and posting it for others to watch.
“You mean you don’t think I can fuck?” He said, snickering a bit.
“No! I mean, yes. Not that I’ve imagined you having sex. I haven’t. But I just didn’t take you as somebody who would, you know, record yourself doing that for money.” You said, a bit of panic in your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with that! Nothing wrong at all. I mean, you always pay rent on time so I don’t care.”
“Well, that’s kinda the problem.” He grumbled. “I was supposed to shoot a new video I promised my subscribers with this new amateur actress and she cancelled. My other creator friends are all unavailable so, I might be fucked out of rent this month.”
“Oh-uh.. I can see how that would be frustrating.” You say, not knowing the best way to comfort him in this scenario while also worrying about the other half of your apartments rent money in the back of your mind. “Can’t you just.. do something else?”
“My subscribers are waiting on a new video with a partner. If I post a solo video I’ll have to refund a whole bunch of subscriptions and I’ll be fucked. No pun intended.” He groaned.
“You really have enough subscribers to pay your rent every single month?” You say in complete shock, glazing over his entire issue.
“Yes.” He sighed. “For now.”
“Holy shit.” You mumble. “Well, do you have a backup plan?”
“No. Not unless you want to take one for the team and be in the video with me.” He said, laughing a bit.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” You rolled your eyes.
“I’m joking. Plus, you’re a virgin right?”
“That’s fucking rude.” You scoff.
Namjoon’s eyes scanned you up and down, sizing you up. You suddenly felt a bit self conscious and covered yourself by crossing your arms.
“You know, maybe that’s not such a bad idea after all.” He lifted his finger to his lips like he was pondering a deep thought. “Yeah, that could totally work.”
“I’m lost. What are you going on about?”
“You should be in the video with me. If you want to, that is.” He said so casually you thought he was joking. You started to laugh, a small snort slipping out. When his face remained serious, your laughter cut off quickly.
“Wait- you’re not joking?”
“No. I have to pay rent somehow and you’re very pretty. I get tested for STD’s weekly and I’m clean.” He said very confidently. “Plus, I would do all the work. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than enjoying yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have to worry about anything? Of course I would. I’d be on camera!” You balked. “There’s like a million things I would have to worry about.”
“My content very much surrounds the pleasure of my viewer and the person I make content with if I do a video with somebody.” He put it simply. “I don’t expect you to do anything too performative. We can talk about what you like and dislike but, really, all you have to do is allow me to give you multiple orgasms for my own pleasure and yours.”
“Oh please.” You scoff, not believing a second of it. “I’ve seen porn before. It’s 90% blowjob followed by 3 pumps and a fake orgasm.”
“That’s porn made in a studio for men by men. I make porn for everyone but, mainly women. The majority of my subscribers are either women or people who identify as queer.” He explained. “Plus, I get off by getting people off.”
Although the idea was insane, his words admittedly made butterflies flutter around in your stomach.
“I don’t know.” You said, still not fully believing what he was saying. “I also don’t know how I feel about being recorded. What if people recognize me?”
“I can blur your face if you like.” He shrugged, unbothered. “I’m able to work with you to make you as comfortable as possible. We don’t even have to have sex if you don’t want you. You can just lay back and let me take make you cum a few times with my hands. My mouth. Maybe a toy if you have one..”
He trailed off, allowing you to envision the experience. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as well as between your thighs, although it made you feel a bit embarrassed. Your eyes glanced down to his hand. His fingers were long and almost delicate that suggested hidden skills and an expert touch. As your eyes traveled farther, you noticed he was hard. His bulge pressing up into his jeans in a size that was impossible to ignore.
“Oh.” You slipped without thinking, your eyes snapping away quickly. You had to fight hard not to look back down.
“Sorry.” He apologized, a smirk on his lips. “Like I said, I get off to getting others off. Even thinking about getting you off is enough to turn me on.”
You unintentionally pressed your thighs together which Namjoon noticed, satisfied. He knew he was having some sort of effect on you. Good or bad, he didn’t quite know.
“What are you thinking? Is this too much all at once?” He asked, his voice soothing.
“I still don’t know Namjoon.” You mumble. “I’m just.. nervous. About a lot. I’m not sure what to think about all this still.”
“I understand.” He nodded and stood up from his spot on the couch. “How about you sleep on it? Let me know tomorrow.”
You nodded, giving him a tight smile. He walked over to his bedroom door. But, before going inside he told you one more thing.
“Runch Randa.” He said, not elaborating.
“What?” You asked him, completely confused.
“My Only Fans name. Runch Randa.” Namjoon repeated. “In case you need to do some research.”
Namjoon slipped into his room without another word, leaving you with a peculiar decision to make by morning.
———————————————
You were still tossing and turning at midnight. Namjoon’s words repeating themselves over and over again in your mind. Should you or shouldn’t you? You thought to yourself. It would be easy to say no and help him cover rent this month. Secretly look for a backup roommate just in case this happens again. But truthfully, the thought about saying no disappointed you a bit. Not because you wanted to be on camera and wanted to sell sex with your roommate. But because Namjoon made sex with him sound so intriguing. And he must be good at it, right? If he was good enough to make money off of selling his sex it must be?
You wanted to call a friend and talk to them. Ask them what you should do but, you couldn’t. You didn’t want them to judge your roommate or you if you went through with it. Or worse, watch the video if you did. So instead, you opened the web browser on your phone and search his username. ‘Runch Randa.’
“Such an unsexy name for a sexy man.” You mumbled to yourself, and then clicked on his profile. He had a decent amount of subscribers. Not a crazy amount but, for his subscription cost, definitely enough where he could support himself with some change left over. His account was subscription protected but, thankfully, his account offered a 24 hour subscriber trial. All you had do to was create an account.
Once signed up, you scrolled through his long list of videos that he had sorted by categories. You first started in his “Solo” playlist. The thumbnail of the first video made your jaw practically hit the floor. It was Namjoon sat on a chair, only his torso shown, with his fist at the base of his thick cock.
You slapped your phone down on your chest and took a deep breath, completely freaked out by the fact that you had just seen your roommates dick. But, more importantly, that it looked like that. After taking a deep breath, you lifted your phone again and found enough bravery to press the play button.
The video was simple, one of the first he ever posted based on the date. Over a year ago. You watched with cheeks burning as his hand slowly stroked himself up and down, his wrist twisting each time he got to his head. Your eyes followed every movement, the time passing as if you were entranced. Suddenly, without warning, a soft moan left your phone speakers. You closed the video quickly, your heart racing along with a new pulse between your thighs. A new excitement bubbling. Before opening your phone again, you made sure to grab your headphones to enjoy Namjoon’s noises with more privacy.
You scrolled through more of his Solo playlist and found he had gotten more adventurous, using masturbator toys and even touching himself from behind as he grew more confident in front of the camera. You noticed about 6 months into his career he started to show his face, and enjoyed watching how his jaw would go slack whenever he would do something to himself that felt really good and how he would curse and clench his jaw when he came really hard. Before long, you had to come to terms with the fact you were wet from watching him.
You moved on and saw another category: “Partners” and was pleasantly surprised to find not just women, but very attractive men featured in the videos as well. There were few, seemingly new to his career. He must have only just started collaborating with other sex workers recently. You clicked on one with a pretty man with long blonde hair that was pulled into a ponytail. He was shorter than Namjoon and had a tattoo on his ribcage but also one down his spine that was very nicely on display when Namjoon bent him over.
His needy whimpers made your entire body feel hot. Too hot. You quickly clicked out and went to another video. You found one of Namjoon with a female creator. She was beautiful, of course. And Namjoon had pulled her over his face, making her sit right on top of him. You watched in awe as she quivered and twitched above him, whimpering as devoured her from down below. Even muffled by her thighs, you could still hear the audio of his lips sucking on her click and tongue licking up her arousal. His hands planted firmly on her thighs so she would not squirm away. Her moans were so pornographic it almost made you jealous. Almost. Overall, you were just incredibly turned on.
The pulse between your legs was impossible to ignore now, your panties now soaked from watching your roommate eat this girl alive. As you watch her cum on his tongue, convulsing above him as he held her steady until she came down from her high, you decided you couldn’t fight it any longer. Opening the drawer in your bedside table, you pulled out your vibrator and pushed it under your panties.
You went back to a video you had scrolled by previously, a solo video. You pressed play and watched as Namjoon stroked himself, one hand firmly at his base while the other focused on stroking his swollen cockhead. He was leaking precum, his deep voice dribbling out nonsense. You clicked the first speed on your vibrator, a small gasp slipping through your lips as the sensation hit your engorged clit.
“Fuck baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself for me.” He said, his voice deeper than normal. Your heart raced as if he could actually see you but, this only made it that much more exciting. You found yourself settling down in your bed further, spreading your legs into a wider butterfly position. The fabric of your panties tightening against you as you spread your legs that pushed your toy even harder into you.
“Are you making yourself feel good for me? Such a good girl.” His honey voice cooed in your headphones. Without realizing, a small whimper slipped out of your lips. You tried your best to control yourself, biting down on your bottom lip as you continued to watch. You started to move your vibrator in circular motions against yourself, matching the pace that Namjoon was using to stroke himself. It didn’t take long for the heat of an approaching climax to start to build.
“Are you going to cum for me? Hmm?” He grunted, the speed of his fist picking up speed, his wrist twisting and milking him harder. “Going to be a good girl and cum for me?”
You found yourself nodding pathetically as if he could see you. Your hips bucking up into your toy, pressing up into it hard, wanting more. You clicked the power one more time, upping the speed. You were right there, on the brink.
“Fuck- that’s it baby. Cum with me.” Namjoon grunted. And you watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips twitched as he pumped himself empty into his hand. The sight on the screen making you go over the edge, cumming hard against your toy. A small moan escaping your throat before you could stop yourself.
When your orgasm subsided, you pulled off your completely ruined panties, the apex of your thighs still pulsing with the aftershocks of your climax. You knew for certain now you were definitely interested in sleeping with Namjoon. That was fact. But being on camera? That was a component you weren’t sure about yet. Namjoon said he could blur your face which took care of that but, the worry still was in the back of your head. There were so many angles, so many things others could notice about you that you didn’t want them to. What if you sounded weird? Your stomach bunched up in a weird way? Did you have a strange looking vagina or weird shaped nipples? Did Namjoon even want to sleep with you? Or was he just desperate to make content?
“Ugh..” you groaned, throwing your arms above your face, sleepiness catching up to you. You decided to make up your mind in the morning.
————————————————
You were eating a piece of toast when Namjoon emerged from his room.
“Morning.” He greeted you, a hint of a smile on his face.
“Morning.” You felt your cheeks get warm instantly. “There’s coffee in the coffee maker if you want some.”
“Thanks.” He said and walked over to pour himself a cup. Black, no sugar or milk. “So, did you enjoy your research last night?”
You cough, choking on your bite of food which made Namjoon laugh.
“I get a notification every time somebody subscribes. Even if it’s with the free trial. Maybe using your first name in your username isn’t the best idea in this scenario.” He explained with a cocky grin.
“Oh, I see.” You said sheepishly, trying to avoid eye contact. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Did you like what you watched?” He persisted, taking another sip of his drink.
“I uh, didn’t watch anything. I just scrolled really.” You lied very unconvincingly.
“You know, these walls are very thin.” He explained, using his finger to tap against the eggshell white paint of the kitchen. “Any little sound, or buzzing noise, can be heard very well. So let’s try answering that question again.”
“God- please spare me.” You grown, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, I’m being mean. I just like to tease.” He chuckled. “But, I take it you enjoyed what you saw?”
You adverted your eyes completely and couldn’t bear to look at him however, the familiar pulse between your thighs returned at the memory and also his forward words. He was still patiently waiting for an answer and you knew he wouldn’t drop this topic without one.
“Yes.” You mumbled shyly.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Namjoon reassured you. “That just means I’m doing my job well. I take it as the highest compliment. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
You smiled softly and gave him a shy nod, finally meeting his eyes. You finished your toast and he finished his coffee in silence before he finally spoke again.
“Have you given any more thought to helping me out today?” He asked the million dollar question. Well, more like the $1500 question.
“Yes, I have.”
“Have you decided? Or are you still unsure?” Namjoon persisted, still remaining composed and polite. He leaned against the kitchen counter. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his shirt hugged his pecks as he leaned back against the granite, making your mouth go a bit dry.
“I uh- I’m still a bit unsure of some things.” You said with a weak voice since he had stolen your breath just simply by existing. He nodded and thought for a moment before continuing.
“Well, tell me what you’re sure of and then we can go from there.”
“Oh. Well.. you’re very attractive.” You admitted which made him smile a genuine smile. His dimple showing deep in his cheek. “Very, very attractive. It seemed like you know what you’re doing and are good what you do. And I’d like to sleep with you.”
“Okay.” He said, his head cocking to the side with his eyebrow raised. “It sounds like that’s all we really need. So, I guess I’m a bit confused on what’s holding us back here.”
“I just- what if people don’t like how I look? What if after all of this you still have to refund people anyway because you slept with somebody who looks like me? I mean, do you event want to sleep with me? If you didn’t have to make this video would you have ever pursued me? Because you’ve never tried.”
“I got hard just thinking about getting you off.” He said simply. “I got off last night listening to you get off. Just knowing you were watching my videos drove me crazy. Of course I want to fuck you.”
“You got off to me?” You ask him with surprise.
“Yes. And the only reason why I haven’t tried sleeping with you before is because you’re my roommate and in the past that.. complicated things. I didn’t want drama. But I can’t deny that I’ve thought about it. Many times.”
“So, you do think I’m attractive?”
“Yes. Very much so. And so will my subscribers but, that’s not the point. I just want to make you feel good and I know I can. If you are so gracious to let me.” Namjoon pushed himself off the counter and walked over to you. He took his hand and grabbed your chin gently, lifting your face up to look at him. Your lips trembled and your heart raced. “I want to make you cum. Over and over. You won’t see the camera and I’ll make sure of that. It will just be us.”
“C-can you blur my face?” You whispered, your voice shaking.
“Yes. Anything you need to make you feel comfortable.”
“Then.. okay. I’ll be in the video.” You tell him, agreeing to his proposition.
“Good girl.” He smirked and then pulled away from you. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
You finally took a breath, realizing you had been holding it for some time. Your head was spinning slightly but you had to focus as you had more questions to answer.
“I need to know what you’re comfortable with. What you like.”
“Hmm? Oh- I’m sure anything is fine.”
“No. I need direct answers.” He said very seriously. “This is sex but this is also my work. I need to be professional and make sure you’re not uncomfortable. Are you okay with kissing on the lips?”
“People have been not okay with that?” You ask him in shock, wondering how you could enjoy sex without doing such a thing.
“Different people have different boundaries. Especially if the person who creates this sort of content has a significant other outside of this line of work.” He explained. “So, I take that as a yes?”
“Yes. I’m okay with kissing.” You told him with butterflies in your stomach.
“Okay. Can I touch your breasts? Do you like nipple okay?” He asks it so casually you had to repeat the question to yourself in your head a few times before answering.
“Yeah.” You mumble. “I do.”
“Good.” He pursed his lips, thinking. Mapping out the video in his head. “Am I allowed to finger you? Go down on you, if you’re comfortable enough?”
“Yes.” You gulped. Your mouth felt dry again, as if he had stolen every drop of moisture from your body and sent it pooling down between your thighs.
“What about toys? Can I use one on you?” You could see him getting hard in his pajama pants at the thought. It made you press your thighs together just at the sight of his bulge, especially knowing now just what he was hiding under the fabric.
“I think you’re going to kill me but, yes.” You told him which made him laugh darkly.
“I’m going to push your limits for sure.” He admitted. “But that’s all the fun. I want you to feel pure bliss. I’ve already made you cum once.”
“That doesn’t count.” You argued, your cheeks burning.
“Oh yes, it does. And I’m going to make sure there’s plenty more where that came from.” He said, grabbing his cock in his hand through his pants. “Can I fuck you?”
“Yes. I really want you to do that.”
“Noted.” He almost laughed at your expression of pure lust, feeling flattered. “What about anal? Can I eat your ass?”
“Oh, uh. I don’t know- I’ve never really..” you started to feel a bit nervous and unsure. Maybe even a bit scared which he picked up on instantly.
“Don’t worry. We won’t do anything like that today. Is there anything else I should know before I go set up and shower?” He asked you and you thought long and hard but shook your head no.
“Okay. Give me two hours and knock on my door. I’d say wear something cute but, it will come off regardless.” He smirked. “See you soon baby. I’m looking forward to it.”
————————————————
The hours flew by as you rushed to prepare for your on-camera “debut”. You made sure to scrub your whole body, shave it nice and bare, and did your makeup to perfection. You knew exactly what you would wear: a matching sheer black lace panty and bra set that left little to the imagination. You tossed an oversized shirt over yourself to conceal your undergarments that fit you almost like a dress, not wanting to come off too strong and show up at Namjoon’s door half naked.
Your heart pounded as you made your way to his room. You were both anxious and terrified to experience what waited for you on the other side of his door. You took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the doorframe. Moments later, it opened and Namjoon was there to greet you. His frame feeling even taller than normal, towering over you.
“Hi beautiful.” He said warmly. “Are you ready?”
He was shirtless, wearing nothing but loosely fitted grey sweatpants that hung off his waist. A silver chain around his neck. He looked divine.
You smiled shyly and nodded. He smiled back and lifted his hand to caress your cheek, trying to calm you.
“We can stop at any time. Okay?”
“I know.” You told him.
“I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make you feel amazing.” He told you, reaching for your hand and leading you into his room. You stepped in slowly and glanced around, trying your best to not be obvious as you searched for the video camera. You thought you would see a tripod, a camcorder, something technical. Instead all you saw was a plush king size bed, a bookcase on the wall overfilled with books that seemed to be one title away from collapsing, and a window filled with plants that had leaves cascading to the floor. His room was inviting and cozy. Comfortable.
“Not what you expected?” He asked, catching your eyes wandering.
“Did you not set up yet?” You asked him.
“I told you, you won’t see the cameras. But they’re here. They’re recording. I’ll show you where after. Right now, it’s just me and you.” Namjoon reassured you and pulled you close to him. He lifted your chin up, leaving your lips inches from his. You could smell his minty breath against your face, coaxing you in.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” He whispered against your lips.
“Yes.” You told him. “I want you.”
“Good.”
Namjoon pressed his lips against yours softly, allowing the kiss to become deeper as you melted against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, allowing his hands to slide down over the curve of your back and over your ass. He smirked into the kiss when he found you opted to not wear shorts under your oversized shirt, and was instead wearing a pair of panties when his hands cupped your cheeks. When you felt his large hands squeeze your behind you couldn’t help but whimper into the kiss you were sharing.
You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s neck and he lifted you up off the ground and wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to his bed. He sat down on the edge with you on his lap straddling him. You both made out for a few minutes, getting familiar with each other until Namjoon started to play with the hem of your shirt.
“Can I take this off of you.” He asked you, nipping at your bottom lip. You nodded shyly and raised your arms for him to take it off and enjoyed the look on his face when he saw you clad in your lacy black set.
“Jesus Christ you were hiding that this whole time?”
Namjoon kissed down your neck slowly, placing open mouth kisses on your throat and collar bone until he reached the top of your bra. Using his hands, he gripped the top of each cup and pulled them down, allowing each of your breasts to spill out in front of him.
“Shit.” He sucked in a breath at the sight before him, relishing in it. “So fucking beautiful.”
He grabbed one breast in his hand, using two of his fingers to pinch at your hardened nipple. He tweaked and twisted it, the sensation shooting down between your thighs instantly. While he continued to toy with that nipple, he wrapped his plump lips around the other. He sucked on it gently while keeping his eyes on you, enjoying how your eyes fluttered each time the tip of his tongue flicked across the tip of your hardened bud.
You started to grind down against him. You could feel how hard he was against you, somehow growing harder and harder than he already was. His cock pressing up just right against you, his head pressing up into your clit. The friction felt amazing and soon you had soaked through your own panties, leaving a wet mark on his sweats. But you didn’t care. It felt too good.
“Mmm.” You moaned, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Your hips starting to pick up speed as you chased the growing burn between your thighs.
“Does it feel good baby?” Namjoon said, pulling his lips off your now puffy nipple. You nod frantically while your hips still rock against him. “Such a good girl for me.”
He placed his lips back on your nipple and continued his sensual torture. While he did so, down below, Namjoon made sure to buck his hips up to meet your movements which made the friction so much more precise and intense. After a few more minutes of this, you felt a familiar intensity building between your thighs. Your hips started to twitch and your movements became more desperate, breathing more shallow and rapid.
“Joon-“ you were going to warn him but he placed his lips next to your ear and shushed you quietly.
“Be careful pretty.” He whispered almost too quietly. “Don’t use my name. They don’t know my real identity.”
“S-sorry.” You mumbled and he pressed a warm kiss to the base of your jaw to silently accept your apology.
“Are you going to cum grinding on my cock baby?” He purred in your ear in a tone that made your head spin.
“Please.” You begged, your hips moving faster. Your pelvis pushing against his bulge even harder. “Please, can I?”
“I’m here to please you baby.” He told you, his fingers pulling a bit harder on your nipple. “Now be a good girl and cum for me.”
After a few more swings of your hips, you had your first orgasm. Namjoon held you tight against him while your body twitched and you shyly whined into his shoulder as you creamed in your panties. It was not earth shattering by any means, having been over clothing and not by Namjoon’s own hand but, felt so fucking good regardless.
“You make such cute noises.” He told you, nuzzling into your neck as you came down from your high. “I need to hear more. Lay down for me.”
He stood up, taking you with him and gently laid you down on the duvet with your legs still dangling off the edge. Namjoon placed his hands gently on your thighs and dragged them slowly upwards until his fingers reached the waistband of your panties. His eyes looked up and found yours, waiting for you to give him permission. With a small nod of your head, he wrapped his fingers around the fabric and slowly dragged the black lace downward. You lifted yourself upwards to help him shimmy them off. As you did, you could feel the cold air hit your wet core that was covered in the remnants of your orgasm.
Once the fabric was off your body, Namjoon dropped it into a heap on the floor next to your shirt. You felt a bit shy and clamped your legs shut tight. You peered up at him through your lashes waiting for him to make his next move.
“Can I see?” He asked you with his hands placed on your knees again, his voice low.
You slowly parted your thighs for him and he watched as you opened up like a flower. Your folds glistening in your arousal, clit plump and still tingling. He thought he could cum just from looking at you.
“My god. Fuck.” He said, suddenly dropping to his knees to get a better look. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
He grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed which made you yelp a bit in surprise. He chuckled and placed a heavy kiss to your inner thigh and continued, getting closer and closer to your heat. You started to squirm as the anticipation was building. Not knowing if the next time his lips met your skin he would place them where you desperately wanted him most. But he was teasing now, nipping at your skin of your opposite thigh and you were getting impatient. Your hand reaching down for his hair and giving it a weak tug.
“So impatient.” He chuckled darkly. “Am I taking too long, baby?”
“You’re driving me insane.” You whine pathetically.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I do really want a taste of you.” He smirked. “You want me to eat your pussy pretty girl?”
“Fuck- please!” You groaned in frustration again.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
Namjoon put his hands behind your knees and pushed your thighs back and apart towards your chest, leaving your pussy completely open and exposed to him. He dipped his head down and licked a heavy strip from the opening of your cunt to your clit, savoring every drop of your juices. His lips stopping to encircle your clit and suck on the swollen nub, his tongue massaging the tip slowly as he did so. Your back arched off the bed the second his tongue touched you with curses falling from your lips.
Namjoon took his time with you. His lips and tongue worked against your cunt slowly but with expertise, almost as if he was making out with it. The pleasure was almost excruciating and you desperately needed more. You grabbed onto the back of his head and laced your hands into his hair and pulled him forward into your pussy, burring him deeper. He hummed out a chuckle, the vibrations feeling immaculate, and you tried grinding against his face.
“Am I not satisfying you baby?” He pulled away to ask you, his lips and chin glistening in your slick with a mischievous smirk on his face. He was doing this on purpose.
“You are. You’re so fucking good. I just need more of you.” You beg him. “Please give me more.”
“Do you want..” he started to say while slowly bringing a finger up to tease your entrance to circle your dripping hole. “..to feel my fingers?”
You answered him only with a moan, unable to form actual words. He smirked and pressed two fingers against your entrance to gently push inside. You gasped as you felt the length of his long digits twist up inside of you, curving against the contours of your body perfectly. He watched and obsessed over the view of your pussy swallowing each inch of his fingers and how you clenched around them so beautifully each time he dragged them out slowly and pushed them back in with delicious force. His dick throbbed in his pants, leaking into his sweats.
When he felt you start to tighten more around him, he bent back down and reattached his tongue to your clit once again to lap at the sensitive bundle as he worked your cunt from below. The double pleasure made your eyes roll back into your head and jaw fall open in a silent cry with only a broken gasp managing to escape your throat. You felt your second orgasm approaching and approaching fast.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You chanted mindlessly, completely lost in the pleasure. Within seconds your walls clamped down around Namjoon’s fingers as you came dramatically around them and on his tongue, your legs dropping down around his neck like a vice grip and held him to your pussy where he graciously licked your cunt until you finished cumming.
When your legs finally relaxed and let go, he pulled away gasping for air. His face was plastered with a triumphant, wet, grin as he looked down at you completely collapsed into jelly on the bed.
“I hope you’re not tired yet baby. I still want to play with you.” He said and walked over to grab something from his nightstand. In his hand was dildo. Shiny and new. “I bought this just for you.”
He pressed the tip in-between your folds and dragged it up, rubbing the tip of the toy against your clit. You sucked in a breath bucked your hips the second it touched your swollen bundle of nerves.
“Still sensitive baby?” He asked you then tapped the toy a few times against your pussy which made your hips buck and you whimper.
“Yes but it f-feels so f-fucking good.” You say as your voice trembled.
“That’s my good girl.” He cooed at you while rubbing the toy between your folds as you squirmed against it. “If you want to take my cock you gotta show me how good you can take this one. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I can take it.” You practically begged. He smiled and leaned down onto the bed to hover over you to give you a deep kiss.
“I knew you would.”
Namjoon pressed the tip of the toy to your entrance and eased it inside of you one inch at a time. It slid into you easily and made your eyelids flutter as the girth filled you. Your walls clamped down around the silicone and started to pulsate due to the overstimulation and for a moment you swore you could have came just from having it pushed inside.
“You look so fucking sexy right now.” He whispered in your ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”
He started to slowly pull the toy out of your cunt and, just as the tip almost made its way completely out of you, plunged the entire length of the toy back inside. The noise you made in response was nothing short of pornographic. He did it again, and again, picking up speed each time until he was ruthlessly fucking you with the toy while you could do nothing but relish in the building hot pleasure.
“You’re making quite the mess.” He teased, but his wrist did not slow as he relished in the sounds of your cries and the sounds he was pulling from your cunt. His eyes fixating down between your thighs where the colorful silicone slipped in and out of your swollen and sensitive folds that seem to be opening up more and more like a flower. He shifted on the bed once more and, without missing a beat, brought his free hand down between your thighs and started to use his thumb to rub heavy circles against your clit while still fucking you on his toy. The sensation was intense.
“Shit!” You screamed. “It’s so much.”
“But look how pretty your pussy looks being played with? It loves it. It wants to cum again.” He cooed. “Give me another.”
He switched from rubbing your clit with his thumb to his pointer and middle finger, rubbing it back and forth at a quick pace. The speed, mixed with the toy rubbing against your g-spot, had your third climax on the brink but this time it was different. It had only happened once, a long time ago while you were by yourself, and you didn’t think it would ever happen again. And you were afraid right now would be the time.
“W-wait, it’s too much-“ you tried warning him. “I think, I think I might-“
“Come on baby.” He said through gritted teeth, his fingers and wrist still working against you. “Don’t hold back. Fucking cum for me.”
You orgasmed again, this time your climax gushing out of your cunt and onto the duvet.
“Holy shit.” Namjoon said in shock. “Did you just squirt for me?”
“I tried to warn you.” You gasped, completely breathless. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck- don’t be sorry. Just do it again.” He growled placed his fingers back against your clit once again, rubbing them back and forth quickly against the red and swollen nub. You screamed and came again instantly, squirting again all over him. “Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun.”
You laid down, body convulsing in orgasm aftershocks while Namjoon stood up to drop his sweats. His rock-hard cock released from the waistband, his cockhead dripping in pre-cum from all the anticipation. He took his hand and collected the arousal and used it to pump his length a few times as he watched you lay before him in your glistening mess until you had collected yourself.
Watching him jerk off his big length brought you back to watching him for the first time on screen. It reminded you how bad you wanted him instantly, making up your mind in that exact moment that you needed him no matter what. Needed his cock. It made your mouth water.
“Can I suck your cock, baby?” You ask him, licking your lips. “Please.”
“No need baby. This is all about your pleasure.” He told you sweetly.
“I know. That’s why I want to.” You purred at him, twisting around on the bed and getting on your knees to crawl over to him. Your sudden forwardness exciting him, intriguing him. “Sucking your cock is for my pleasure.”
“Then I can’t say no to that, can I?” He said, placing his hand against your cheek and slowly lowering your face down to his cock.
You gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and stroked him at a slow pace, twisting your wrist as you worked him up and down. You put your lips on him, placing his head into your lips softly. You sucked on the tip gently as your wrist worked his shaft. Periodically, dipping your head down to take the entirety of his length into your throat until you felt him hit the back of it.
“Jesus-fuck.” Namjoon cursed under his breath as he took in the sight of you. He couldn’t believe how filthy you were, impressed with your skill. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”
You enjoyed working his length, savoring him and the grunts and groans he let out as you did so. Your pussy began to throb for him again between your thighs as you continued which you let him know by moaning as you sucked him, making vibrations run up his dick. You were working him so well, too well, and he had to stop you. He gently pulled you up and off of him, planting a hot kiss onto your messy lips before letting you go again.
“You did such a good job for me. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” He asked you. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Namjoon pulled you forward and spread your thighs, settling between them. He lined himself up with your entrance and teased his head against your hole, running circles around it before pressing forward into you. You gasped feeling his girth spread you open and your back arched off the bed as you received him, your legs circling around his hips.
Namjoon leaned over you and placed his forehead against yours, wanting to be close. You felt his cock deep inside of you and he could feel your walls pulsing around his hard length. When he finally started to move, he used deep and slow strokes, ones that had his pelvis grinding hard against your clit each time he rolled his hips. The technique and feeling was beyond anything you had ever experienced with any other partner you had slept with. It was fucking heavenly.
“Holy shit.. Joon..” you moaned, forgetting the rule about not being able to say his name. He didn’t panic quite yet, knowing he could manage a few edits here as long as it wasn’t that noticeable.
“Do you like my cock baby?” He whispered into your ear, only for you to hear and not the camera this time. Truly enjoying fucking you.
“Fuck yes.” You practically cried as he continued to roll his hips deeply into you. “Your cock is so fucking perfect.”
Between his deep strokes and the friction of his pelvis against your clit, it wasn’t long before you started to cum again. Your walls clamping down around his cock and almost taking him with you before he was ready to.
“You didn’t squirt for me? That just won’t do.” He tsked and walked over to his side drawer to pull out his secret weapon: a magic wand vibrator. You almost ran out of the room when you saw it.
“Please- I don’t know if I can.” You told him weakly, holding up your hands in defense.
“Of course you can baby.” He said, pressing the bulbous end of the wand into your puffy clit. “I know you can.”
He pressed the on button and brought the toy to life. The lowest setting was already so powerful and had your body practically levitating off the bed. Namjoon pressed down on your pelvis to keep you on the mattress and slipped his cock back into your cunt, making you scream out in ecstasy. He wasted no time fucking into you. It wasn’t slow or romantic. This was pure fucking and his goal was to make you completely break this time. Reach pure bliss.
“Fuck! Joon! Oh my god! Joon, please!” You begged for something you weren’t even sure you were ready for. “Please Joon give it to me!”
He pressed a button on the wand one more time and made the speed go one level higher. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your hips lifted off the bed completely as you felt the pleasure take over you, Namjoon never ceasing his thrusts. You felt your cheeks start to burn and lips quiver. Your vision began to blur.
“Joon, I’m gonna cum-“ you gasped in broken breaths.
“Cum.” He ordered you, pressing the wand into your clit as hard as he could and hitting the speed button one last time to take you to the third and most intense speed.
You came dramatically, gushing all over Namjoon’s cock and abdomen. Namjoon continued to fuck you, enjoying the view of you spraying your orgasm all over each time he pulled out of you and pushed back in. This continued until he finally came himself, filling you up and collapsing on top of you.
You both laid wrapped in each others arms with chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Namjoon stroked your hair, brushing it carefully from your face and placing a careful kiss against your temple.
“Are you okay? Do you need water?” He asked you gently.
“I will in a little. Right now I just need to lay here.” You told him, feeling much too exhausted to even sit up in that moment.
“Thank god because I’m tired too.” He laughed which you couldn’t help but join in as well. “Did you enjoy that?”
“It was.. beyond.” You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re really good at what you do.”
“So you don’t regret it?” He asked you with a tone of hopefulness.
“Namjoon you just made me cum like, what, five times?”
“Six.” He corrected you.
“Six. So, no. I wouldn’t say I regret anything.” You giggle. “Did you enjoy it, at least?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes I did. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a session that much before.” He admitted to you with a smile on his face.
“Good. Speaking of which. Where are the cameras?” You asked him, looking around the room.
“Ah so-“ he said, raising his hand to point just before you at the bookcase that stood in front of his bed. “In between those two books on the middle shelf is one of my cameras. Tiny right? And then-“
You followed his finger over to the window where he kept all his plants and saw, tucked away between lush green, another camera.
“And then one more.” He said, pointing above you both to find a small camera secured to one of the blades of his ceiling fans that almost camouflaged into the color of the wooden blade.
“Wow, you really got all the angles didn’t you?” You told him, giggling.
“Yes. I have my editing cut out for me.” He chuckled. “I just hope me muting you screaming my name doesn’t make the footage too unwatchable or else.. we may have to reshoot.”
“Oh-shit. I’m so sorry.” You felt terrible, and a bit embarrassed. “I got so lost in it.”
“I’m only kidding. I’m just looking for some sort of excuse to sleep with you again.”
“Namjoon-“ you started to tell him, voice serious. “-if you think you can fuck me like that and I’m not going to come back for more, you’ve lost your mind. I’ll be in any video you want me to be in if you fuck me like that each time.”
Namjoon threw his head back in laugher and pulled you to his chest tightly.
“I definitely think we could make some good money making videos together yes but, I’d also like to fuck you not on camera. If you’re interested, that is.” He told you, his voice soft for words so suggestive. “Maybe we could even grab dinner sometime.”
“I’d love to.” You felt as if your heart could burst.
“Great.” He smiled widely and helped you sit up, your head still spinning a bit. “I’m going to order us some food and I need to edit this footage so I don’t miss my deadline. Do you want to help me?”
“Help you? I’m no help with editing?”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged but a hint of a smirk reached his lips. “But I might need help with my breaks since, you know, I’m going to get all worked up re-watching us fuck again.”
“Now that.. that I can help with.”
———————————————————
PHEWWWWW THIS TO ME 7 DAYS TO WRITE YALL. I really hope you enjoyed!
Hey besties 💜 if you haven’t yet, please take a moment to check out my Namjoon fic! I worked really REALLY hard on it and I think you might like it. Read the warnings of course as it is SMUT. But I really hope you give it a shot and some feedback
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Eventual Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
Taehyung spins in a slow circle, his eyes wide as he takes in the monochromatic space. He reaches out to touch a velvet throw pillow that is perfectly fluffed, perfectly beige and then pulls his hand back as if it might bite him.
"Did you... did you actually live here?" Taehyung whispers, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Or is this a showroom? I feel like I need to show a ticket to be in here."
"It’s so... clean. Y/N, I’ve seen hospitals with more personality than that kitchen." Jungkook nudges a white leather ottoman with the toe of his boot. He looks at you, his expression shifting from amusement to something softer. "How did you find anything? I’d lose myself in all this white."
“Yeah,” you murmur trying to laugh it off, glancing around the space like you were seeing it properly for the first time. “That sounds about right.”
Now that they say it, you can't deny it. Everything is staged. The couch is too straight, the pillows too perfect, and the counters spotless in a way that didn't feel lived-in. It was a space for show, not for a soul. Your fingers trail lightly along the edge of the kitchen island as you walk further in, your touch slow and almost cautious.
“I used to think this place was… calming,” you admit quietly. “Like if everything around me stayed neat and controlled, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so…” You trail off, the word stuck in your throat.
“Lost?” Jungkook offers gently.
“Yeah.” You nod, the weight of the realization settling in.
“It’s not calm. It’s… quiet in a weird way. Like it’s waiting for someone who never shows up.” Taehyung hums, his tone softer now as he scans the room.
The observation lands harder than it should have, a dull ache blooming in your chest. You swallow against the tightness in your throat and shake it off, forcing yourself to move.
“Okay. I don’t want to stay here.” You blow out a breath and Jungkook doesn't hesitate for a second.
“Then we don’t.” He says.
“Alright! Operation: Save Y/N From the Beige Void.” Taehyung claps his hands once.
“Please stop naming things,” you mutter, with a short laugh.
“Absolutely not,” he shoots back immediately. “It’s how I cope.”
“What do you need to take?” Jungkook is already moving, his eyes scanning the space as he begins planning the logistics of the exit.
You pause, realizing the question was much bigger than the physical items in the room. Your gaze drifts over the spotless counters and untouched appliances of the perfect, empty space. Nothing was yours… not really.
“Not much,” you admit. “It's mostly…his. It's mainly my bedroom closet, I guess.”
“Then we take what's yours and go.” Taehyung nods.
“Bedroom’s this way.” You wave them up the stairs.
The bedroom was exactly what they expected. All neutral tones, clean lines, and a haunting lack of personality.
“Wow.” Jungkook steps in first and stops dead.
“Okay, no. This isn’t a bedroom. This is a furniture ad.” Taehyung leans against the doorframe, squinting his eyes. “Do you iron the bedding? Where are the wrinkles?”
They move further in, opening drawers and peeking into Corbyn's closet, but they only find more organization and more impersonality.
“Y/N… there’s nothing here.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, glancing back at you with a furrowed brow.
You walk past him to the nightstand and pull open the drawer. Inside was a charger and a book you didn’t remember reading. That was it.
“I don’t think I ever actually lived here,” you whisper.
“Then let’s not treat it like you did.” Taehyung tells you.
“Okay.” You inhale slowly, letting the air fill your lungs, and nod. “Grab a bag. Everything in this closet is mine. I'll sort through it when I get to Leah's.”
“Got it.” Jungkook nods immediately, already springing into action.
“I’m helping, but I am judging your wardrobe.” Taehyung pushes off the doorframe and heads straight for the closet.
“Please do,” you mutter.
They begin pulling things out. Clothes, shoes, random items, and laying them across the bed for you to shove into bags. You didn’t join them right away. Instead, your hand slips into your pocket, pulling out the silver ring. It sits in your palm, simple and warm.
Always.
Your thumb traces the engraving, slower this time. Behind you, Taehyung’s voice cuts through the quiet, not looking at you but aware of exactly where you were.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“Yeah. We’ve got time.” Jungkook glances over too, his expression soft.
“I just want to get this over with,” you say, slipping the ring back into your pocket.
“You know,” Jungkook says. “You really could have stayed with me and Yura.”
“Thanks.” You smile. “But…we're still….”
“Getting to know each other,” he finishes and you nod, giving him a small grateful smile.
“Yeah,” you murmur, glancing back toward the closet where Taehyung was already halfway buried in hangers. “I just… think I need a little space to figure out who I am without… all of this.”
Jungkook nods, looking like he understood more than you were saying out loud. For a second, the room falls into a rhythm of rustling fabric, drawers opening, and the soft thud of shoes hitting the bed. Then something clicks in your mind. Your brows pull together slightly as you look between them.
“Wait…” you say. “I thought Hobi was going to come help too?”
Taehyung pauses mid-hanger, slowly turning his head toward Jungkook. Jungkook freezes for half a second. They exchanged a look, and that…more than anything…made your stomach twist.
“What?” You ask, your voice growing more cautious.
“He was…” Jungkook says, his tone careful.
“He decided to hang out with Yoongi instead.” Taehyung shrugs.
“Oh.” The word came out softer than you intended.
“It’s not…”Jungkook winces. “It’s not like he bailed on you.”
“Yoongi was going to come,” Taehyung sighs, dropping the hanger onto the bed as he finally turns fully toward you.
The revelation stuns you. Your fingers instinctively feel for your old ringer over your jeans.
“But,” Jungkook cut in gently. “We all kind of figured that would… probably end badly.” “Yeah. Like your former fiancé …. walking into your other ex-fiancé’s house, emotions already high…” Taehyung nods.
“And you trying to figure yourself out in the middle of it.” Jungkook adds.
“So Hobi stayed with him,” Taehyung tells you. “Just… to keep him from doing something impulsive.”
“He shouldn’t need to be kept away,” you say quietly, but Jungkook heard it anyway.
“He’s not being kept away,” he says gently. “We are making sure he’s giving you space.”
“Okay.” Taehyung claps his hands again. “I don't know how much time we have here. But…” He gestures dramatically to the mountain of clothes forming on the bed. “We still have to defeat the Beige Void Boss Level: Closet Edition.”
“Right.” You laugh, as you start stuffing them into a bag.
The three of you work in a surprisingly efficient rhythm, stuffing the remnants of your life into a few mismatched suitcases. Taehyung makes good on his promise to judge your wardrobe, holding up a particularly bland white sweater with two fingers like it’s a biohazard.
"This stays," he declares, tossing it back into the depths of the empty closet. "It’s a ghost of a garment, Y/N. We’re only taking things with a pulse."
"That's it," Jungkook says, zipping the final bag shut. "Let’s get out of here before the walls try to hypnotize us."
As you reach the bottom of the stairs, the front door clicks open. Corbyn steps inside, checking his watch before looking up. He stops in the main entryway, his eyes immediately landing on the suitcases, then tracking upward to Taehyung and Jungkook. He straightens his shoulders, his expression shifting into that familiar mask of polished composure, though his eyes clearly say something different.
Taehyung is the first to break the strange silence. He doesn't move. He just stands with one hand resting casually on the handle of your suitcase, his eyes scanning the pristine, white-on-white entryway.
"Man..." Taehyung starts, his voice a low drawl. "Seriously... how do you keep your house so dust-free? Do you have a specialized vacuum?"
“What kind of hair product do you use?” Jungkook asks. “Not a single hair out of place.”
"Are they making fun of me?" Corbyn asks you in genuine wonder.
You look at Taehyung, who was now examining a glass vase like it was a prehistoric artifact, and then at Jungkook, who looks like he was one comment away from checking the underside of the kitchen island for fingerprints.
"I’m not entirely sure," you say, your voice steadier than you expected as you adjusted the strap of your bag. "But... yeah. I think so."
Corbyn’s gaze flickers to the suitcases at the base of the stairs, then back to you. The presence of the two men clearly agitated the pristine order of his world, but he ignored them, focusing entirely on your face.
“Y/N,” he says, his voice dropping into that measured, persuasive tone he used for negotiations. “Can we talk? Just for a moment. Alone.”
Jungkook steps forward immediately, his shoulder partially blocking Corbyn’s line of sight. The protective softness he’d shown in the bedroom vanished, replaced by a cold, immovable wall of muscle.
“I think she’s done with the talking part of the day,” Jungkook tells him, his voice flat and final. “We’ve got the bags. We’re leaving.”
Taehyung doesn't move, but his playful energy changes into something watchful. He remains leaning against the banister, his eyes narrow as he tracks Corbyn’s every expression.
“Surely you can give me five minutes, Y/N,” Corbyn says to you.
“It’s okay,” you say, reaching out to lightly touch Jungkook’s arm. He tenses under your fingers, but you gave him a small, reassuring nod. “It’s fine. Just give me a minute. I’ll meet you at the car.”
“We’ll be right outside,” he mutters, more of a promise to Corbyn than a statement to you.
He grabs the heaviest suitcases, Taehyung following suit with the smaller bags. As Taehyung passes Corbyn, he doesn't say a word, but the look of pure, unadulterated boredom he sends the man was louder than any insult. The heavy front door clicks shut behind them, leaving the house in silence once more.
“They’re… loud,” Corbyn remarks, his voice echoing. He paced a small circle, finally stopping a few feet away from you. He looks at the door, then back to you, a strange, tight curiosity in his expression. “So, which one is he?”
“Which one is who?” You blink, momentarily thrown.
“The ex-fiancé,” Corbyn says. “The one with the attitude, or the one who looks like he’s ready to throw a punch?”
“Neither,” you say quietly. “You do realize I'm not leaving you because of Yoongi, right? I'm leaving because I'm not happy. I'm leaving because you lied to me this whole time. I'm leaving to find myself.”
“Finding yourself,” he repeats quietly, like he’s trying to understand the phrase instead of dismissing it. “Y/N… I thought that was the point. I thought if I handled everything… if I made things stable… you wouldn’t have to struggle.”
“It was preservation, Corbyn. Not stability.” You shake your head. “You didn’t build a life with me. You loved the version of me they handed to you, Corbyn. I don’t even know if that girl was real.”
Corbyn looks around the house, his gaze lingering on the spot where the suitcases had been just moments ago. For the first time, he looks slightly out of his depth.
“And you think those two….and the ghost of this fiancé are going to help you find this happiness? They’re chaos, Y/N,” Corbyn says softly, almost helplessly. “And maybe that works for them, but… I spent years trying to make sure nothing could hurt you. Your parents said you needed safety. Structure.”
“Maybe I need a little chaos,” you say, moving toward the door. You don't want to give him another five minutes. You don't even want to give him another thirty seconds. “At least in chaos, you know something is actually happening. You know people are actually living.”
You reach for the handle of the heavy front door, but you pause, looking back at him one last time.
“Don't worry about the dust,” you tell him, a tiny, sharp spark of Taehyung’s wit catching in your voice. “I’m taking all my personality with me. It should stay perfectly clean in here now.”
You step out onto the porch, the door clicks shut behind you. Down by the curb, Jungkook is leaning against the trunk of the car, his arms crossed, while Taehyung is halfway out of the passenger window, waving you over like you were a long-lost traveler returning from war.
“Is the boss defeated?” Taehyung calls out as you approach. “Did you get the Rare Loot: Your Sanity?”
“You okay?” Jungkook pushes off the car, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. Seeing the small, genuine smile on your face, his own expression relaxes into something warm.
“Yeah,” you tell him, breathing out a sigh that felt like it had been held for years. “I’m great. Let’s go.”
Leah’s house is the polar opposite of where you’d just come from. There was a pile of mail on the entryway table, a faint scent of vanilla and a colorful rug that was definitely not beige.
"I cleared out the guest room." Leah smiles, leading the way. "It’s got a window that gets great morning light. And more importantly, the walls are a color that actually exists in nature."
"See? This is a room. Look at that…a stray thread on the carpet. Evidence of life. I love it." Taehyung steps into the room and immediately hums in approval.
"We can help you unpack," Jungkook offers, looking toward the mountain of luggage. "Or we can just get these out of the way so you and Leah can... do whatever it is you guys do."
"Actually," Leah says, leaning against the doorframe and looking at the two men. "I think what she needs is a glass of wine and a long vent session."
You look around the room. At the patterned curtains and the slightly scuffed floorboards and for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you had to be careful where you stepped.
"Thanks, guys," you say, looking at Jungkook and Taehyung. "Really. I don't think I could have done that alone."
"You're never alone," he says quietly, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge while he lingers for a moment. "Just remember that. We're a phone call away."
"Operation: Save Y/N is officially complete. Transitioning to Phase Two: The Glow-Up." Taehyung gives a dramatic salute.
As they head back down the stairs, you hear Taehyung ask Leah if she had any snacks for the road, his voice fading as the front door finally shut, leaving you and Leah in the comfortable, messy silence of your new beginning.
Leah doesn't say anything right away. She waits until the front door clicks shut, until Taehyung’s voice fades down the street, and until the house settles back into its natural, lived-in quiet. Only then does she hand you a glass of wine and nods toward the bed.
“Sit,” she commands softly. You obey, exhaling as you sink down, your body finally catching up to the whirlwind of the day. Leah pulls the desk chair closer and sits across from you, studying your face.
“I’m not going to lie,” she says, her voice a little softer than usual. “Part of me is still in shock that you actually did it.”
“Moved out?” You let out a small breath of a laugh, asking.
“Left him.” She corrects you.
“Yeah.” You look down at your glass of wine and Leah tilts her head watching you.
“I always liked Corbyn,” she admits, her tone not defensive, just factual. “He was… reliable. Predictable. The kind of person you don’t have to worry about.”
“I know,” you reply, while nodding faintly, acknowledging the truth in that.
“But,” she adds quickly, her tone shifting to something clearer. “Liking someone and thinking they’re right for you aren’t the same thing. And right now? I don’t want you going back to him just because it’s familiar.”
“I’m not.” You swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem of your glass.
“I know,” she says softly. “I just want to make sure you don’t start second-guessing yourself later. Because you will. That’s normal.”
“I saw him,” you tell her and Leah’s attention sharpens instantly as she stares at you.
“At the house?” She questions making you nod.
“He came home while we were leaving. Wanted to talk to me. Alone. Like everything was still… fixable if we just had the right conversation.” You explain and Leah hums under her breath, processing the information.
“That sounds like him,” she says after a moment.
“It does?” You blink in surprise and she shrugs lightly.
“Yeah. Corbyn’s not a bad person. He just… solves problems the way he understands them. If something’s wrong, he thinks there’s a conversation or a plan that can fix it.” She explains.
“But I’m not a problem to fix,” you counter.
“I know.” She nods gently. “But … you have to understand. Your parents lied to him too.”
You stare down into your wine, watching the surface shift faintly beneath your grip. At first, your instinct is to reject it. Corbyn had made his own choices. He had ignored your unhappiness. He had built a life around you instead of with you.
But slowly, painfully, another thought slips in beside it.
He really did think he was loving you correctly.
You think back to the house. To the spotless counters. The rigid schedules. The perfectly arranged furniture. The way he talked about stability like it was the highest form of care someone could offer another person.
Your mother loved that about him.
Your father respected it.
Reliable. Responsible. Controlled.
Leah watches the realization cross your face without interrupting it.
“He wasn’t trying to trap you,” she says carefully. “At least… I don’t think he thought he was.”
“No,” you murmur quietly. “I don’t think he did either.”
The admission aches more than anger would have. Because anger would make this cleaner. Easier.
But this? This was sad.
“I think he genuinely believed if everything around me was perfect enough… then I would be okay.” You lean back slightly against the wall behind the bed, exhaling slowly.
“And your parents probably reinforced that every chance they got.” Leah nods.
“God.” You laugh bitterly and rub a hand over your face. “Do you know what the worst part is?”
“What?” She asks.
“I let him.” You answer. “For a while it felt nice having someone else make all the decisions. Everything was so organized. Predictable. I never had to think too hard about anything. I thought feeling safe meant feeling numb.” You glance toward the window.
“That’s not your fault.” Leah’s expression softens immediately.
“No,” you say after a moment. “But it is my responsibility now.”
“So, have you thought about work yet?” She asks after a moment and your stomach drops immediately.
“I was trying not to,” you admit.
“Fair,” she says. “But it’s coming whether you think about it or not.”
You groan quietly, leaning back on your hands, knowing she was right. You could already picture the office, the routine, and the normalcy that wasn't normal anymore.
“He’s going to act like nothing happened if I see him,” you predict.
“Maybe.” She nods. “Or… he might try to talk to you again. Properly this time.”
“That’s worse.” You frown at the thought, but Leah shakes her head.
“Not necessarily. It just means you’ll need to be clear.” She tells you and you look at her doubtfully.
“I don’t know if I can do that without it turning into… something.” You warn her.
“Then don’t let it turn.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “If you see him at work, keep it simple. You don’t owe him a full emotional conversation in the middle of the office. Be firm and walk away.”
“Okay.” You gave a small, uncertain
“If it’s work-related, you handle it. If it’s not?” She shrugs. “You tell him you’re not having that conversation there.” You hesitate, worried about what your coworkers might think.
“That feels… cold.” You tell her.
“It’s not cold. It’s appropriate.” She smiles tightly at you.
“And if he keeps pushing?” You ask and Leah thinks for a second.
“Then you repeat yourself,” she tells you and takes a breath. “Honestly though, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Corbyn is professional. Too worried about his image to make a scene.”
“Do…do you think I’m making a mistake?” You look at her and asked quietly,
“No. I think you’re doing something hard. He was good on paper,” she says with a small tug of a smile. “But you don’t live on paper.”
“No,” you murmur. “I guess I don’t.”
"To not living on paper," Leah says softly, raising her glass.
"To a little bit of chaos." You offer a genuine smile, clinking your glass against hers.
The wine is sweet, the room is warm, and outside the window, the sun is finally beginning to set, casting long, golden shadows across the mismatched bedding. You are starting over from scratch, with a suitcase full of clothes that actually have a pulse, a pocket holding a promise of always, and a world that is no longer neatly arranged in shades of beige.
It's messy. It's uncertain. But as you take another breath of the vanilla-scented air, you realize it's the first time in years you've felt entirely, undeniably alive.
The hot water had done its job, washing away the lingering chill of Corbyn’s home and the physical tension of the move. You step out of the shower wrapped in one of Leah’s plush towels, feeling more like a human being and less like a hollowed-out version of yourself. The air in the bathroom was thick with steam.
You make your way into the guest room, pulling on a pair of oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. You kneel by one of the open suitcases, beginning the slow process of moving your belongings into the small dresser Leah had cleared for you.
Mid-fold, your phone vibrates against the hardwood floor. The sharp buzz-buzz makes you jump slightly.
You pick it up, expecting a check in from the group chat or maybe a message from Leah downstairs asking about dinner. Instead, your breath hitches when you see the name on the screen. It isn't the group thread.
It was a direct message.
Yoongi: I heard Taehyung and Jungkook were giving your ex a hard time at the house today.
You sit back on your heels, the fabric of a sweater forgotten in your hands. You watch the screen, seeing the typing bubbles appear and disappear before the next line pops up.
Yoongi: They shouldn't have done that.
A strange mix of emotions swirl in your chest. You could almost hear his voice. You thought back to what Taehyung and Jungkook had said earlier, about Hobi staying behind to keep Yoongi from doing something impulsive.
It was ironic, really. The one person everyone was worried would cause a scene was now the one calling out the others for their lack of decorum.
You stare at the silver ring now resting on the nightstand, then back at the glowing screen. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure if you should defend the boys' chaotic loyalty or acknowledge the unexpected weight of Yoongi’s disapproval.
You stare at the two messages, your thumb still hovering over the screen. There’s a strange comfort in the fact that even through a text, Yoongi sounds like he’s sighing. He isn't making excuses for himself. He’s holding the others to a standard of restraint he’s clearly struggling to maintain himself.
You type back quickly, your heart doing a slow, heavy roll in your chest.
You: They didn't do anything too bad. It's okay.
You hit send before you can overthink it. You don't mention that you know Hobi had to stay behind to keep him from charging over there. You don't mention keeping the ring with you. You just let the words sit there. It's a small bridge between the two of you.
Setting the phone down, you crawl onto the bed. The mattress is a little softer than your old one, the sheets smelling faintly of Leah’s laundry detergent. It’s a relief to finally be horizontal.
As you turn onto your side, your gaze catches on the corner of the nightstand. There, tucked behind a lamp, is your old phone. It’s heavy with secrets, with old photos and unsent drafts that Corbyn never would have understood. It feels like it’s calling to you, a jagged little piece of your soul that you’ve been ignoring for far too long.
You reach out, your fingers grazing the fractured glass, and pull it into the covers with you. Getting comfortable against the pillows, you press the power button, waiting for the glow to hit your face. The screen flickers to life, the harsh light bleeding through the fractures in the glass. As the pixels settle, the wallpaper resolves into a burst of color.
It’s the pier.
Where all of you were crowded barefoot together, a chaotic mess of wind-whipped hair and genuine grins. Now that you know. Now that the truth of that day has been revealed. You can see it in Yoongi’s and your expression. The two of you aren't just posing for a photo with friends. You are looking at the camera knowing your entire world is about to change because the man who loved you more than anything tried to make you his forever.
Your heart thumps a frantic, uneven rhythm against your ribs, a dull ache blooming behind your chest. It’s too much to look at, yet impossible to turn away from.
Blinking rapidly, you quickly enter into your gallery and go into your videos.The timestamps blur as your finger drags down the screen until the colors shift becoming brighter and louder. Your breath catches as you tap a video without allowing yourself time to overthink it.
It opens with a jolt of movement and the sound of your own voice, sounding so startlingly alive that it makes you flinch. The camera is angled poorly at first, pointed up toward your chin before you adjust it, grinning widely at the lens. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, textbooks opened around you like a failed attempt at productivity amidst a mess of highlighters, sticky notes, and a half-open laptop. It is absolute chaos, and sitting right next to you is Yura.
She’s hunched over her notes, muttering something under her breath with her hair falling into her face as she aggressively underlines a sentence. You, on the other hand, look far too amused.
“Okay,” you whisper dramatically to the camera. “Breaking news.”
“If this is about you failing that quiz, I already know.” Yura doesn’t even look up as she dryly retorts.
“It’s not about the quiz,” you whisper-hiss, your eyes dancing with mischief. “It’s about the fact that Yura has been staring at the same page for twenty minutes because Jungkook just walked past the library window.”
Yura’s head snaps up, her pen skidding across her notebook and leaving a jagged blue streak across her notes.
“I have not! I am studying the socioeconomic impacts of…of stuff!” She glares.
“Stuff? Really?” You let out a loud, bright laugh that echoes through the quiet library, drawing a sharp shush from a nearby table. You don’t care. You turn the camera toward her, catching the way her cheeks are flushed a deep, indignant pink. “She’s in love, folks. Truly, madly, deeply distracted.”
“I’m going to kill you!” Yura yells, though it’s a stage whisper. She drops her highlighter and lunges across the pile of textbooks, her hands outstretched like claws. “He's annoying. I can't stand him!”
The video turns into a blur of motion. All you can see is the ceiling, the carpet, a stray sneaker as you shriek with laughter, scrambling backward on your elbows to escape her. The sound of your own joy on the recording is jarring. It’s a loud, uninhibited sound that feels entirely foreign to you.
“Take it back!” Yura’s voice is muffled as she finally tackles your arm, her face appearing briefly in the frame, grinning despite herself as she tries to snatch the phone away.
“Never!” You gasp out, breathless and wheezing. “OH MY GOD YOU REALLY DO!”
The video cuts out abruptly with a final, joyful thud of the phone hitting the carpet.
For a second, you don’t move.
Then your lips press together before they curve into something small and real. A quiet exhale leaves you, almost like a laugh that didn’t fully make it out.
“We were so loud,” you murmur to yourself.
Your thumb hovers over the screen, tracing the frozen image where it stopped. Yura half in frame, your arm blurred mid-defense, the chaos of it all caught in one imperfect second.
Your head tilts slightly against the pillow.
Your teeth catch your bottom lip, gently, as your brows pull together not in sadness exactly, but in something more complicated.
Thoughtful.
Like you’re trying to piece together a version of yourself that feels familiar but just out of reach.
“I don’t even recognize her,” you whisper, though there’s no real bite to it.
Your gaze softens, lingering on the screen a second longer before your thumb taps back, returning to the gallery. Rows of moments stare back at you. Tiny squares of color and movement, all louder than anything you’ve lived in recently. Pressing a random square you do your best to prepare yourself for what you are about to find.
“Step fourteen, Insert screw H into slot B while holding panel four at a forty-five-degree angle. Note: Do not overtighten.” On video you says.
The camera pans up, and the scene is absolute madness. You are sitting on the floor of the boys' dorm, cross-legged. You are literally shimmering. Fine, iridescent craft glitter is dusted across your forehead, your cheeks, and your sweater like a disco ball exploded in your vicinity.
In the center of the room, Namjoon is surrounded by several slabs of black metal and dark wood. He looks like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube that’s fighting back.
“I don’t understand,” Namjoon mutters, wiping sweat from his brow, oblivious to the fact that he now has a streak of silver glitter on his forehead from where he probably touched you earlier. “If I hold panel four, I don’t have a third hand for the screw.”
“Evolution failed you, Joon,” Taehyung chimes in.
He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, unhelpful and regal, tossing a singular wooden dowel into the air and catching it. The camera swings to the right, catching Yoongi. He is standing by a desk, arms crossed, staring at the bed Taehyung is sitting on with a look of pure horror.
“Y/N,” Yoongi says, his voice a low warning. “Do not. Move.”
“What? I’m helping!” You chirp, shaking the instructions at him. A small cloud of glitter drifts off the paper.
“You are shedding,” Yoongi says, pointing a finger at you. “You are a biological hazard. If one speck of that shit touches my pillowcase, I’m sleeping in the hallway. Do not get near my bed.”
“Oh, come on,” Jimin’s voice comes from behind the camera. The lens shakes with his giggling. “She’s like a magical fairy. Don't you want a magical fairy in your room?”
“I want a clean room,” Yoongi snaps, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Tae, she looks sad,” Jimin says, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “I think she needs a hug to feel better about her instructions.”
Taehyung’s eyes light up. He stands up on the bed, pointing dramatically at Yoongi.
“You’re right, Jimin. Y/N! Give him a hug! He’s being mean about the sparkles!” Taehyung points at Yoongi.
“No,” Yoongi says, backing up half a step. “No. Stay there.”
“HUG HIM! HUG HIM!” Taehyung joins in, jumping rhythmically on the mattress.
You look at the camera, a predatory, glittery grin spreading across your face. You drop the instruction manual. It hits the floor with a soft thud. You scramble to your feet.
“Y/N, I am warning you….!” Yoongi starts, but it’s too late.
With a joyful shriek, you launch yourself at him. You don't just hug him. You tackle him. Yoongi’s survival instinct kicks in. Even though he’s complaining, his arms instinctively go out to catch you, his hands locking around your waist to steady your weight.
The momentum is too much.
“CRAP…” Yoongi grunts as the two of you topple backward, landing directly in the center of his perfectly made bed.
“MY MATTRESS!” Yoongi yells, even as you’re buried in his chest, laughing so hard you’re shaking more glitter into his hair.
“SHE’S MARKING HER TERRITORY!” Taehyung screams in delight.
At that exact moment, a deafening CRACK echoes through the room. The camera whips around to Namjoon. He is standing over a pile of collapsed metal. He had tried to use the distraction to force a piece into place, and the entire shelving unit had folded like a house of cards.
“Uh,” Namjoon says, holding a snapped piece of wood. “I think... I think I broke Step Fourteen.”
“Joon,” Jimin groans.
“My thumb!” Namjoon suddenly yelps, hopping on one foot. “I pinched my thumb!”
The video descends into chaos. Jimin falls over laughing, Taehyung diving off the bed to check on Namjoon, and the camera finally hitting the floor. The last thing the audio catches is Yoongi’s resigned, muffled voice from under you.
“Great. The shelf is dead, Namjoon is wounded, and I’m going to be sparkling until I’m eighty. Are you happy?” Yoongi asks.
“Very,” your voice whispers.
The video ends.
You can’t stop thinking about the moment he caught you. It wasn't a conscious choice he made. There was no hesitation. It was just reflex. You had launched yourself into the air without a single doubt that the world, and Yoongi had stepped into the impact like it was the only thing he was meant to do.
A sudden, sharp heat climbs into your cheeks. It’s not the sting of embarrassment. It’s the overwhelming, late-to-the-party realization of just how much space you occupied in his life.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, the words catching in the quiet of the room.
It wasn't just the tackle. It was the way he looked at you once you were both tangled in his sheets. The specific, soft exasperation look in his eyes. He looked entirely, hopelessly doomed.
“Why did nobody stop me?” You mutter. “How was I that blind?”
A small, helpless smile tugs at your lips.
"Doomed," you whisper, shaking your head at the sheer absurdity of your younger self. "You were so completely doomed."
For a long minute, you just lie there, letting the phantom sound of Taehyung’s dramatic shouting and Jimin’s breathless giggles wash over you. You think about that girl in the video. That girl in the video, the one covered in craft glitter and throwing herself into the arms of a boy who pretended to be grumpy but always caught her. She wasn't gone. She was just buried under a mountain of beige velvet pillows and polite, suffocating expectations.
You shift on your side, the mattress creaking softly under your weight, and tap the screen to bring the gallery back to life.
For a second, the camera points nowhere useful. It was just the dark sky, flashes of firelight, a glimpse of someone’s knee before it steadies upright on what appears to be a cooler.
The beach stretches out under the deep navy sky, waves rolling endlessly in the background while the bonfire crackles bright and crackling at the center of everything.
You and Jimin are closest to the camera, both holding sparklers that spit gold light wildly into the dark. Jimin twirls dramatically through the sand like he’s starring in a music video nobody asked for.
“Be honest,” he says breathlessly. “I look magical right now.”
“Twirl my tiny dancer!” You laugh. “Twirl!”
The two of you start dancing in ridiculous circles around the fire, sparkler trails cutting bright streaks through the night while Jimin nearly trips over his own feet. Your laugh rings through the recording….full-bodied and completely uninhibited.
Further behind you, Taehyung and Jungkook are crouched beside a cluster of fireworks boxes. You all probably should have been more concerned then what you were.
“No, no…hold it steady,” Jungkook says.
“I am holding it steady.” Taehyung hissed.
“It’s literally leaning.” Jungkook snapped.
“That’s because the sand is uneven!” Taehyung grits out.
“That’s because you buried half of it sideways!”Jungkook shoots back.
Near the bonfire, Jin and Yoongi sit with roasting sticks balanced over the flames. Jin is focused entirely on cooking while Yoongi looks like he regrets agreeing to this outing approximately three hours ago.
“You burned mine again,” Jin complains.
“Then cook it yourself.” Yoongi doesn’t even look up.
“I was trusting you.” Jin tells him.
“That was your first mistake.” Yoongi looks at him.
In the background, Hobi and Yura sit wrapped in a blanket together, talking quietly while Yura occasionally bursts into laughter at something Hobi says.
And then there’s Namjoon.
Standing proudly beside an alarmingly large firework launcher.
“Guys,” he announces with absolute confidence, “I figured it out.”
Every single person reacts negatively.
“No you didn’t,” Yoongi says immediately.
“Please don’t touch it,” Jungkook adds.
“That sentence has never ended well.” Hobi points accusingly from the blanket pile.
“There was just a stabilization issue before.” Namjoon ignores all of you.
“Why are you talking about it like it’s a science project?” Taehyung slowly straightens from the fireworks setup.
“Because it is science.” Namjoon stresses.
“It’s explosives!” Jin yells.
Namjoon crouches beside the launcher, fiddling with something near the base while everyone watches with growing concern.
“I fixed the angle,” he says proudly and Yoongi finally looks up from the fire.
“That,” he says flatly. “Is how someone loses a finger.”
Namjoon lights the fuse anyway.
Everyone waits.
Nothing happens.
The beach goes strangely quiet except for crashing waves and the crackle of the bonfire.
“See?” Namjoon says triumphantly. “Perfect.”
“I don’t trust quiet fireworks.” Jimin lowers his sparkler suspiciously.
One by one, everyone slowly starts moving closer. Even you drift toward it, sparkler still fizzing weakly in your hand.
“Maybe the fuse died.” Jungkook squints.
“Can fireworks die?” Taehyung asks seriously.
“Everything dies,” Yoongi mutters.
“I think maybe the ignition disconnected…” Namjoon kneels closer to inspect it.
The firework SCREAMS to life as everyone stands around it.
The video erupts instantly into pure chaos.
The launcher shoots across the sand horizontally like it’s possessed, spraying sparks violently while everyone starts screaming over each other.
“OH MY GOD….”
“NAMJOON!”
“WHY IS IT MOVING?!”
“RUN!”
The camera shakes from the force of footsteps pounding past it. Jimin disappears out of frame shrieking while Taehyung abandons Jungkook completely in the name of self-preservation.
The firework veers dangerously toward the bonfire area and Yoongi moves instantly.
He doesn’t hesitate.
One second he’s by the fire. The next he’s grabbing your wrist and yanking you backward hard enough that you nearly lose your footing in the sand. You let out a startled yelp that dissolves into helpless laughter as he drags you away from the chaos.
“Yoongi…!” You yell.
“Move!” He shouts.
“I am moving!” You laugh.
“You’re laughing!” He yells.
Because you are. Completely breathless, stumbling through the sand while sparks explode somewhere behind you. The firework finally shoots harmlessly toward the shoreline before exploding in a burst of gold over the water.
Everyone’s yelling overlaps at once afterward.
“Namjoon almost killed us!”
“It curved!”
“WHY DID IT CURVE?!”
The phone keeps recording from its abandoned spot in the sand, tilted slightly toward the aftermath.
And in the middle of the chaos, you and Yoongi are still standing there near the edge of the frame. His hand is still wrapped tightly around your wrist but neither of you seem to realize it yet. Your head is tipped back laughing breathlessly while Yoongi stares at you like he’s halfway between annoyed and relieved you’re okay.
“Wow.” Yura’s voice cuts through the background chaos dramatically.
“Yoongi grabbed Y/N first.” Jimin laughs.
“Shut up,” he says flatly as he drops your wrist.
“WAIT…HE DID.”Taehyung gasps loudly from somewhere off-screen.
“No, I didn’t,” Yoongi snaps.
“You literally launched yourself at her like a romantic action hero!” Taehyung exclaims.
“It was a basic survival instinct!” Yoongi defends himself.
“Why didn't you grab me like that?!” Jungkook yells.
Yoongi looks one second away from walking directly into the ocean. You… you are still breathless from laughing and running. However, you can’t stop smiling.
There’s a ghost of a sensation in your arm, a phantom pull that makes your skin tingle. You look at your own hand, flex it. Without letting yourself hesitate, you reach for your current phone. You open the message thread with Yoongi. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matches the chaos of the firework in the video.
You: So, I just watched a video where Namjoon almost killed us all with a firework.
You hold your breath.
The typing bubbles appear almost instantly.
Yoongi: I told him not to bring that thing. He didn't listen.
Yoongi: You're going through the old phone again?
Your fingers tremble slightly as you type back.
You: Yeah. I looked happy.
Yoongi: You were.
Yoongi: We all were.
Yoongi: Except for the part where I almost had to tackle you.
A small laugh escapes you.
You: Taehyung said you looked like a romantic action hero.
Yoongi: Taehyung talks too much.
Yoongi: I just didn't want to have to explain to the paramedics why you were burnt to a crisp.
You lean your head back against the headboard, closing your eyes. The image of him dragging you back plays on the back of your eyelids.
You: Thank you.
Yoongi: For what?
You: For grabbing me first.
The reply takes a long time. When it finally comes, it makes your hands shake.
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Eventual Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
The drive to Yura and Jungkook’s is a blur of a white-knuckle grip on a steering wheel and shallow breathing. Every time you glance at the passenger seat where the old phone lays, the cracked screen seems to mock you.
“Too late. I already said yes.”
Those six words shattered everything. You didn’t just date him. You didn't just have a past. You had committed yourself to a man. A man you were clearly happy with.
As you reach their door, you don't knock. You hammer your fist against it. The door swings open, and Jungkook stands there, his hair messy and a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. His easy grin vanishes the second he sees your face. He doesn't even have to look at the phone in your hand to know.
"Y/N…" He tries, but you don't let him finish.
"Where is she?" Your voice was sharp. You weren't here to mess around. "Where is Yura?"
"In the kitchen," he mutters, stepping back.
He looks uncharacteristically small, his shoulders pulling in as if he were bracing for a physical blow. You storm in the house past him. Yura is sitting at a small table, a laptop open in front of her. She looks up, her expression shifting from surprise to shock, when she sees the way your eyes are red-rimmed and watery. You don't say anything as you slam the phone onto the table top between you. The screen flickers, showing the frozen frame of the silver ring.
"Where did you get that?" Yura’s hands shake as she closes her laptop. “Kook!”
"No! Don’t you get mad at him!" You shout, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "I spent years thinking I was broken. I spent years letting my mother pick out my clothes and Corbyn pick out my life because I thought I didn't have one of my own! I thought I was a ghost!"
You point a trembling finger at the screen.
"I was engaged to him. I was living a life with him. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't anyone tell me?” You look between Yura and Jungkook. “All this time I've been spending with all of you and no one told me anything.”
"We wanted to," Jungkook says quietly, joining you from the doorway. He has abandoned the sandwich on a side table, his hands now shoved deep into his pockets. "God, Y/N, do you know how many times I almost tripped over my own tongue? Seeing you walk around like a stranger in your own skin... it killed us."
"Then why?" You choke out, your voice cracking. "If it killed you, why let me keep drowning?"
"Because it wasn't our place to tell you that part. Not that part. Not the ring, or the promises, or the way you used to look at him." Yura finally looks up, her eyes swimming with guilt.
“Because he asked us not to.” Jungkook exhales.
“What?” Your head snaps toward him.
“Kook…” Yura closes her eyes for a second, like she knew it was coming.
“No,” he says, shaking his head, voice rough now. “She deserves to know that much.”
Your pulse spikes again, something sharp and hot crawling up your spine. The secrets just keep coming.
“He asked you not to tell me?” You repeat, slower this time. “He made that decision?”
“It wasn’t like that…” Yura tries.
“Then what was it like?” You cut in, your voice rising again. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like he got to decide what I remember and what I don’t!”
“He didn’t decide what you remember,” Jungkook says firmly. “That was… everything else.” He gestures vaguely. “We've been honest about your past with us. Just not….” He swallows. “He asked us not to say anything.”
“That’s insane.” Your laugh is sharp, disbelieving.
“It wasn’t easy,” Jungkook adds quickly, stepping closer now. “You think I wanted to pretend I didn’t know? That I didn’t see it every time you looked at him like he was just… some guy?”
“We argued about it.” Yura’s voice is softer when she speaks again.
“What?” Your eyes flick to her.
“We didn’t all agree,” she admits. “There were nights….God, so many nights…where we thought about just telling you anyway. Sitting you down and laying everything out.”
“Then why didn’t you?” You whisper
Yura’s mouth opens, a sharp intake of breath that suggests she’s finally going to break the silence. Then it closes. Behind you, the floorboards groan. Jungkook is shifting, his energy restless. You’re waiting for the spark of guilt to catch, for him to look away in shame, but his posture isn't defensive. He doesn't look like a man caught in a lie. He’s just….stuck.
“Then why didn’t you?” You repeat. Your voice has lost its edge, dropping into a low, hollow register.
Yura exhales a long, shaky breath and she looks at you. Her eyes then go to your old phone, staring at the ring suspended in time on your broken screen.
“I can’t answer that,” she says. It’s so quiet you almost miss it.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Your brows pull together, frustration bubbling back up through the cracks of your exhaustion. “It’s a simple question, Yura. Why?”
“You need to talk to Yoongi,” Jungkook interrupts.
His voice is steady, but there’s an underlying note of warning there…or maybe it's pity.
Your jaw tightens, a dull ache beginning to pulse in your temples.
“And what….he’s just going to explain everything? Tie it up neatly with a bow?” You ask with a laugh.
Jungkook meets your eyes then, and for the first time, you see the exhaustion mirrored there. He shakes his head slowly, a grim smile on his face.
“No,” he says, the honesty of it hitting like a physical blow. “Probably not.”
You throw your hands up as Yura moves. It’s a slow, deliberate motion, like she’s finally crossed a threshold she spent years avoiding. She reaches for the notebook beside her laptop. It has frayed edges and the pages softened by constant use. You watch her, your confusion mounting as she flips through the pages finding a clean piece of paper.
“What are you doing?” You ask, the fight leaving your voice, replaced by exhaustion.
She doesn’t answer immediately. She simply grips the edge of a page and pulls. The sound of paper tearing in the quiet room is loud enough to make you flinch.
She grabs a pen and begins to write. Her hand moves in quick strokes. Jungkook shifts behind you, but he doesn't intervene. He just watches her, watches you. When she finishes, Yura stares at the paper for a heartbeat, her expression unreadable. Then, she folds it once and slides it across the table toward you. Yura hesitates, a flicker of something like grief passing over her eyes.
“He gets home at home at 4:30,” she says and you stare at the paper. “He’s always home at the same time,” she adds quietly.
“Y/N,” Jungkook says softly, his hand almost reaching out before he thinks better of it. “You don’t have to go today.”
You let out a quiet, shaky breath. It isn't relief. It’s the sound of a decision being made. Because even as he offers you the exit, you already know the door is closed behind you.
“Yes,” you say, the word barely audible even to yourself. “I do.”
Yura watches you, her expression changing. The guilt and worry are still there, but there’s something underneath now. It’s a quiet trust, as if she’s handing you something fragile and hoping you won't break it.
“Just… listen to him,” she says gently. “Even if it’s not what you expect. Even if it makes you mad. Just….hear him out.”
You reach out and grab the paper. You unfold it just enough to see the address. It’s simple. Ordinary like any other address you have ever seen. And yet, the ink seems to hold the weight of every question you’ve ever asked. You fold it back up and slip it into your pocket.
Your heart is still racing, your thoughts are a jumbled mess in your head, but beneath everything, there is finally a direction. A destination. You push away from the table. Jungkook steps aside without a word, carving a path for you. Yura doesn’t try to stop you.
As you reach the door, your hand hesitates on the handle. Just for a second.
Because you realize this isn’t just about a confrontation or a demand for answers. It’s about something you lost without knowing it. Something everyone else remembers with perfect clarity. Something Yoongi chose to carry alone in the dark.
And now, you’re about to walk into his house and shine a huge light on it.
The drive to the address on Yura’s torn piece of paper feels longer than it should.
Every red light seems to linger more than normal.
Every slow car in front of you feels deliberate.
Your fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel while the folded paper sits in the cupholder beside the cracked phone. It took a bit longer to talk yourself into leaving your house again than you thought it would. However, you knew you had to leave before Corbyn got home. Before you face another round of questions or another argument that you weren't prepared for. One you didn't want to deal with.
When you finally turn onto the street, the neighborhood is quieter than you expected.
Small houses. Narrow driveways. Nothing dramatic. Nothing cinematic.
Just ordinary.
Your chest tightens at that.
Because for some reason, the idea of Yoongi living somewhere ordinary feels more intimate than if he lived in some towering penthouse or cluttered artist loft.
This is where he wakes up.
Where he eats.
Where he exists when no one is looking.
You slow in front of a modest house with a low porch and a single car in the driveway.
No movement.
No shadows.
No sign that inside these walls lives the man currently splitting your entire reality in half.
You park crooked and leave the engine running for three full seconds before shutting it off. You continue to sit there, hands still on the wheel taking shallow breaths.
You could leave.
Right now.
Drive back to Corbyn’s sterile kitchen. Put the ring back on straight. Pretend the phone died for real.
Pretend you never saw yourself saying yes.
Instead, you grab the old phone and get out. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you walk up the short path. You stand in front of the door and suddenly forget how to move.
What exactly are you here to say?
Hi. Apparently I was engaged to you before my life was erased.
Hi. Why did you let me become someone else?
Hi. Do you still love me?
Butterflies dance in your stomach.
Your hands violently shake.
You lift your hand and knock.
Three sharp raps. The sound echoes louder than it should.
Nothing.
You wait.
A dog barks somewhere down the street as your pulse hammers in your ears.
You can hear footsteps coming closer on the other side of the door.The lock clicks and
your stomach drops so hard it almost hurts.
The door opens.
Yoongi stands there in gray sweats and a black T-shirt, one hand still on the knob.
His hair is damp like he showered recently. No guard up yet. No social armor. Just bare-faced surprise.
For one lingering second, neither of you speaks. His eyes flick to your face and then to the phone clutched in your hand.
“You're not supposed to have that,” he rasps.
“'Not supposed to have it'?” Your voice is a ghost of a sound, trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “That’s what you have to say to me? Not I’m sorry, or let me explain, but a reprimand because I found a piece of myself you tried to bury?”
Yoongi doesn’t move. He looks like he’s turned to stone, his hand still white-knuckled on the doorknob. However his eyes…those dark, cat-like eyes…are swimming with pain that makes your lungs ache. He looks exhausted. He looks like a man who has been holding onto so much pain for years and has finally run out of strength.
“I didn't bury it,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly frequency. “I just...”
“I’m not a child, Yoongi!” You step forward, forcing him to either retreat or let you in. He steps back instinctively, and you cross the threshold into his world.
You hold the phone out, the screen still frozen on that silver ring, that promise of a forever that never happened.
“You asked them not to tell me,” you say, the accusation hanging heavy in the air. “You watched me struggle. You watched me try to piece together my life. Why? How could you look at me and not say a word?”
Yoongi finally lets go of the door. It swings shut with a soft thud.
“You’re right,” he says. It’s flat. Hollow. “I did ask them to stay quiet. I told them if they breathed a word of it to you, I’d never speak to them again.”
“But why?” You scream, the word tearing out of your throat. “You loved me! You were going to marry me! How do you just… stand back and watch me live a lie?”
Yoongi finally moves. He takes a single, heavy step toward you, then stops, as if there’s an invisible line between you that he’s no longer allowed to cross. He gestures vaguely toward your left hand….the hand where Corbyn’s diamond sits, heavy and cold.
“Because when you walked into Jimin’s studio to meet us,” he starts, his jaw working as he fights to keep his voice steady. “You weren't looking for me. You were looking for missing pieces of your old life with a shiny ring on your finger, Y/N.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a sob he’s been holding in for years.
“It wasn’t mine. It was his… And you looked… okay. You looked healthy and I wasn't about to be the reason you were going to have a complicated life. I wanted you to be happy. And if that wasn't with me…” He trails off.
“You wanted me to be happy?” You repeat, your voice trembling. “You decided, all on your own, that my happiness was better off as a lie? You saw me standing there, wearing another man’s ring, and you just… gave up?”
Yoongi flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor, but you don’t let him off the hook. You step into his space, the old phone still clutched like a weapon.
“Why didn’t you fight for me, Yoongi?” You demand, the words spilling out. “If what we had was so real….if that video was real….how could you just stand back?”
“Y/N, I thought I was protecting you…” he whispers.
“No!” You shout, cutting him off. “You weren’t protecting me. You were abandoning me! Did you even care? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you couldn't wait to get rid of the burden I’d become. It looks like you never really loved me at all.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Yoongi’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and fractured. For a second, you think he might scream back. You want him to. You want him to break.
Instead, his hand trembles as it reaches for the collar of his black T-shirt. He hooks a finger under a thin silver chain that you hadn't noticed before, hidden beneath the fabric. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulls it out.
Dangling from the end of the chain, catching the dim light of the window, is a ring.
It isn't the flashy, oversized diamond Corbyn put on your finger. It’s a simple, elegant silver band. It’s the twin to the one on the phone screen.
“Don’t you ever tell me I didn't care,” he rasps, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, raw agony. “I loved you enough to let you go. Do you have any idea how much that destroyed me?”
Your breathing stutters as you stare at him.
Loved.
It echoes wrong.
Your brows pull together, hurt flashing across your face before you can stop it.
“You said loved,” you say.
Yoongi stills. You take a small step forward, your voice quieter now.
“Do you not love me anymore?” You question.
For a second, he doesn’t answer. His fingers tighten around the chain, the ring swaying faintly between you.
“I didn’t say that.” He replies.
“You didn’t say you did either.” Your throat burns.
His jaw clenches, like the words are fighting him on the way out.
“I do,” he says finally, low and strained. “I just… don’t get to anymore.”
“You don’t get to?” Your breath catches.
“You’re engaged,” he shoots back,
Your hand instinctively curls slightly. The pretentious ring sitting on your finger suddenly feels heavier than ever. You look at him, really look at him, at the way he won’t quite meet your eyes now.
Then your gaze drops.
To the chain.
To the ring.
Your ring.
Your stomach twists.
“Give it back,” you tell him.
“What?” Yoongi’s head snaps up as the words slip out of your mouth.
“That ring,” you say, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your chest cracks open. “It’s mine. It was mine before everything. So give it back.”
For the first time since you walked in. he looks shaken. Really shaken. His hand instinctively closes around the ring, like your words physically threatened to take it.
“No.” He shakes his head.
It’s immediate.
Firm.
“No?” Your eyes widen slightly.
“I’m not giving you this,” he says, quieter now, but somehow more solid. Like this is the one line he won’t let you cross.
“It belongs to me,” you argue, frustration bleeding through again.
“It belonged to us,” he cuts in.
“Give it to me,” you say again as you hold out your hand.
“No.” He shakes his head again.
“Why?” You ask.
“Because it's the only piece of you that I have that truly means something,” he says.
“The only piece of me?” Your voice rises, thick with tears. “I am standing right here, Yoongi! I’m not a ghost, I’m not a memory, I am a person and that is mine. You don’t get to keep it as a trophy for your suffering while I walk around with a hole where my life used to be!”
“It’s not a trophy,” he growls, his voice cracking. “It’s a weight. It’s been a weight around my neck for years. Every time it hits my chest, it reminds me of the day I lost you. It reminds me that I stayed behind while you moved on without me.”
“Then let it go!” You take another step, closing the distance until you are inches from him. You can smell the soap on his skin, a scent that triggers a phantom ache in your chest….something familiar, something safe. “Give it back to me. If it hurts you so much, why are you fighting to keep it?”
“Because if I give it to you, it’s really over,” he whispers, his eyes searching yours, desperate and bloodshot. “As long as I have this, you’re still the girl who said yes. If I give it back, you’re just… his.”
“I’m already his,” you say, the words tasting gross. You hold out your hand, palm up, steady despite the violent shaking happening inside you. “But I can’t decide who I want to be until I have it. Give. It. Back.”
Yoongi stares at your open palm for what feels like an eternity. His chest heaves, his breathing ragged. Slowly, painfully, he lifts his hand to the back of his neck. His fingers fumble with the clasp of the chain. It's a motion he’s clearly done a thousand times in the dark, but now his hands are shaking too hard to be precise.
Finally, the click of the metal echoes in the silence.
He pulls the chain through the ring, the silver band sliding into his palm. He looks at it one last time, his thumb brushing over the metal. His face crumples just for a second. A flash of the boy who thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with you.
Then, he reaches out.
He doesn’t drop it into your hand. He takes your fingers in his, his skin searingly hot against yours, and presses the ring into your palm. He closes your fingers over it, his grip tight, forcing you to feel the cool, hard metal.
“There,” he rasps, his voice breaking completely. “It’s yours. It was always yours.”
He lets go of your hand as if the contact burned him, stepping back into the shadows of his home. He looks empty, like he’s just handed over his own heart. You look down at your hand. You slowly uncurl your fingers.
The silver band sits there, humble and simple compared to the diamond on your other hand. You turn it over, and there, in a tiny, elegant script on the inside of the band, are the words.
Your thumb traces the inside of the band.
At first, the letters blur. Your vision is still swimming, your hands still trembling.
Then they sharpen.
Always — Yoongi.
Your breath catches.
It’s… simple.
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Not something written for a moment like this.
Something written for a lifetime.
Your fingers tighten slightly around the ring. A promise made without hesitation.
Always.
You swallow hard and look up to find that Yoongi is already looking at you.
Not at the ring.
At you.
Completely still, like he’s bracing for impact. Like whatever you say next is going to decide something he’s been holding onto for years. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Because how do you respond to something like that? Your grip loosens just enough for the ring to rest in your palm again.
“I… don’t remember this.” Your voice barely above a whisper.
His expression flickers, something breaking quietly behind his eyes, but he nods once, like he expected that. Like he prepared himself for it.
“I know,” he whispers
That hurts more than if he’d argued.
You shake your head slightly, frustration and something deeper twisting together inside you.
“But she did,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “The version of me that said yes… she meant it and you kept it,” you add softly, a tremor slipping through now. “All this time.”
“I didn’t know how not to,” he admits.
Looking down at your old broken phone, you exit out of your photo app. The screen shifts and background comes into view. The pier with the sunset bleeding gold and pink across the water. All of you barefoot on the wooden planks. The wind tangling hair, laughter caught mid-motion. Yura with her arms wrapped around you. The guys gathered around cheering like nothing in the world could possibly ruin that moment.
A small sound slips from Yoongi beside you. Something sharp, like it hits him physically and your head turns. He’s staring at your phone.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Like he’s been pulled backward in time and didn’t land softly.
“Yoongi?” You whisper.
He doesn’t answer you. His eyes stay locked on the screen.
“That’s the day,” he tells you.
“What?” Your fingers still slightly on your phone.
“That’s the pier,” he says, voice rougher now. “That’s when it happened.”
“When what happened?” Your stomach twists and finally, he looks at you.
There’s something in his expression that makes your pulse stutter because it isn’t confusion.
It’s certainty.
“That’s when you said yes,” he says and you look down at the photo again. “You and I drove there. Everyone else followed a little bit after. You were standing at the railing watching the sunset. Your hair was blowing in the wind. You looked so peaceful at that moment. I took your picture with your camera.”
You gasp softly and blink at him as you think about the polaroid hiding in your bathroom.
“I just…. I walked up behind you and wrapped my arms around you.” He continues.
“My dream.” You cut him off and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.
“Your dream?” He repeats, the words barely leaving his throat. He takes a half-step toward you, his guard completely shattered. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”
“The pier,” you whisper, your eyes darting between the photo on the cracked screen and the man standing in front of you. “I thought I was going crazy. A sunset, the smell of the water, and someone… someone holding me from behind. I couldn’t see the face.”
You look down at the silver ring in your palm, the one that says Always.
“It was you,” you breathe out, the realization hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. “It was always you.”
Yoongi’s hand goes to his mouth, his shoulders shaking. He turns away for a second, a muffled sound escaping him….a sob he can no longer repress. When he turns back, his face is wet, his eyes raw.
“It wasn't a dream,” he says, his voice thick. “I turned you around. I was so terrified. My heart was pounding so hard I thought you’d feel it through my chest. I told you that I didn't want another day to go by where you weren't officially mine. You didn’t even let me finish. You just grabbed my face and said Always. That’s why I had it engraved. Because that was your promise to me.”
He looks at your left hand. At Corbyn’s diamond, which now looks like a gaudy, intrusive weight.
“And then,” Yoongi whispers. “Your parents took that away from us because they hated me.”
Your fingers curl around the silver band in your palm.
Always.
Your chest aches.
Oh god… your chest aches.
“I need to go,” you say.
“Y/N…”Yoongi’s head lifts slightly.
“I need to go,” you repeat, steadier this time. “I need to hear it from them. I need to see their faces when they try to explain this to me.”
Yoongi doesn’t try to talk you out of it. He sees the fire in your eyes. The same stubborn, unbreakable spark that he fell in love with long before the world went quiet.
"I'm coming with you," he says. It isn't a request.
"Yoongi, no. If they see you, they'll just use it as an excuse to call me confused or say you manipulated me." You shake your head.
"I'm not going inside," he promises. "I'll be in the car. I just...I can't let you do that alone. If you need me, I’m ten feet away. If you don't, I'm just a shadow in the driveway."
You nod, unable to find words that won't break your voice.
The drive to your parents' house is tense. Yoongi drives your car. You didn't trust yourself to drive. You watch the familiar, manicured streets of your new life roll by, as you figure out what you're going to say to them. When he pulls into the driveway, your heart stops. Corbyn’s SUV is parked there.
"He's here," you whisper. “Why is he here?”
Yoongi’s jaw tightens. He shifts the car into park but doesn't turn off the engine. He looks at the front door, then at you. He reaches over, his hand covering yours for a brief, searing second.
"Go," he says. "I'm right here."
As you push open the door slowly, the familiar creak sounds louder than it ever has before. The house smells the same. Clean, controlled, untouched by anything messy or real. It’s completely devoid of any real emotions or feelings. Voices drift from the living room, low and tired, as you step inside. All three of them are there. Your mother is perched on the edge of the couch, her posture perfect even in exhaustion. Your father stands near the fireplace with his arms crossed, tension sitting heavy in his shoulders. Corbyn is by the window, jacket off and sleeves rolled, looking like he’s been there a while…like this has been an ongoing conversation.
They all look up at once. Relief flashes across your mother’s face first.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she exhales, pressing a hand to her chest. “There you are.”
Your father’s expression hardens, but there’s something under it. Concern, maybe, buried under control. Corbyn straightens immediately, his eyes scanning your face.
“Hey,” he says carefully. “Are you okay?”
“It’s time to stop avoiding this,” your mother cuts in, her tone sharpening as she stands. “The wedding is already on hold, and now you and Corbyn are….”
“Who is Yura?” You ask, cutting her off.
The room freezes. It isn’t loud. You don’t yell it, but the way the atmosphere feels...you might as well have. Your mother blinks once, then twice.
“I’m sorry?” She says lightly, far too lightly. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Who is Jungkook?” Your father shifts now, a subtle movement, but you catch it…a crack.
“I think you’re confused,” your mother says, a little firmer this time. “You’ve been under a lot of stress…”
“Stop.” That one is sharp and clean. It slices straight through her. “Stop right now.”
Your hand tightens around the phone before you step forward and unlock it. Your fingers don’t shake this time….not anymore. You turn the screen and hold it out. The pier, the sunset, all of you barefoot, laughing, and alive.
“I found them,” you say quietly. “All of them. Yura … Jungkook … Jimin … Hobi … Namjoon … Jin…Taehyung.”
Your mother doesn’t take the phone. She doesn’t even look at it. Your father’s gaze flicks to it and then away just as fast. However, Corbyn steps forward slowly.
“Can I?” He asks, already reaching. You let him take it. He studies the photo, his brows pulling together as confusion settles over his face, real and unfiltered. “Who… are these people?” He asks, glancing between you and the screen. “Are these friends… from before the accident?”
You don’t answer him. You look back at your mother. Her face has gone pale now, no longer composed or controlled, but afraid.
“Answer me,” you say, your voice quieter but infinitely more dangerous. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know what you think you’ve found….” she starts.
“Don’t lie to me.” You grit your teeth as your words crack.
“That’s enough. You’re upset, and you’re jumping to conclusions…” Your father steps in now, his voice firm.
“Who is Yoongi?” You ask quietly.
Silence.
“You're confused,” your father tells you.
“STOP LYING TO ME!” You yell. You grab your ring out of your pocket and pinch it between your fingers. “I WAS ENGAGED TO HIM.”
“And thank god it ended!” Your mother snaps. “A music teacher! Two teachers struggling living paycheck to paycheck. You would have had nothing!”
“I would have been happy,” you whisper, the realization blooming in your chest like a fire. “I wouldn't have cared about the paychecks or the struggle. I was happy in that photo. Look at my face! I haven't looked like that in years. I don't even recognize myself there. I was LOVED there.”
“You are happy now!” Your mother snaps, gesturing wildly at the sprawling, expensive house. “You have security! You have a future that isn't precarious. You have a man who can actually provide for you, who belongs in our world!”
“I am a shell of a person!” You scream back, the sound tearing from your lungs. “I’ve spent years feeling like I was wearing a costume, like I was a ghost haunting my own life! You didn’t save me from a struggle, mom. You saved me from myself. You erased the only version of me that actually felt alive because she was too inconvenient for your social standing.”
You turn, your eyes landing on Corbyn. He was still holding your old phone, his face a mask of shock and something else. Something that looked suspiciously like guilt. The room goes deathly quiet. You feel the weight of the silver ring in one hand and the cold diamond in the other.
“Corbyn,” you say, your voice trembling. “Did you know?”
Corbyn doesn’t look at you. He looks at the floor, at the rug, at the phone…anywhere but your eyes.
“Corbyn, look at me,” you demand. “Did you know I was engaged to someone else?”
He finally lifts his head. His jaw is tight, and for the first time, the polished, perfect man you thought you knew looks… small.
“I knew there was someone,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “Your parents…when they told me about the accident. They told me that before it happened, you had been involved with a man. They said it was a mistake. That he was… he was a bad person, Y/N.”
He takes a step toward you, his expression pleading. “They told me that bringing him up would only trigger your trauma. They said the doctors advised against it. I thought I was helping you move on. I thought I was being the stable choice you needed to heal.”
“Oh my god!” You breathe out and put your hands to your head before dropping them.
“They said I need to help you stick to your routines,” he continues. “Keep you in the present and not the past.”
“Oh my god!” You look down at the diamond on your finger. The one Corbyn had placed there.
The room is far too suffocating, as if the very walls are leaning in to witness what you would do next. Your mother is still breathing hard from her outburst, her chest heaving. Your father’s expression is hardening, his mind clearly already miles ahead, calculating his next argument. And then there is Corbyn. He is watching you with a desperate, hollow look in his eyes, like a man realizing he is about to lose something he had never truly understood in the first place.
But as you stand there, you feel nothing. There is no fire of rage, no cold spike of panic, and no lingering fog of confusion. There is only a sudden, piercing clarity. Your fingers move slowly to your left hand, catching the light as you begin to twist the diamond ring. It resists for a fleeting second before it gives way. The ring slides free, leaving your finger feeling strangely light.
You step forward and walk toward the coffee table, setting the diamond down with a small, metallic click. It is barely a sound at all, yet it lands with the weight of something irreversible. "Y/N…" Your mother inhales sharply, but you simply shake your head at her.
When you finally speak, your voice isn't loud, it is empty.
“You're all liars," you say, the words hitting harder than anything you’d screamed all night. "I can’t trust any of you."
"Wait…Y/N, don’t do this like…." Corbyn takes a tentative step forward, his hand half-extended.
You didn't even look at him. You simply reach out and take your phone back from his hand. He lets you take it without a fight. There is nothing else left for him to do. Your fingers tighten around the cracked device, grounding yourself in the only thing that felt like it actually belongs to you. Then, without a hint of hesitation or a second glance, you turn and walk out of the house.
Everything feels distant and muted, as if you were moving through deep water. Your car is still running in the driveway, the headlights cutting through the darkening evening, and inside, he is waiting. Yoongi doesn’t move right away when you open the door. He just sits there, his dark eyes searching yours, waiting for a signal.
You get in and shut the door, the mechanical thud sealing the rest of the world away. For a long moment, it stays silent. The silence stretches until your voice, sounding strange and hollow to your own ears, finally breaks it.
"It’s over." You blink.
“What is?" Yoongi’s grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel as he asks carefully.
"Everything." You breathe out.
That was the moment your composure finally fractures. It isn't a loud collapse, just a slow, painful breaking.
"Oh my god…" you whisper, pressing your hand to your mouth. "What did I do…?" Your breathing began to stutter, the reality of the last hour crashing down. "I just…. I walked away from all of it. My parents, my life, my…." Your chest tightened painfully "I have nothing, Yoongi."
He moves instantly, driven by an instinct he’d been suppressing for years. His seatbelt clicks off, and then he is pulling you into him. One arm wraps firmly around your shoulders while the other cradles the back of your head, tucking you into the safety of his chest. He was solid, warm, and real. You didn't fight him. You simply collapse against him, your hands clutching at his shirt as your forehead presses into his shoulder. Everything you had been holding back finally spills over in a wave of uneven breaths and shaking shoulders.
Yoongi holds you like it was muscle memory, his chin resting against your hair.
"Hey… hey," he murmurs, his voice low and steady despite the raw emotion threaded through it.
"I don’t have anything." You repeat, keeping your fingers curled into his shirt.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, though he doesn't lose contact. His thumb brushed firmly against your shoulder to ground you.
"You’re not alone," he says, his voice softening. "You have me and you have them. All of them. Yura, Jungkook, Jin ….everyone who never stopped loving you. You didn’t lose everything tonight. You just stopped living in something that was never yours to begin with."
Your fingers are still twisted in the fabric of his shirt when the words finally leave you.
"Where do I go?" You ask.
It isn't just a question about tonight. It's a question about everything. You wonder where you were supposed to go when your past had been stolen, your present was built on lies, and your future had just shattered in your hands. Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, not because he didn't have one, but because he heard what you were really asking. His hand shifts, gentler now, brushing your hair back from your face as his eyes search yours.
"I know where we can go," he says quietly.
There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice, and for the first time tonight, you don’t question it.
You just nod.
Your hands sit in your lap, one loosely curled around the silver ring, the other empty where the diamond used to be. You keep glancing at your reflection in the window like you were trying to meet yourself for the first time, and maybe you were. Yoongi doesn't rush or push. He just drives. Familiar roads start to appear, and you close your eyes. When the car slows, your gaze lifts to a simple building with the lights on inside and music faintly spilling through the walls.
"Jimin’s studio," you whisper.
"Yeah." Yoongi glances at you briefly, something soft flickering across his face, as he replies.
Your pulse races because this is the place where you first met them. This is their sanctuary. This is where he brought you.
The moment you step out of the car, your heart starts racing again, but not the same way it had at your parents’ house. This wasn’t fear. It was something else, something bigger. Yoongi comes around to your side but doesn't touch you this time. He stays just close enough until you reach the door and push it open.
The music doesn't fade as you make your way back to the familiar room. It cuts, as if someone had hit stop the second they saw you. Suddenly, you weren't so alone. They were all there. Yura, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jin, and Jimin himself, standing near the mirrors and frozen mid-step. No one speaks at first. They just stare at you.
"Y/N…" Yura breaks, but she doesn't even finish your name before she's moving, fast and desperate. Her arms wrap around you so tightly it knocks the breath from your lungs, but you don't pull away and you cling back just as hard. "I’m so sorry," she chokes into your shoulder. "I’m so, so sorry."
"I know." You whisper and you mean it.
Jungkook was next, pulling you into a hug that was somehow both strong and careful at the same time.
"You scared the hell out of us," he mutters, his voice thick.
"Yeah… I think I scared myself too." A small, shaky laugh escapes you as you reply.
One by one, they come. There are hands on your shoulders, soft squeezes, and tearful smiles, as if they’d been holding their breath since you came back into their lives and you’d just given it back to them. The strangest part was that it didn’t feel like strangers welcoming you. It felt like something clicking back into place. It wasn't full or perfect yet, but it was enough. When you finally pull back, your eyes scan the room, taking in every face and every emotion. It's then, you look at Yoongi. He was still near the door right over your shoulder.
Through the blur of your own tears, you look past the circle of friends to where Yoongi remains by the door. He looks like he was afraid to intrude, as if he were still playing the part of the ghost he had been forced to become. You don't want him on the outside anymore. Slowly, you reach your arm out, palm open and fingers trembling, silently holding your hand out for him.
Yoongi’s eyes lock onto your hand, his breath hitching as he realizes you were calling him back into your world. Before he can even take the first step, the others caught on. Jungkook reaches out and grabs his shoulder, and Jimin steps forward to hook an arm around him, none of them letting him stay in the shadows for a second longer. They surge forward, a tide of hands and familiar voices, pulling him into the center of the messy circle with you.
As he is folded into the group, the space between the two of you finally vanishes. The circle closes, tight and unbreakable, and for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed years ago, the hollow ache in your chest felt full. You weren't just a girl with a broken past anymore. You were back among the people who had guarded your story when you couldn't, led by the man who had never truly let you go. In the middle of the crowded, tearful studio, the silver ring pressed firmly into your palm, and you finally felt like you had come home.
or: oh great. your roommate bailed on you right before the new month's payment, and you need to find a new roommate asap. lucky for you, chan came (literally) to your rescue. he's charming enough, and more importantly, pays rent on time. you've agreed to split rent by half, but rent won't be the only thing getting split in half, because he's hiding a big secret. and no, not just the one in his pants.
warnings: MDNI!!! contains heavy sexual content, camboy!chris x roommate!reader, porn with some plot, perv!reader, masturbation, piv, mānhandling, spānkïng, hāirpulling, too many kinks , kinda switch!chan but he's mostly a dom daddy dwdw, I'm a cocky chan truther so yk what's coming, a sprinkle of fluff and banter.
wc: 11k
a/n: loosely based off this drabble
"You're fucking kidding me." You stare at the text message. Three sentences that might as well be a bomb dropped in the middle of your living room.
Hey, sorry for the short notice, but I’m moving in with my boyfriend at the end of the week.
I know rent’s due soon, but I kinda already spent my half on the security deposit for our new place.
Good luck finding someone else!
shit
Rent is due in nine days, and your bank account isn’t exactly overflowing.
You’ve never lived alone before. Couldn’t afford it even if you wanted to. And the thought of scrambling to find a new roommate in a week makes your stomach twist.
You're halfway through drafting a frantic "roommate needed ASAP" text to your groupchat when your phone buzzes.
it's one of your few friends who actually bothers to check in.
Heard about your roomie bailing. Absolute bullshit.
Anyway I know a guy. Chill as hell, works freelance, needs a place.
You'd vibe.
You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last thing you want is some rando bringing chaos into your already crumbling life.
But then your landlord's terse "rent due on the 1st, no exceptions" text flashes in your mind.
Fine. Give him my number.
Chan texts you thirty minutes later. His messages are polite. Full sentences, proper punctuation, none of that monosyllabic grunting.
He suggests meeting at the apartment tomorrow afternoon to check the place out, and you agree.
The next day, you're scrubbing the bathroom sink when the doorbell rings. Chan stands in the hallway holding a paper bag that smells like garlic and herbs. "Figured we could talk over lunch," he says, smiling like this isn't weird at all.
Up close, he's so much cuter than you expected, blond hair, unfairly big broad shoulders, dressed in a blank tanktop that showed them off perfectly.
You blink at the take out bag, then at Chan’s easy grin.
There’s no nervous energy radiating off him, no awkward shuffling — just this unsettling calm, like he’s already decided he belongs here. “Uh,” you say, wiping your damp hands on your pants, “you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he interrupts, already toeing off his sneakers without waiting for an invite. The scent of roasted garlic and rosemary spills into the apartment as he breezes past you toward the kitchen. “But food makes everything less weird, right?”
You trail after him, you don't know whether to be annoyed or charmed.
Chan unpacks the food containers, grilled chicken, some kind of herby rice, roasted vegetables that don’t look like the sad microwave steam bags you usually survive on.
He slides a plate toward you. “Eat first, then interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” You stab a piece of chicken, watching him warily.
Chan shrugs, mouth already full. “Standard roommate shit. ‘Do you snore?’ ‘Are you a serial killer?’ ‘Will you steal my leftovers?’” He swallows, grinning.
“The answer’s no, no, and only if you leave them unlabelled.”
The food is homemade stupidly good, and Chan’s presence is… unsettlingly comfortable.
By the time you’re scraping the last of the rice off your plate, you’ve learned he does something vague with digital marketing (“Basically, I convince people to buy shit they don’t need”), he actually enjoys doing laundry, and he likes to cook.
“So,” Chan says, stacking the empty containers, “you wanna show me around, or should I just start claiming drawers?”
The tour is quick — your apartment isn’t exactly sprawling — but Chan makes appreciative noises at the closet space and tests how sturdy the bed frame is (#whatdatmean).
When you hesitantly mention rent, he waves a hand. “Half’s fine. I’ll pay first and last upfront if you want.”
You stare. “You don’t even know the amount.”
Chan shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and, before you can protest, your own phone buzzes with a notification.
It’s a Venmo payment for double what you were about to say rent costs.
Your mouth opens, then closes. “You—what? That’s too much.”
“Nah.” He pockets his phone, grinning at your baffled expression. “Consider it a ‘sorry for being weirdly pushy’. ”
You don’t argue. You can’t argue — not when your bank account is currently breathing its first sigh of relief in months.
A girls got priorities, and he doesn't really seem to mind. it's a win win scenario.
~
The first month was… strange. Not bad, just strange. he was genuinely nice, easy to talk to. it wasn't long till the initial awkwardness — if there was any — wore off. you'd become something sort of friends, and both of you settled into a quiet rhythm.
he'd left cash for rent in a neat stack on the kitchen counter on first of the month, slightly more than his half again.
When you tried to give him the extra back, he just waved you off.
You caught glimpses of his routine. disappearing into his room at odd hours, the low murmur of his voice through the walls late at night.
And then there was the day you came home early.
You weren’t supposed to be back until ten, but your shift ended early, and the bus was miraculously on time for once.
The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, just the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.
You’d barely set your bag down when you heard it — a low noise from Chan’s room.
Your fingers froze on the zipper of your jacket. The sound came again, breathier this time, followed by the slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.
you thought it was a girlfriend he never told you about.
The idea punched a weird, hollow ache into your ribs — which was stupid, because it’s not like you had any claim on him.
Still, you stood there frozen in the hallway, his door slightly ajar, listening to the sounds of his pleasure like some kind of creep.
You backed out of the apartment, easing the door shut with just the softest whisper of the latch catching. Your pulse hammered in your throat as you ducked into the stairwell, pressing your back against the cool concrete wall.
The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop being weird, to just walk back in like a normal person. But the irrational part — the part currently in charge — was too busy replaying the sounds spilling from Chan’s room to listen.
You get out of the building and circle the block twice, three times, counting cracks in the sidewalk. The air smells like rain that hasn’t fallen yet, and you bask in that atmosphere till roughly an hour has passed.
When you finally drag yourself back inside, the apartment is quiet. Chan’s door is shut tight, the shower running, and no girlfriend in sight.
she must've left early.
You freeze halfway to your room when the shower shuts off. your feet are planted still go to your room, go to your room
but you weren't quick enough, and a few seconds later, Chan emerges with only a towel slung low on his hips.
He's startled when he sees you, droplets flicking off his hair as he jerks his head up. “oh hey—” His voice is casual before you cut him off, "shit—sorry!" your face heats up at the sight, your eyes wander, trailing down his toned chest that still had water droplets running down, before snapping your head in the other direction.
was he always this muscular?
and you can't help but notice that there are no hickeys on his neck, no marks on his arms, and surprisingly put together for someone who just had his girlfriend over less than an hour ago.
"no no— you're good." he reassures with a smile, "you're back early."
You swallow hard. “Yeah. Shift got cut."
Chan leans against the doorframe, his damp hair curling at the ends. You try not to stare at the way his towel clings precariously to his hips, but your gaze keeps flicking downward anyway, betraying you.
"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.
"Y-yeah," you stammer, fingers twisting in the hem of your jacket. "Just—uh. Busy day."
Chan hums, nodding. His eyes flick over your face, lingering a second too long on your flushed cheeks before he grins. "Cool. I was just gonna make some food if you’re hungry."
The casual offer throws you off. You were expecting — what? Awkward silence? Averted eyes? Not this easy warmth.
but you just nod dumbly. "Yeah. Food sounds good."
he pushes off the doorframe, padding toward the kitchen. The towel rides up slightly with each step, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones, and you have to physically bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder, like he can feel your stare burning into his back.
“Fine,” you squeak, following at a safe distance, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The kitchen tile is cool under your socked feet, a welcome distraction from the heat crawling up your neck.
Chan hums again, rummaging through the fridge with one hand while the other keeps his towel secured. The muscles in his back flex as he leans forward, and you’re suddenly very interested in the color of your sponge bob socks.
“Leftover pasta okay?” he asks, pulling out a container with a rattle of plastic. You nod mutely, watching as he moves around the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles.
The stove clicks to life, the hiss of gas filling the silence between you. Chan leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, “So,” he starts, “how was work?”
You blink. “Uh. Fine. Boring.” The words tumble out too fast, your pulse jumping when Chan chuckles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every inch of space between you.
he scrapes the leftover pasta into the pan, the sizzle of garlic and butter filling the silence between you. His towel shifts dangerously low with each stir, but he doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does.
The corner of his mouth twitches when he catches you staring, and you snap your gaze to the ceiling like it’s suddenly fascinating.
"You know," he says, voice light, "most roommates don’t freak out when they see each other half dressed." The wooden spoon clinks against the pan as he scrapes the edges.
"I wasn’t freaking out."
Chan laughs, "You literally yelped like I pulled a knife on you." He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging down your body in a way that makes your knees weak. "Unless you’re into that."
The pasta sizzles loudly in the pan, drowning out the choked sound that escapes your throat at Chan’s words. "I—that’s not—"
Chan turns fully now, abandoning the stove, and the towel dips dangerously low. His smirk is infuriating, "Relax," he murmurs, stepping closer, "Just teasing."
You laugh nervously, the sound too high pitched, too obvious. "I'm just gonna—" You jerk your thumb toward your room, already backing away. "Change into something more... home-y."
Chan raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Home-y,"
"yea—!" your voice cracks "y'know comfortable....home clothes"
Then you gesture vaguely at his towel, your voice cracking slightly. "Are you— uh, gonna put on actual clothes before we eat? Because I'm pretty sure health code violations apply to apartments too."
Chan glances down at himself, then back up at you, "Why?" He grins, tilting his head. "Distracted?"
"Yes—no," you sputter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest like armor. "I just don’t want your—" You wave a hand wildly in the general direction of his hips. "That—near my dinner."
Chan laughs, a full blown laugh, and you take that chance to bolt for your room, shoulders hunched as if that’ll make you smaller, less noticeable.
The door clicks shut behind you with a click, and you press your forehead against the cool wood, exhaling sharply.
"And turn the heat down!" you call out, voice too high,"Unless you want to burn the house down!"
Another laugh, muffled through the door. "Yes, mom," Chan drawls, the playful lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn hotter.
The stove clicks as he adjusts the flame, the sound followed by the soft thud of his footsteps padding down the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to the creak of his bedroom door, the rustle of fabric as he presumably — finally — changes.
You peel yourself off the door, fingers fumbling at the jacket of your shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with nervous sweat, and you wrestle it off.
Home-y. Right. who even says that?
Stupid stupid stupid.
Your dresser drawer sticks halfway open, You grab the first shirt your fingers brush against, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants with the elastic stretched out.
'He has a girlfriend,' you think, shimmying out of your jeans. The denim catches around your ankles, nearly causing you to trip.
'Probably. Maybe. Who the fuck knows.'
You yank the shirt over your head so hard the neckline stretches. The mirror across the room reflects your flushed face, your hair mussed from the fabric dragging through it.
You look and feel ridiculous.
You pull up your pants, then pause, fingers hovering at the waistband. Avoid him. Simple. Logical. You can do that.
but it wasn't that easy. after all there is only so much avoiding one could do to someone they live with.
The apartment isn’t big enough for elaborate evasion tactics, and Chan seems to have a sixth sense for popping up exactly where you don’t want him.
Leaning against the fridge when you’re raiding it at 2 am, or lounging on the couch just as you’re about to claim it for a late night tv binge.
So you just ended up being cooped in your room for most of the day.
But Chan isn’t stupid. eventually after days passed by, he’s leaning against your bedroom doorframe when you crack it open after what you thought was a safe half hour of silence.
“So,” he says, arms crossed, voice dripping with amusement, “you’re avoiding me.”
You freeze, one socked foot hovering mid step like a cartoon character caught mid sneak. “No,” you lie too quickly.
Chan raises an eyebrow. “You literally just ducked into the bathroom because you heard me coming down the hall.”
“I had to pee.”
“For the fourth time today?” His grin lopsided, “Either you’ve got a UTI, or you’re full of shit.”
You grit your teeth, fingers tightening around the doorknob. “Maybe both.”
he sighs out laugh, then steps closer, “Listen,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a serious tone, “if this is about the whole towel thing—”
“It’s not,” you answer quickly, too loud, too fast.
“So it is about the towel thing.”
“I’m not—” You exhale sharply through your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can you just—” You gesture vaguely at the space between you. “Give me, like, a three foot radius?”
Chan tilts his head, considering. His gaze drags down your body, before settling back on your face. “Nah,” he says finally, “I like you flustered.”
You bite your lip, eyes darting around, then settle on his, before darting around again.
The silence stretches, until you finally crack under the weight of it. “you—don’t you have a girlfriend?” you blurt, the words stumbling out in a rushed, stuttering mess.
Chan blinks, his smirk faltering for half a second before dissolving into genuine confusion. “A what?” His laugh sounds startled, almost disbelieving.
You press your lips together, suddenly regretting every life choice that led you to this moment.
Chan's eyebrows climb toward his hairline, "A girlfriend?" He repeats, "What, like, some theoretical girl who sneaks in when you're not looking?"
You gesture vaguely at him — the tousled hair, the unfairly sculpted shoulders, the effortless charm that clings to him like a second skin.
"You just—seem like the type." The words tumble out half mumbled, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.
Chan’s laughter echoes through the hallway, loud enough that you flinch—not just from the sound, but from the way it makes your stomach flip.
"Oh my god," he wheezes, leaning against the doorframe like he needs the support. "You thought I had some secret girlfriend sneaking in here to—what, fuck me while you're at work?"
You cross your arms tightly, "It's not that ridiculous," you mutter, but even you hear how weak it sounds.
"First of all, if I had a girlfriend, you'd know. I'm not subtle." His smirk tilts into something teasing. "Second, I'm very single. And third—" He pauses, tilting his head. "Wait. Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I was getting laid in there and didn't invite you?"
Your face burns. "No—that's not—"
His grin softens slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "So," he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "what is it, then?"
You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of your shirt so tightly the fabric threatens to tear. "Nothing," you lie. "Just—roommate stuff. Boundaries."
Chan hums, "Boundaries," he echoes, Then, "You know you can just tell me if I’m doing something that makes you uncomfortable, right?"
You swallow hard, "Yeah," you mutter, gaze trailing to his eyes and holding his stare for the first time throughout this conversation "I know."
Chan pushes off the doorframe with a shrug, "Alright then," he says, clapping his hands together like he's wiping the whole conversation away. "Takeout time. You in?"
it's like all this man does is think about food...and make you weak in the knees.
You blink, "Uh. Yeah. Sure."
Chan pulls out his phone, already scrolling through delivery apps, "Thai? Or that new Italian place that opened down the street?" He glances up, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Unless you're feeling sushi again, but last time you complained about the wasbi being too strong."
The normalcy of it — the way he remembers your stupid, offhand complaints about condiments — makes something in your chest tighten.
You clear your throat. "Thai’s good."
~
The weirdness fades slowly, chan doesn’t mention the girlfriend comment again, and you stop bolting like a startled deer every time he walks into a room.
He starts leaving his door open when he’s working, the rhythmic tap of his keyboard drifting into the hallway. You catch yourself lingering in the doorway sometimes, watching the way his brow furrows when he’s concentrating, the way he bites his tongue when he’s stuck on something.
once, he catches you staring and pats the space beside him on the bed without looking up from his laptop. “Help me brainstorm this dumb tagline,”
You perch awkwardly at first, careful not to touch him, but Chan sprawls like he owns every inch of the mattress, his thigh pressing warm against yours. and before you know it, you’re leaning into him, pointing at the screen. “That one’s terrible,”
~
Movie nights become a thing.
The first movie night starts by accident — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under your chin, scrolling through your phone while Chan sprawls across the other end, his laptop balanced precariously on his thighs.
Then the Wi-Fi cuts out.
Chan groans, tossing his head back against the cushions. “Fucking landlord,” he mutters, jabbing at his keyboard like it’ll magically fix the connection.
You snort, watching him glare at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “Guess we’re gonna have to talk to each other,”
“Horrifying,” he deadpans, then grabs the remote off the coffee table. “a movie it is.”
You end up with some terrible action movie Chan insists is a “classic,” but neither of you pay much attention. Halfway through, you catch him watching you instead of the screen, his head turning back to the movie when you caught him.
You brush it off, focusing on the screen, but your pulse jumps when Chan shifts closer, his thigh pressing against yours.
The credits roll, and he stretches. The couch creaks as he shifts, stretching his arms overhead with a groan that does things to your already frayed nerves.
"Well," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "that was a cinematic masterpiece."
You snort, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, if you consider explosions and zero plot development masterful storytelling."
Chan’s chuckles “Plot is overrated,” he says, “Sometimes you just wanna watch things blow up.”
Chan then exhales heavily and stands. “Alright, I’m hitting the shower,” he says, stretching until his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. You look away — too late — and Chan’s smirk is audible in his voice. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“In your dreams,” you mutter, but your pulse jumps when he pauses by the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Exactly.”
You sit there, frozen, until the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts running. The sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment, and you press your palms to your overheated cheeks, exhaling sharply.
Stupid. You’re being stupid. That probably didn't mean anything.
But then your phone buzzes on the couch beside you, and Chan’s name lights up the screen.
forgot my towel. mind grabbing it?
You stare at the message, then at the hallway, Trap, your brain supplies helpfully.
type back,
Seriously?
he answers immediately
dead serious. i’m vulnerable here.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re already standing. His towel hangs on the back of his bedroom door, You grab it, then walk out to the bathroom.
You knock once, then freeze when Chan calls out, “Just come in.”
Your throat goes dry. “Absolutely not.”
Chan’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “Relax, I’m decent.” A pause. “Mostly.”
you squeeze your eyes shut, then shove the towel through the gap in the door, arm outstretched as far as possible. “Here.”
Chan’s fingers brush yours as he takes the towel. His skin is warm, damp, and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice closer than you expected. You can *feel* his smile through the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”
You bolt back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.
too much for your first movie night.
~
just when things were getting normal, It happens again on a monday.
You’re home early again, the apartment is silent. You toe off your shoes, and you were about to shout a "I'm back" when you heard it again.
Low, breathy moans slipping through the crack in Chan’s door.
Your feet root to the floor, ears straining as the noise curls around you.
His voice, thick with pleasure, murmurs something you can’t quite catch — then a wet, rhythmic sound that sends heat flooding your cheeks.
apparently, this man takes his....alone time very seriously.
that's what it had to be right? you can't blame him — you've been there once or twice.
Your breath sticks in your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The sound— god, the sound — wraps around you, thick and heady, Chan's voice breaking on a moan that scrapes down your spine.
You should move. should bolt to your room, slam the door, drown it out with headphones. but your feet refuse to cooperate.
You tiptoe into the hallway, his door is cracked just enough, and your pulse hammers so loud its drowning out any other coherent thought in your brain.
A peak wouldn't hurt...
The door creaks faintly as it opens another inch, just enough for you to see.
Chan sits on the edge of his bed, but not like you thought. Not hidden, not private. No, this is something else entirely.
A ring light casts a glow over his bare skin, the camera propped on his desk angled perfectly to capture every inch of him. His laptop screen is open with a reflection of him and a rapid stream of comments too fast to read.
Oh.
Oh god.
Your stomach drops, then tightens all at once.
Chan’s head is tipped back, his throat working around a groan as his hand moves lazily between his thighs.
You press yourself against the hallway wall, pulse hammering, thoughts running a hundred miles per hour.
you did not expect this.
His breath hitches, a sharp, punched out sound, and your nails dig into your palms.
Chan’s fingers twist at the base of his cock, his thumb smearing precum in slow circles. The camera catches the way his abs flex as he arches into his own touch, his voice ragged when he murmurs, "Wish you were here." before he bites down on his lower lip. "Could use a mouth right now."
You watch, frozen in place, as his thighs tremble, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside him. The comments on his screen blur into a frenzy of emojis and a bunch of pinging donations. His breath stutters, his jaw clenching as his strokes turn erratic, desperate. “Yeah,” he gasps, voice breaking, “yeah, just like that—”
Then he comes with a choked moan, stripes of white painting his stomach as his back arches off the bed.
Gosh, he’s gorgeous — and you barely register the dampness between your own thighs until Chan slumps back against the pillows, chest heaving.
Chan exhales sharply, his fingers still lazily stroking his softening cock as he leans forward, just enough to tap something on his laptop.
he ends the stream with a wink and a low, raspy comment that you didn't quite catch. The screen goes black, and you barely have half a second to process the situation before your body kicks into motion.
You bolt down the hallway, socked feet silent against the hardwood.
Your bedroom door clicks shut behind you just as Chan gets up. You press your back against the door, lungs burning from holding your breath, and listen.
Water runs in the sink. A towel rustles. Then you hear footsteps.
They pause outside your door.
You purse your lips and hold your breath. Then Chan hums, before his footsteps retreat down the hall.
You slump against the door, exhaling shakily.
Holy shit.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fumble to pull it out.
you home early?
You stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the screen. Lie, your brain screams. Tell him no. but then how would you fake going into the apartment if you're already inside the apartment?
Just got back
You hit send before you can second guess it.
Cool. Dinner soon?
Your fingers hover over the screen, the weight of his question pressing against your ribs like a stone. The air in your room feels — too thick — and suddenly the idea of sitting across from Chan at the kitchen table, pretending you didn’t just watch him get off on camera, makes your stomach twist.
Gonna shower first.
Your phone buzzes again before you can even set it down,
Can I join?
You nearly drop it, blood roaring in your ears. Then—
jk. don’t use up all the hot water.
You toss your phone onto your bed and drag a hand down your face with a sigh.
You're deeply fucked.
~
That night, you stayed up aggressively googling him till his page came up.
Onlychans? really?
you'd laugh at the username if it wasn't for the videos that popped up when you clicked on his profile.
Chan, shirtless, sprawled across what is unmistakably your living room couch, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweatpants.
Chan, biting his lip as he slicks lube down his cock, the camera angled to capture every twitch of his abs.
Chan, moaning, his head thrown back against the pillows of his bed —your apartment, your shared space — while his other hand works something thick and glistening into his—
You slam the laptop shut.
Your face burns. Your pulse thrums in your ears. The apartment is silent — Chan’s out for a run, or so he’d claimed when he’d left an hour ago.
You open the laptop again.
It’s Curiosity. That’s all.
It starts innocently enough — just checking his schedule, really. A quick glance at his calendar pinned to the fridge.
"For productivity purposes," Chan had joked when you asked.
Then, sure enough, it spiraled.
You memorize the time of his streams, monday nights, Friday nights, he'd timed them perfectly in sync with times he knew you wouldn't be home. that's why you've been blissfully unaware of him filming in different locations around your shared apartment for the past two and a half months.
And the occasional late night surprise session that leaves you fumbling for your earbuds at 1 am. You'd literally be home, but he'd go live anyway. was he into that?
you were into it too, admittedly, because you turned out to be just as shameful as him.
The notification pops up at 1:47 am on a Wednesday 'Chan is live!' (yes, you turned his notifs on) and your fingers freeze mid doom scroll through Instagram.
your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen, you're supposed to be asleep.
You tap the notification.
Chan’s face fills the screen, his grin already in place as he adjusts the camera. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard of his bed, one arm draped lazily over his bent knee. The ring light casts shadows along his abs, highlighting every dip and curve.
"Late night surprise," he murmurs, "*Miss me?*" aaaand heat is already pooling low in your stomach.
His fingers work on hinseld, slow and teasing at first, thumb smearing precum in lazy circles while he talks— god, he sure does talk, filthy praises and half formed fantasies spilling from his lips like he’s whispering them directly into your ear. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, your other hand slipping under the waistband of your pajama shorts.
Chan arches his back on screen, his free hand gripping the sheets beside him. "Fuck, you guys are greedy tonight," he rasps, stroking himself slowly. His thumb presses against the head on every upstroke, just how you’ve learned he likes it — learned from watching, from nights spent with your phone hidden under your pillow, screen dimmed to its lowest setting.
"Fuck, m'close," Chan groans, your fingers moving between your thighs in time with his rhythm, matching the pace, hips shifting under the sheets, your breath coming shallow.
It’s not the first time you’ve watched him like this, but it’s the first time you’ve done it live, with the shaky thrill of knowing he has no idea you’re here.
A whimper almost escapes you when he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his breath hitching. You press your palm over your mouth, stifling the sound.
The last thing you need is him hearing you through the thin walls.
The thought alone, him catching you, realizing, sends a sharp jolt between your legs. You squeeze your thighs together, chasing the feeling before it slips away.
His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his skin moving over his cock muffled only slightly by the mic's noise suppression. "God, fuck—gonna come so hard for you," he grits out, his voice cracking on the last word.
You press your free hand harder against your mouth, fingers digging into your own cheek as you watch his stomach tense, the muscles there flexing under the sheen of sweat. Your own movements stutter when he lets out a low, punched out moan, his hips jerking up into his fist.
You’re so close you can’t think straight. The coil in your stomach winds tighter with every stroke of his hand, every filthy sound he makes, matching his rhythm like you’re desperate to prove something— like if you can just finish at the same time, it’ll mean something. Stupid. It’s stupid. But your hips jerk anyway, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts against your palm.
"Fuck, fuck—" His hand stills suddenly, fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he tips his head back, you watch as his body locks up for one second — and then he’s coming, stripes of white painting his stomach, his chest.
Your own climax crashes over you at the same time, so violently you nearly choke on the gasp you swallow down, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burns through you in hot, dizzying waves.
He’s still catching his breath, his free hand dragging lazily through the mess on his stomach, fingers tracing the lines of cum with a slow, absentminded swipe.
His lips curl into that stupid, effortless smirk you’ve seen a hundred times,
"Mmm, fuck," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, still a little breathless. "You all got me good tonight."
He reaches for a towel off screen, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wipes himself clean. You watch, transfixed, as he tosses the towel aside and leans closer to the camera, cheeks are still flushed, his lashes low.
"Hope that was worth the wait," he says, eyes flickering to the chat before he grins. "gosh you guys are generous with the tips tonight." and you catch a few of the comments.
slave4u: how bout you come and give me that tip
sweetheartonline: gone broke just for you </3
Chan just chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, I’m done. You’re all insatiable." He stretches his arms above his head, his torso arching beautifully, "Next stream’s friday. Be good for me til then, yeah?"
With one last wink, he reaches forward, and the screen goes black.
You yank your earbuds out, Your chest heaves, your skin still buzzing, your thighs still sticky, and you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids until colors bloom behind them.
you find it ridiculous that you're actually enjoying this, perverted thoughts. Stupid. So stupid.
~
Two weeks pass after that. You're hyperaware of Chan’s presence in a way that makes your skin itch. Every casual touch sends sparks skittering up your spine.
You try to act normal, you really do.
But you catch yourself staring at his hands when he cooks, remembering the way they moved over himself on screen, and have to physically shake your head to clear the image.
Chan, for his part, seems to thrive on your discomfort. He leaves his bedroom door cracked just a little wider than necessary, and infuriatingly, he's rarely not shirtless.
it's okay. you're okay. at least you tell yourself that.
till it's Friday morning, marking the beginning of your third month.
the apartment is quiet, still bathed in the soft gold of early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. you hum under your breath as you flip pancakes.
then Chan emerges, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair still messy from sleep.
He leans against the doorway, watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk. “Morning,” he rasps, voice still thick with sleep.
this feels too domestic for your liking.
“Morning,” you mumble, not turning around.
Chan pads closer, bare feet silent against the hardwood, until he’s right behind you. His warmth radiates against your back, “Smells good,” he murmurs, and you swear his lips brush the shell of your ear.
The spatula clatters against the pan. too domestic.
Chan chuckles, as he reaches around you to steal a piece of pancake from the prepared stack. His chest presses against your shoulder, his skin searing where it touches yours. “Careful,” he teases, popping the bite into his mouth. “You’ll burn them.”
The pancake batter sizzles violently as you stand there, frozen, Chan’s body heat scorching against your back.
His fingers brush your hip as he reaches for the syrup, and you nearly drop the spatula again.
"You’re jumpy this morning," Chan muses, leaning against the counter beside you. "Bad dreams?"
sure, if 'bad' and 'wet' are the same thing. "something like that."
Chan hums, tilting his head as he studies you. "Got plans today?"
You flip another pancake onto the growing stack. "Just groceries later." The words come out steadier than you feel.
His grin grows. "Mind if I tag along?"
You shrug, "It’s just errands."
Chan snags another pancake, leaning into your space until his bare shoulder presses against yours. "Exactly. Sounds thrilling." His fingers brush yours as he steals the spatula, flipping the last pancake with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. I’ll even push the cart."
You huff a laugh despite yourself. "You’ll get bored in five minutes."
"Bet?" He bumps your hip with his, "Loser buys ice cream."
~
The grocery store is exactly as mundane as you predicted, but Chan makes it unbearable in ways you didn’t anticipate — his fingers lingering when he passes you items, his chest pressing against your back in crowded aisles like it’s accidental. By the time you hit the freezer section, your nerves are frayed.
"Pick a flavor," Chan murmurs, chin hooked over your shoulder as he reaches past you to open the glass door. His breath ghosts across your cheek. "I’m feeling generous."
The freezer air hits your face, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. Chan’s arm brushes yours as he leans in, his fingers tracing the edge of a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "This one," he decides, plucking it from the shelf. "tastes like toothpaste sometimes, but eh" he said with a shrug.
You snort, grabbing a classic vanilla, but he plucks it from your hands and replaces it with something absurdly decadent, something with caramel swirls and chocolate chunks.
"Live a little," he grins, tossing it into the cart.
The checkout line is agony. Chan stands close enough that his knuckles keep brushing the small of your back, each touch sending sparks up your spine.
the cashier — an exhausted looking college student — scans everything, he pushed your hand aside when you tried to pay, and handed the cashier his card.
he caried all the groceries too, and swatted your hand away when you try to carry any.
it feels like he's your boyfriend.
The apartment door clicks shut behind you both, grocery bags rustling as Chan kicks off his shoes. You’re still fumbling with the laces of your sneakers when he brushes past you with the plastic bags.
You follow, already going to pull things out and putting them in their designated cupboards, Chan’s already rummaging through to find the ice cream, His grin is wide as he holds it up. "Scoops or straight from the tub?"
"freezer" you deadpan, "it's probably melted by now"
his shoulders slump a little, turning around to place the tubs in the freezer.
"and, scoops," you mutter, "We’re not animals."
he snickers, "Debatable."
Chan nudges the freezer door shut with his hip, the ice cream safely stowed away for later. "Movie night?" he suddenly asks, casual as anything, "Haven't done one in a while."
You nod, "Yeah. Okay."
You retreat to your room to change, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt before you even reach the door. The fabric sticks to your skin, too warm and you peel it off with a relieved sigh the second you’re alone.
The dresser drawer squeaks as you rummage for shorts and a tank top since its getting too hot, but your hands freeze mid reach when you hear Chan’s door creak open down the hall.
The unmistakable sound of fabric hitting the floor — jeans, probably — makes your throat go dry. You strain to listen, pulse hammering in your ears, as Chan hums under his breath. Something clatters, a belt buckle, and then the soft rustle of fresh clothes being pulled on.
You yank your own shorts up so fast you nearly trip, ears burning. Pathetic.
When you emerge, Chan’s already sprawled across the couch in loose joggers and that stupidly thin white tank top.
"You took forever," Chan drawls from the couch, already eating his way through a popcorn bucket.
"You're picking?" he scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "After the garbage you called 'cinema' last time?"
You snatch the remote before he can lunge for it. "You picked Twilight unironically last time."
Chan clutches his chest like you've wounded him. "Bella Swan is a cultural icon."
You scoff, scrolling through the options, ignoring Chan's dramatic sigh as he flops back against the cushions. His knee bumps yours, but you don't pull away.
"Fine," he huffs. "But if it's another pretentious indie film where people whisper for two hours, I'm revoking your movie privileges."
"Fine," you grumble back, scrolling past a dozen of said pretentious indie films with moody black and white thumbnails. "But only because I pity your attention span."
Chan's grin is immediate as he stretches an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder.
"pick something with action," then wiggles his eyebrows, "Or nudity."
You elbow him hard in the ribs.
"Ow—," Chan wheezes, but he's laughing, catching your wrist before you can retreat. His fingers are warm and rough against your pulse point, thumb pressing into the flutter there. "Violent and kinky," he muses, tugging you closer until your shoulders press together. "I like it."
You yank your wrist free and snatch up the remote again, scrolling through titles.
Chan's laughter vibrates through the couch cushions as you land on something, anything, just to shut him up. The movie starts with a car chase, tires screeching, glass shattering. Perfect. Loud enough to distract whenever Chan shifts beside you.
"Action and nudity," Chan murmurs, nodding approvingly at the screen where some actor's shirt rips open during a fight scene. "You do know me."
You sink lower into the couch, arms crossed. "Shut up and watch."
The first ten minutes of the movie blur into a haze of gunfire and badly timed one-liners, the volume turned up just loud enough to drown out the way Chan’s fingers keep tracing idle patterns against your shoulder.
You focus resolutely on the screen, but Chan’s warmth beside you is impossible to ignore. His knee presses into yours, his bare arm brushing against yours every time he reaches for more popcorn, and each touch sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.
Then, during a lull in the action, Chan shifts beside you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck. His fingers curl gently into your hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear.
"You’re not even watching," he mmurmur.
You swallow hard, refusing to look at him. "Am too."
Chan hums, unconvinced, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. "Liar."
His accusation hangs between you, thick and charged, and suddenly the movie feels like background noise.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, tipping your head back just enough that you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark, there’s no teasing smirk now, no playful glint — just hunger.
Your breath hitches audibly.
Chan’s thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me to stop."
You don’t.
His lips crash into yours before you can form a coherent thought, the remote clattering to the floor as your hands fist in his shirt.
Chan groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with so much desperation.
The movie drones on, but all you can feel is the way his hips jerk forward against yours as you press closer. His hands slide down to grip your waist, hauling you halfway into his lap without breaking the kissl.
"You’ve been driving me insane," Chan pants against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the dip of your spine. "Watching me, pretending you weren’t—fuck—" His words dissolve into a groan when you grind down against him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.
He knows you know. he has all this time. The realization makes your eyes widen slightly—but it doesn’t surprise you. Not really.
Not when Chan’s fingers tighten possessively around your hips, his teeth scraping your lower lip like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.
His palm slides up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your thin tank top, and your breath stutters against his mouth.
Of course he knew. The cracked doors, the late night streams he timed too perfectly with your schedule. Those weren't just coincidences.
You pull back just enough to see his face, your eyes wide with the realization that just dawned on you.
his lips are swollen from your kisses, panting, “Surprise,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
Chan’s grip shifts, hauling you fully into his lap, and you gasp when his hardness presses against you. His chuckle vibrates through your chest as he rolls his hips up, slow and filthy. “Thought you’d never crack,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.
Your hands fist in his tank top, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to his chest. “You—asshole” you pant, hips jerking against his involuntarily. “All that teasing—”
Chan's grin widens "All what teasing?" he murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kisses to your neck. "You mean leaving my door open just a little too wide?"
His teeth scrape your skin, "Or maybe streaming at exactly the times I knew you'd be home?" His palm cups your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple.
You gasp when he pinches lightly, hips jerking against his. "You're insane," you manage, though the words come out more breathless than angry.
Chan laughs against your throat, before his teeth sink into the tender skin just below your ear. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hands slide down to grip your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him. The friction is dizzying, the thin fabric of your shorts doing nothing to dull the heat of him pressed against you.
"Insane?" His breath is hot against your damp skin. "Baby, aren't the one who watched my streams every other night?" His fingers slip under the hem of your tank top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with maddening slowness.
You whine, the sound high and desperate in your throat, and nod before you can think better of it. The admission burns your cheeks, but the way Chan groans against your skin makes it worth it.
"yeah?" he rasps, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.
Chan’s fingers flex against your waist, his breath hot against your lips. “Every fucking time,” he admits, voice rough “I’d pretend it was your hand on me,” His thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, “Your mouth.” His gaze drops to your parted lips, then back up, heavy lidded. “You have no idea how many times I came thinking about you watching me.”
Chan exhales sharply, his nose brushing yours. “cancelled tonight’s stream,” he murmurs, lips grazing yours with every word. “would rather beg you to fuck me instead.” His palm slides up your ribcage, fingers tracing the edge of your bra through your tank top.
“You don’t have to beg,” you murmur, lips brushing his as you swing your leg off his lap. Chan exhales sharply, hands gripping your waist tighter like he’s afraid you’ll pull away entirely, but then you’re sliding to your knees between his legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of his joggers.
His breath catches when you tug them down just enough to free his cock, already hard and leaking against his stomach.
gosh he's even bigger than he looks on camera.
Chan's breath stutters when your fingers wrap around him, his hips jerking into your grip before he can stop himself. "Fuck—" His voice cracks, a hand flying to fist in your hair as you stroke him slow, watching the way his eyelids flutter.
He's hot and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip, and the way his thighs tense when you swipe your thumb over the head is obscene.
Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair when your lips brush the head of his cock, his breath stuttering out in a ragged groan. “Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerk up instinctively, but you pull back just enough to tease, swirling your tongue over the tip without taking him deeper, and you can’t resist glancing up through your lashes to watch his face twist with pleasure.
“So loud,” you giggle, blowing a slow breath over the wetness you’ve left behind. Chan’s thighs tense under your palms. “All those streams,” you continue, stroking him lazily with one hand while the other traces the vein running along his length, “and you never moaned like this.”
Chan’s laugh comes out strained, his chest heaving. “it wasn't you,” he grits out, hips rolling up into your touch. His fingers tug at your hair, guiding you back to him with a quiet desperation that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. “Now stop teasing—”
You swallow him down before he can finish, humming around him just to feel the way his whole body jerks. His moan is filthy, unfiltered, his hips canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like he can’t help it.
You take him deeper, throat working around him, and Chan’s fingers tighten in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life.
“god—” His voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock. His other hand fists the couch cushion beside his thigh, knuckles going white. “So good—shit—you take me so fucking good—”
You pull off with a slick pop, lips brushing the flushed tip as you peer up at him, teasing, thumb swiping over the bead of precome gathered there.
Chan’s chest heaves, his abs flexing as he stares down at you, His grip in your hair tightens just enough to sting — a silent warning — but you just grin and duck back down, sucking him deep until his thighs tremble.
Chan curses, his hips lifting off the couch as you bob your head, the wet sounds obscenely loud even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.
“Gonna—” He's cut off by his own gasp, “Gonna come if you keep—”
You pull off with a wet sound, lips slick and swollen, and replace your mouth with both hands, jerking him so fast his hips stutter off the couch, his breath coming in ragged, punched out gasps.
“Wait—fuck—” Chan chokes out, fingers scrambling at your shoulders, but it’s too late — his back arches off the cushions, muscles locking tight as he spills hot over your fingers and his own stomach.
His thighs shake under your palms, his cock twitching in your grip as you stroke him through it, slower now, milking every last drop until he’s whimpering and oversensitive, his hands weakly pushing at your wrists.
“Turn around,” Chan rasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers slide from your hair to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your spit slick bottom lip. “Want you riding me.”
Your stomach flips at the command, but before you can move, Chan’s hands are gripping your waist, hauling you up onto the couch with surprising strength. He settles you over his lap in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips, and the sudden press of his bare skin against yours makes you gasp.
Chan groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he leans back to look at you, really look at you, his gaze dragging down your body with a hunger that makes your skin prickle.
he hooks a thumb into the waistband of your shorts and tugs, sliding them off, his breath hitching when he finds you already soaked through your panties.
"Fuck," he exhales, dragging the damp fabric aside with one finger, his touch featherlight as he traces your slit. His other hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touch, his breath mingling with yours. "You're so wet," he murmurs, voice rough with disbelief. "Just from sucking me off?"
You nod, hips canting into his touch shamelessly, his finger circles your clit —once, twice, before dipping lower, sliding into you, crooking just right to make your back arch. His free hand fists in your tank top, dragging you closer until your chest presses against his, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the way your nipples harden against him.
His thumb pressing firm circles against your clit, and your vision whites out for a second — just long enough to miss the way his free hand fists in your tank top, yanking it up until the fabric bunches just above your chest. His mouth replaces his fingers, teeth scraping over your nipple through the lace of your bra, and you gasp, hips stuttering against his hand.
“Thought about this,” he pants against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wet spot he’s left behind. “Every goddamn stream—imagined you like this, wet and desperate for me.” His finger curls again, dragging a broken moan from your throat, and his grin is all teeth when he leans back to watch you unravel. “Knew you’d be prettier than I imagined.”
You grab his wrist, stilling his movements, and his brows furrow — confused, frustrated — until you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap properly this time. His cock, half hard again, twitches against your thigh as you grind down, the friction drawing a ragged groan from both of you.
Chan’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements as you rock against him, his breath hot against your collarbone.
“Wanna feel you,” you murmur, fingers fumbling between you to grip him, slicking him up with your own arousal. Chan’s head falls back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as you line him up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
You sink down onto him with a choked gasp, thighs trembling as he stretches you open inch by agonizing inch. Chan’s hands clamp around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t rush you —just watches as you take him deeper.
"Fuck," you whimper, nails scraping his shoulders when he bottoms out, your body shuddering at the unfamiliar stretch. "You’re—god—you’re so big—"
Chan groans, hips twitching beneath you, fighting not to thrust up. "Yeah?" His voice is wrecked, breath hitching as you clench around him. "Feel good, baby? Stuffed full of me?" His fingers trail up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts while you adjust. "taking me so good."
You roll your hips experimentally, and Chan’s head thuds back against the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "That’s it," he rasps, hands sliding to grip your ass. "Use me—ride me just like you imagined."
The words send heat flaring up your neck, but you can’t deny them, can’t stop the way your body responds, hips rolling in slow circles. Chan hisses between his teeth when you clench around him, his fingers flexing against your skin.
"Christ—fuck—you’re so tight," he grits out, eyes locked on where you’re joined. "Bet you thought about this every night, hmm? Watching me stroke my cock on cam while you fucked yourself on your fingers?"
You whimper, thighs quivering as you lift yourself halfway up before sinking back down, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his breath stutters, his hips jerking up to meet you halfway, and the sudden shift punches a ragged moan from your throat. "Oh fuck—Chan—"
"Say it," he demands, thumb brushing your clit as you bounce in his lap. His voice is rough, wrecked, his pupils blown wide, "Tell me how much you thought about this, how many times you came imagining me inside you."
You gasp when he pinches your clit lightly, your rhythm faltering, "Every—ah—every night," you admit, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down harder. "Watched you—touched myself—god, wanted you—"
Chan groans, fingers tightening on your hips as he guides your movements, thrusting up to meet you. "Knew it," he pants, lips brushing yours with every ragged breath.
"Knew you were getting off to me—fuck—your little gasps when I’d look at the camera—" His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. "Bet you came so pretty for me, huh? All quiet so I wouldn’t hear?"
You nod frantically, hips stuttering as his cock hits that spot inside you, the pleasure building dangerously fast. "Y-yes—*fuck*—Chan, please—"
"Please what?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk even as his own breathing falters. He slows your movements deliberately, dragging you through each excruciatingly slow roll of your hips. "Need me to fuck you harder, baby?"
You whine, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to chase your own rhythm, but his grip on your hips is unrelenting. "Yes—god, yes—"
he flips you onto your stomach before you can finish begging, his hands rough and sure as he shoves your knees apart against the couch cushions. The fabric burns against your bare thighs when he yanks your hips back, his cock sliding out of you with a slick sound that makes your face burn.
You barely have time to whimper before his fingers dig into your waist, lifting you on all fours with a sharp tug — his chest presses hot against your back, his breath ragged in your ear as he lines himself up again.
he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. He slams into you with one brutal thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your elbows buckle against the cushions. His cock stretches you open deeper than before, the angle hitting deeper, and you choke on a scream when his hips snap forward again, setting a punishing pace before you can catch your breath.
Hands clamp around your hips, fingers bruising as he drags you back onto him with every thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound drowned out by chan’s ragged groans and the slick slap of skin on skin. His rhythm is merciless, no teasing now, just pure, desperate need as he fucks into you like he’s been starving for it.
Chan's grip on your hips shifts — one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bows beautifully beneath him. "Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice rough with something between awe and hunger as he takes in the sight of you spread out beneath him.
His fingers tighten, pulling just enough to make your scalp prickle, before his palm cracks down against your ass, the sound echoing through the room louder than the forgotten movie still playing in the background.
You gasp, thighs trembling as the heat blooms across your skin, but Chan doesn’t give you a second to recover. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that has your nails scrabbling against the couch cushions for purchase. "Take it," he orders, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "God, you feel so good—clenching around me like—" His words dissolve into a groan as he picks up the pace, each thrust punching a ragged sound from your throat.
His free hand slides around your waist, pressing firm circles against your clit, and the dual sensation has your vision blurring at the edges. "That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his rhythm falters for just a second, "Gonna make you come just like this—spread out, taking me so well—"
His thumb presses harder against your clit, and your back arches involuntarily, a broken moan tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.
Chan curses, his grip tightening as you clench around him, your body shuddering through the waves of it. "Yeah, there you go, gonna cum for me?"
You nod vigorously, your fingers twisting into the couch cushions as Chan’s thrusts turn erratic, his breath ragged against your ear. "Cum with me," he rasps, and it’s all you need.
Your body clenches around him like a vice, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense your vision whites out for a second. Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken gasp, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.
Chan pulls out slowly, hissing through his teeth when you clench around him reflexively, oversensitive.
The couch cushions are damp beneath your trembling thighs, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat as you collapse onto your stomach, chest heaving. Chan exhales sharply, running a hand down your spine, before flipping you onto your back, more gently this time.
The shift makes you wince, your body still thrumming with aftershocks, he slides off the couch onto his knees between your legs. His palms skate up your inner thighs, spreading them apart with slowly despite your weak protest. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just wanna taste you."
You squirm when his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin, but Chan’s grip tightens, holding you open. "Chan—" His name comes out hoarse, your voice wrecked. "I’m—ah—too sensitive—"
Chan’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open despite your squirming. His tongue flicks over your clit, just enough to make your hips jerk, oversensitive and trembling.
“You can take it,” he murmurs against your skin, “You’re a big girl, yeah?” His teeth graze your inner thigh, before his mouth closes over you again, and your back arches off the couch with a choked gasp.
You can take it. You do.
Every swipe of his tongue sends sparks shooting up your spine, your fingers twisting into his hair — not to pull him away, but to keep him right there, his mouth working you through the dizzying aftershocks of your orgasm.
Chan hums against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his grip on your thighs tightens when you try to press them together instinctively. “None of that,” he chides, nipping at your skin before dragging his tongue up your slit again, “Just let me have you.”
You whine, hips caving into his mouth despite the oversensitivity, the pleasure tipping into something almost painful, but you don’t tell him to stop. Couldn’t if you wanted to.
"so sweet," he groans against you, the words vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His fingers dig into your hips, pinning you down when you try to squirm away from the intensity. "No— stay still."
You whimper, but obey, letting him spread you wider as his tongue delves deeper, circling your entrance before dragging back up in one long, torturous lick.
"Chan—please—" you gasp, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for — him to stop or never, ever stop.
His response is to hook your leg over his shoulder, angling you deeper into his mouth, and then he’s sucking you in, his tongue working you with precision. You sob his name, your hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, too soon, too much—
You choke out his name, fingers scrambbling at his shoulders, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, before your hips jerk violently against his mouth.
“Chan, gonna—oh god—” The warning spills out brokenly, your thighs clamp around his head as you come with a shuddering gasp, your back bowing off the couch as pleasure rips through you.
he groans against you, the vibration wringing another broken sound from your throat, he doesn’t pull away, just laps at you greedily, his tongue dragging through the mess you’ve made of him with slow strokes.
“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You’re perfect like this.” His thumb brushes your clit once, testing, and you jerk with a gasp, your body still thrumming with aftershocks.
Chan grins up at you, all dark eyes and swollen lips, before dragging his tongue up your slit one last time.
Chan rises from between your thighs with a groan, his lips slick and glistening with you, you realize with a jolt — before his mouth crashes into yours, the kiss filthy and possessive, his tongue licking into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, sticky with sweat, and he moans into your mouth when you tug — sharp, just to feel him shudder.
You pull away eventually, both of you panting, sticky with sweat and other things, and collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Chan drags you half on top of him, your head resting against his chest where you can hear his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin.
His fingers trace idle patterns along your back, the movie’s credits roll, forgotten, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.
You nuzzle into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. His skin is warm and slightly sticky, and you press a kiss to it without thinking, smiling when his fingers pause for a second before resuming their path along your spine.
"Quit staring," you murmur, tilting your head up just enough to catch him watching you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. soft, almost awed, Chan huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing your hipbone where he’d gripped hard enough to leave marks earlier.
"Can’t help it," he admits, voice rough with exhaustion "You’re kinda fucking gorgeous like this."
You snort, but your cheeks heat anyway, and Chan’s grin widens when he notices. He shifts beneath you, rolling just enough to tuck you more firmly against his side, his arm a solid weight across your waist.
The movement makes you wince, your thighs ache in a way that’s equal parts delicious and punishing, and Chan’s fingers tighten reflexively, his smirk turning smug.
"Sorry," he lies, and you bite on his shoulder just to hear him yelp.
his yelp dissolves into laughter, his fingers digging into your sides as he squirms away from your teeth. “Fuck, ow,” he complains, but his grin ruins the effect, “You bite hard—should’ve known you’d be a menace.”
You grin against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the reddening mark you left behind. “Payback,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your tongue just to feel him shiver. Chan groans, his hips jerking reflexively beneath you, and you freeze when you feel him stirring against your thigh—already half hard again.
“Seriously?” you ask, incredulous, and Chan has the audacity to look proud, his smirk widening as he rolls his hips up against you.
“What?” he teases, voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t help it—you’re right there, all warm and fucked out—” His hand slides down your back, fingers skimming the curve of your ass before squeezing lightly. “And you bit me. That’s basically foreplay.”
You press a hand to Chan’s chest when he tries to roll you beneath him again, your thighs still trembling from the last round. “Shower,” you mumble, and Chan makes a wounded noise against your collarbone in protest.
“Five more minutes,” he tries, lips trailing up your neck like he’s trying to convince you with his mouth.
You laugh, breathless, and squirm out of his grip before he can distract you properly. “No—shower,” you insist, swatting at his hands when they try to drag you back. “We’re disgusting.”
Chan pouts — actually pouts, like this big hunk of a man didn't just fuck the daylights out of you — and flops back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, but his eyes track your every movement as you stand, snickering when you wobble slightly on unsteady legs.
You stumble towards the bathroom, then you glance back at Chan, sprawled across the couch with his arms behind his head, watching you with that stupid, smug grin, and ask, "When’s your next stream again?"
his grin falters into confusion when your question registers. "Monday," he says automatically, his brows furrowing, "Why?"
You hum, "Just thinking," then you shrug, "maybe I’ll join you next time."
he's caught off guard when you leave him hanging and close the bathroom door behind you, "don't start something you can't finish!"
Description: Jeongin and Minho help Y/N through this wave of heat. Y/N thinks it must be really nice to have a pack
[warnings: oral (male-receiving), knotting, cum/slick play, cum sharing, threesome, dirty talk, piv, no protection, mentions of being hospitalized d/t heat, a little teeth action, lots of groping, alphas: Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin/omegas: Minho, Felix, Jisung, Seungmin, general omega verse antics]
read part 1 here!!
read part 2 here!!
read part 3 here!!
a/n: hiiiiiiii, me again! Sorry this took literally forever and the fic is not even done yet ofmdgfmgog, but I didn't want to make you wait any longer! You have all been very patient with me so thank you! I found that it's a little easier to two a couple pairings at a time to establish some dynamics before going balls to the wall orgy, but the orgy is coming, trust meee!!! I'm once again worried about this taglist haha, I hope I added everyone who wanted to be on it! Thank you all again for such sweet comments, I hope you enjoy more poly OT8 omegaverse brain worms!
10.7k+ words
Y/N had always wanted to be in a pack.
She had never thought much about it, but it was just something that she knew she wanted. Something that, when they learned about them in school, she was bummed they were recognized as a necessity of the past and no longer an evolutionary requirement. Y/N remembered, even in her school-aged days, thinking about how nice it would be to just have a group of people to cuddle, kiss, and love. She always had so much love to give in her heart, barely able to bottle it sometimes -- it felt like it would be too much for one person.
And sometimes it was. She could be clingy and needy, but she knew people didn't like that, so she reeled it in the best she could. Alpha partners she's had in the past always praised her for her independence, so she thought that's what they wanted from her. To not need the constant scenting and the cuddling, even if a knotting didn't precede it. Y/N would like to come home and curl in someone's lap and scent them until they melt into each other in such a way that you wouldn't be able to tell where she ended and they began. She would like to nest with their clothes outside of her heat without it being weird. She'd want to be a little whiny and have them placate her with kisses and coos about how she's cute.
With omegas, that was easier. Y/N had casually dated a couple of omegas before, but they always ended up breaking things off, usually when the other person realized how much they missed being knotted. Which. . .well, that sucked. Especially because with omegas, constant scenting and snuggling were sort of a given; finding comfort in each other and understanding the hormonal shifts and instinctual needs was nice. Y/N didn't feel like she was as much of a bother with omegas as she felt like she could be with alphas, if she expressed all that she wanted all of the time.
Beta partners were somewhere in the middle for her. They were always very sweet and calming, but she was still too worried about being too much that she almost accidentally always made it seem like she didn't like them at all. It was frustrating, because most of the time she liked them too much, which was precisely why she was trying to be "normal". Y/N had only two long-ish term relationships with betas, and both times it didn't work out, Y/N couldn't help but feel like she was the problem.
It was a heavy load on her shoulders, though. To be in a pack would be so nice; if there was something she couldn't give to one person, it'd be quite easy for them to find it in another without her feelings getting hurt. And if there was something she needed, she'd have a couple of avenues to obtain it without making someone else uncomfortable having to put up with her. Sometimes she thought maybe she was being selfish, wanting to have her cake and eat it too, but it was just a fantasy is all. A maladaptive daydream that got her through hard times.
And then she met Felix.
Felix used to just be the sweet, omega customer who always seemed to come around when she was the manager on duty at work, and they were drowning. He smelled so sweet, all the time, free of his scent patch and with a pretty smile on his mouth. He ordered the same strawberry smoothie and raspberry muffin every time he came in during the morning rush. Y/N, no matter how overwhelmed and busy they were, always made time to ask how his day was and drew his name with a silly little cat on the plastic cup. She warmed his muffin too, just because, and he'd always wish her well in a very deep voice that rarely matched his appearance.
That's all he'd been for a while -- just her favorite pretty customer that she liked to daydream about. Y/N thinks it'd be fun to date Felix, because he wears pretty clothes and he's sweet, and whenever she asks what his plans were for the day, it always seemed like something fun. In a couple of her daydreams, she would ask him what he was doing after she got off shift, and he would say he's free, then Y/N would suggest something super casual like staring longingly into each other's eyes during a walk in the park. And then he'd fall in love with her, ask her to be his girlfriend, and they'd scent and cuddle and melt into one being or something, she doesn't know -- it was just another fantasy.
But then one day, she's literally having the worst shift ever. One of her coworkers was on vacation, and the other called in because her cat ate a hair tie and needed to go to the vet. Which left Y/N alone to deal with the morning rush, and of course, it was a Monday, so every person in the city decided they needed coffee from this shop in particular. It didn't help that they were in the business district, which is good for business, but bad for break times if you wanted one. So her feet were aching, her upper back hurt, she reeked of the espresso she accidentally got all over her apron, and she burned her hand on the oven when she was warming a sandwich. It didn't help that she'd not slept much the night before, and her weird situationship had officially called it off randomly at 4 AM because he met a cute omega who was really into scenting and cuddling and needed him the way he wanted to be needed (which Y/N could have done too, if she wasn't so busy trying to not be herself and seem nonchalant, but he was sort of a dick anyway).
Really, it was a bad day all around. When the morning rush had finally settled, and Y/N was holding her face in her hands with her elbows resting on the counter -- the doorbell chimed again. She hadn't even bothered looking up while she attempted to steel herself before she took a deep breath, so she didn't cry as soon as someone gave her their complicated coffee order.
But then a deep, but caring and soft voice said, "Y/N? Are you okay?"
She looked up to see Felix, but he wasn't alone. To his left was another man who looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine page and into her cafe. His hair was ginger at the time, but she could tell it was dyed and mussy atop his head in a fashionable way. Y/N hated that she was meeting Felix's hot, sexy alpha friend when she probably looked seconds away from morphing into a coffee bean, but she still mustered her best smile.
"Oh, hi Felix," she cleared her throat, then willed her voice not to wobble, "Um, it's just been sort of a horrible shift so far." And Felix, who always smells like jasmine and the wind in spring, oozes the most comforting scent. It took her a second to realize he was doing it to calm her down -- she realized she probably must stink, with how stressed she was, but he didn't even wrinkle his nose when he walked in. His friend was looking at her with a small, empathetic pout, but he had a patch on his neck that covered his scent entirely. His glasses slid to the tip of his nose, but he pressed them back up, "Hi, Felix's friend. What would you guys like to drink?"
Felix placed a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing a little, "Why don't you come sit down, hm?"
"Oh, but I should really clean out the machine since there's some downtime," she motioned toward the back, "I'm the only one here, so --"
"Just for a little?"
So Y/N did sit with them. She found out that the guy with Felix is named Jeongin, and actually, they were dating. It was a blow that snuffed out every daydream Y/N had about dating Felix and skipping along their omega merry way -- like a cigarette under the toe of a boot. She sort of wanted to cry about it, but she thinks that was more so a product of the day she'd been having, and this just piled on top of it. Honestly, she always knew she didn't stand a chance with Felix; he was out of her league and too good to be true. There was no way it would have surpassed fantasy status.
However, when Y/N asked him when he and Jeongin met and how long they'd been together, he said, "Oh, for a while now -- like, 7 or 8 years? That's when we started the pack at least."
She paused, blinked at them a couple of times as the sentence processed in her brain.
"You're a part of a pack?" She repeated, and Felix nodded, grinning.
Felix spoke with his hands a lot, but he grabbed his phone like he meant to show her a photo of them all. "I know it's not super common anymore, but yeah -- I think packs get a lot of flak for being some old age, primal arrangement, but it's actually super fulfilling and really lovely, so --"
"Yongbokkie," Jeongin spoke -- he didn't speak a lot, but from what he had said, Y/N thought his voice was pretty. She knew that he hadn't grown up in Seoul, though, and his slight lisp was really cute, "You're making her cry."
And Y/N felt bad, that when Felix looked up, her eyes were filled with tears. His face warped into that of pure distress as Y/N shook her head, covering her face, "No! No, I'm okay, I'm sorry," her voice warbled, "You're in a pack? That's so amazing! I think that's so beautiful, I've always wanted to be in one myself, haha, they should be more common?"
The sound of a chair scooting against the floor was loud, scraping an echo that bounced off the sides of her skull. Her head hurt that day, too, she remembered, and her stomach grumbled at the same time as everything else. She just wanted to crawl into her nest and bury herself in blankets until the day washed away. It was all so embarrassing; Felix probably should have grabbed Jeongin's hand and run the hell out of there before she could do anything else humiliating.
But he doesn't. Instead, he plopped down in the chair beside her and drew her into a hug. It was the sort of hug that you give a friend you've known for a long time, not your barista that you're familiar with, but Y/N melted into it all the same. He smelled so good, and his hand was delicate and gentle against the back of her neck, where he petted her carefully. He squeezed her, "When's the last time you ate, Sweetheart?"
She sniffled, her voice muffled against his chest, "I -- um. . .Well, I had half a bagel around 6, but then I dropped the rest on the way here."
Y/N could hear the pout in Felix's voice, "That was 6 hours ago, and not nearly enough," he clicked his tongue, "I bet you haven't been drinking any water either. Innie used to work in a cafe, so he knows how to use the little oven, yeah? He's flipping the sign to ‘closed’, and he's going to warm you something. You need a proper break."
If that was what it was even remotely like to be in a pack, Y/N understood the appeal even more than she had before. Felix wiped away her tears and spoke to her gently, and Jeongin did somehow work very diligently in warming her one of their sandwiches. They were very nice to her, and after she ate something and took a few pain pills from Jeongin's stash in his bag ("They tease me about being a walking pharmacy, but everyone's really grateful when they need something."), she felt a lot better.
"Thank you," she remembered saying before they left, "I really appreciate all of this so much, and I'm so humiliated I kind of want to espresso myself."
Felix squeezed her thigh, still pumping out all these comforting pheromones to set her back at ease, "Don't worry about any of it," he told her, "I'll be back tomorrow for my usual, okay?"
After that, Felix would either come by himself or bring a different packmate each time, slowly introducing Y/N to all of them. She wasn't sure what he was doing apart from just going on mini dates with his boyfriends. It did sort of seem like he was plotting something, but she couldn't put a finger on what and couldn't explain why it felt that way, so she ignored it. All of his packmates were very sweet, and if they were able to talk for a couple of minutes, she understood why Felix loved them all so much. They were funny and silly, and all of them were so pretty it was almost annoying.
He had introduced her to everyone but Chan, who Y/N understood to be the pack alpha. The opportunity to meet him came in an invitation; one afternoon, Felix told Y/N they were having their first barbecue of the summer season the following Saturday and that she was welcome to come.
Y/N had felt a little hesitant at first. "Would that be okay?" She remembered asking, twisting the strings of her apron around her index and middle fingers. Felix had come alone again to propose this. If she didn't know any better, then she'd think he'd done it for her benefit, so that she wouldn't feel pressured by two people staring at her waiting for an answer. But that would be giving herself a little too much self-importance, she thought, probably. Hell, what if they don't even know that he was inviting her? Felix probably just saw her as this sad little stray on the side of the road with no pack and no prospects, and wanted to feed her -- get her out of the storm, fluff her up, then take her to a shelter. "Like. . .to come to your home? That's okay?"
Felix tilted his head, "Of course," he replied, "Why wouldn't it be?"
She remembered shrugging, "I -- oh, I don't know. I just thought pack houses were sacred or something."
He scrunched his nose, "Yeah, it might have been sacred before Jisung's hole-y underwear entered it," he giggled, "We want you there! Everyone likes you, you know? And I'd love to hang out with you for longer than a lunch break or a chat in between you making lattes. If you're interested, at least."
Of course Y/N was interested! She had tried to map out what their house looked like 1000 times, so to actually get the offer -- she would've been stupid to turn it down.
So she agreed, and she went, and she meant Chan the first time and just about drooled. She'd never met a pack alpha before, and even in the first couple of minutes, she understood why he was. Could see why they all trusted him wholeheartedly, why they chose him as their leader. He smells good, like the sort of breeze you only smell when you're close to the ocean. He's not super tall, but his presence alone makes it feel like he's looming over them at 10 feet. And he walked like his knot was fat too, so like. . .yeah, Y/N was a little bewitched.
Plus, he was nice. He was soft when he spoke to her and gentle. His hair was soft and pretty, long like Felix's at the time. He was mostly tied up with grilling when she was there, but she saw him interact with his pack members throughout the night. How he acted cute for them, how he would sort of whine and bleat for attention every so often. It was fun to see that he wasn't some intense, silent, brooding presence.
They were really welcoming. Felix stayed by her side that whole night, and Minho silently piled her plate with plenty of food (and Y/N thought it was cute how his ears went red when she went back for seconds of the kimchi-jjigae and told them how delicious it was). She shared a relatively big piece of meat with Felix and tried the pepper that Hyunjin offered right off his kabob skewer (she found out very early how much Hyunjin loved omegas, and how willing he was to share anything and everything). Changbin praised her for eating so well, then went on a spiel about protein and carbs and some fitness stuff that went right over her head, and Jeongin called her noona right away, hiding behind her in the pool when Changbin and Jisung were chasing after him, splashing. Jisung pouted when she was braiding shells into Felix's hair (he had a whole pack of them), until she gave him a tiny braid with a shell close to the front of his head. Seungmin was silly, and they locked eyes when he was cheating in whatever water game they were playing, so he put a finger up to his lips, and Y/N nodded, agreeing not to say anything.
And toward the end of the night, when the sun was starting to set, and Chan was dripping water from his hair, he plopped down in the spot beside her on the edge of the pool. "Felix has told us loadssss about you," he told her, and Y/N was practicing an absurd amount of self-restraint not to look at his bare chest, "I'm sorry I was never able to make it to the cafe and meet you properly. Everyone kept saying how nice you were, though, so I'm glad you could come today."
"Oh, that's -- yes! Thank you for having me," she motioned around, "Your home is really beautiful. And the food was very good, I don't think I've eaten this well since I moved out."
Chan chuckled, and it was warm, and bright, and wow -- was a requirement to be in the pack to have pretty, plush lips or what? "Well, you're welcome to come over any time you want. It's good to have a little estrogen in this house now and then," he waved his hand at all of the men in the pool, splashing around, "It's sort of a cock fest."
Y/N laughed, and at the sound of it, Felix came swimming over underwater, appearing suddenly at her feet, "What's so funny?" He asks, eyes still closed but tilted in her direction. His small hand grabs her calf and squeezes. Jisung comes too, on his orange slice floaty, bouncing off the edge of the pool.
"Yeah, you haven't laughed like that for me all night, and I know for a fact I'm funnier than Channie."
Chan's response was to jump into the pool and take Jisung with him, splashing into the water, and Y/N squealed a little with Felix, who twisted to look up at her from the pool. His hands gripped the edge, and his chin rested on the side of it. They'd been in the sun all day, so his freckles were even more prominent than they usually are, blinking up with her with a gaze so big and brown she understood every meme she'd seen about people having boba eyes.
"You're having fun?" He inquired, smiling up at her, and even if she wasn't, she would have lied. But thankfully, there had been no need to -- Y/N was having a lot of fun, actually.
"Yes," she agreed, "A lot! I think I'll probably sleep really well tonight."
Felix grinned even wider, pressed his face into her damp calf, and held her ankle, "Yay," he cheered, "You'll have to come over all of the time then."
And he really meant it. Felix invited her to everything, and then, when the others got her number, they started inviting her places too. It's how she ended up in Osaka with Jisung, in this whole, huge predicament where he started his heat during a convention (they both watched the same show, and Minho, who would have gone with him, had already agreed to house sit for a relative, so he couldn't). Y/N had smelled it on him as soon as he peeled his scent patch off the first day. He had been fussing, whining, had one single shirt that Y/N recognized as Felix's (but now she wasn't sure because they all share their clothes), and she had realized that was his nest.
(Y/N remembered being pretty nervous, because she'd never helped someone through a heat before, especially someone who was mated. Honestly, she didn't even know if she was allowed in his "nest" at first, until she'd very gently, tentatively said, "Jisungie? Can I put some cold cloths on your head?" and he grumbled, kicking his feet, saying, "Why aren't you in here cuddling me? Do you hate me? If you do just say it!")
After that, Y/N thinks she'd solidified her spot as a permanent friend. She'd only had Jisung alone for a day before Chan and Hyunjin got there, and he was still early enough in his heat that he didn't need her to get him off or anything. But she'd been prepared to help in all ways that she could. They were all very grateful to her for looking after him, and when being in such close quarters with another omega in heat, inevitably threw her into hers a couple of weeks early -- well, they told her to let them know if she needed anything.
Y/N had kept it a secret, how hard her heats were. She wasn't in the business of being a burden or a bother, especially when she knew they were all so busy. The last thing any of them needed was some random, unmated omega complaining about how horrible it was to go through her heat alone. How her cramps were debilitating, enough to have her doubled over and unable to move for hours. How her fevers reached such high temperatures that it was getting borderline dangerous, if she didn't sit in a cool bath to try and bring it down. How she wouldn't be able to get out of bed, trembling even to grab the water and protein bars she placed on her nightstand for easy access. How, no matter how many times she rode her knotting dildo, or used a vibrator, or even just her hand, it was never satisfying and nowhere near enough to satiate her desires.
It sucked, but she was used to it at that point. Her heats had always been horrible, starting from her very first, so she went to the doctor's regularly for check-ups. So there was a clear history of when they started getting worse, the longer she went unmated, with only a few dips in severity if she was in a relationship. Even then, no matter omega or alpha or beta, Y/N's heats were intense. Being knotted and/or scented by one person just didn't cut it.
So when her doctor said she should try one with a pack. . .well, it made sense. It all made so much sense, even though it was scary, and exciting, and nerve-racking. Maybe it was something written down to the very sequence of codes that made her DNA. Perhaps that's why she'd always wanted to be in a pack so badly, not just a want, but actually a need of some kind. She needed a pack. Her body needed it, her mind needed it.
But there weren't just hundreds of packs looking to add someone on a rainy day. And as soon as her doctor had suggested it, Felix's face popped into her head immediately. Felix and his sweet smile, in their big nesting room that he'd shown her once while taking her through the house on a tour. The big, nice nest, with all his mates, and all of them welcoming her inside of it, and scenting her, and holding her, and... her eyes did tear up some, yeah. Could you blame her? That seemed so nice! There was no way she could ask, though. . .no way she could impose that on all of them. She would just need to stick it out like she always did, suffer through it, and come out on the other end hopefully.
The days come and go, and the threat of her heat is making her stomach turn all the time. It would be a bad one, she could sense it already, and it was when a violent set of cramps tore her from bed one morning that she decided that she needed to call. It would be nice to at least see. And if they said no, then she wouldn't spend the whole time wondering if it could have happened. She knew, though, that she couldn't call Felix, because Felix would say yes in an instant -- he wouldn't even really think about it, and probably wouldn't consider how anyone else felt on the matter. She needed to ask the person she knew would look at it from an objective view. . .one that would see the whole picture, rather than just seeing their friend in pain.
So she called Chan. She stumbled through the request, and she waited very patiently for him to discuss it with his pack mates. She'd prepared herself, with an aching belly, to hear something along the lines of 'We're sorry, but that just doesn't really work for us, we only accept pack members mating cycles and adding you would kind of be a bother', pacing back and forth, gnawing at her bottom lip, pulling at her upper one, feeling her eyes bead with tears on and off. Y/N was scared. She really didn't know what she would do if they said no.
"We discussed it, and yeah, you can spend it with us."
And wow! How exciting! Y/N packed with such a skip in her step, her cramps didn't even matter anymore. She'd get to go over, and they'd treat her like a pack member, probably, at least a little bit, and even if she couldn't go into the nesting room, she would be happy just to be around all of their scents. Maybe they'd let her nest in the guest room or something. Or maybe Felix's room? He'd sent her a message that night promising her that he would take care of her no matter what during her heat. That he'd already called off work, so there would always be someone in the house regardless. She was nervous, because these were her friends and they were about to see her in not her best state, but still excited. Y/N knew they'd take care of her well, whether they wanted to be intimate with her or not.
All of that led her here. She was snuggled into Jeongin's side with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. His glasses were at the tip of his nose while he scrolled through his socials, and she could tell he was pumping out more of his scent for her. Felix and Hyunjin had both left the nest -- Hyunjin to shower, she thinks, and Felix to eat? Or maybe he was showering too. She isn't sure -- they'd been showering together the last few days, so she didn't know if he was planning on keeping that up or not. Y/N would understand if he wanted to get clean, though; she'd had them in bed all morning. She'd lost track of how many times they'd made her cum, how much slick she'd gotten on them, how much she sweated. Hyunjin was sweaty too, almost like he was in heat, but she knew that his baseline was pretty sweaty (and he still always smells so good, which is unfair).
Her waves of heat are very irregular, and they always have been. Her peaks and valleys were all over the place, and she thinks everything is a little more hectic, considering she's being taken care of so well. She doesn't feel as out of her mind as she usually does, though, but on the first official day, she is never really as foggy. Her second day is when her brain is more full of cotton.
Right now, she is good, though. Jeongin is nice to be pressed against, and he didn't seem to mind that she was probably hot to the touch. Did she smell good to him? She worried that she wouldn't. Y/N actually didn't know what everyone thought about her scent, since she'd been so preoccupied with theirs. Like right now, she's worried about her own, but she's absolutely drowning in Jeongin's. It's like when she worked at a bakery a couple of years ago, how it used to smell in the mornings when the bread would come out of the oven. She liked working mornings for that reason (and because evening time is when the boss liked to work. At the time, she didn't know, but soon figured out he was using the bakery as a cover-up for a whole drug thing. . .it was sort of crazy.).
She absently pawed at his shirt, and he understood what she wanted. Silently, he raised the hem of it, and Y/N scooted down his body. It was nice, getting up under their shirts. It's something she's always done with the people she felt safest with. She tried once with a boyfriend three years ago, and he sort of made fun of her for it, so she hadn't tried again since. None of Felix's pack made her feel weird about it. Honestly, they sort of encouraged it, especially when it made her purr.
Jeongin giggles when she does start to purr, unbeknownst to her at first. She can't make herself purr; they just happen when she's at her most content, so sometimes she doesn't even realize it. His belly is nice -- it's a little softer than it usually is, which Y/N likes. The softest bellies are the nicest for her head, so she'd been willing them with her brain waves to eat a lot and not worry about working out or anything. At least not doing crunches.
The moment is fleeting, however, when the door clicks open, and Minho's scent fills the room. It wasn't bad by any stretch -- Y/N loves Minho's scent. Being cuddled with him is like snuggling your nose into a pile of fresh, warm laundry straight out of the dryer. Honestly, he might have her favorite scent in the whole house, and he lets her breathe him in as much as she wants, pumps it out in waves, lets her get drunk off of it. He always sort of lets her, which is nice.
When she first met them, Minho was always kind, but she felt like he might not have liked her for a while. At least it's what she thought until one day, she came over to see Felix, who hadn't actually gotten home yet. Minho was the one who answered the door and offered for her to wait in his room, or -- "You could sit out here with me instead. When's the last time you've eaten?" With a furrowed brow, he inquired. Y/N thought his brow was furrowed because he was irritated with her, but she found out weeks later (from Felix) that she'd looked a little flushed and pretty exhausted. Coincidentally, her heat had been a week and a half prior, and she was still recuperating from it. He could smell that she wasn't doing well from kilometers away.
So she sat in the kitchen while he warmed her a meal on the stove and chopped up some extra veggies (which she only later realized were her favorites -- how he knew what they were, she couldn't tell you). He made sure she drank two glasses of water and ate all of her food, which she did graciously. Once she was finished, he took her back to the living room and held out his arm, "Bokkie says you like to cuddle." He doesn't ask it like a question or really say anything else. And Y/N is burrowed in his side just a moment later, nuzzling close. It was the closest she'd been with any of them besides Felix, and the most time she'd spent alone. She even fell asleep before waking up hours later in Felix's room, with him playing games in bed beside her.
"You smell like Minho hyung," he told her, tossing the game in favor of rolling over and wrapping his arm around her, "S'good. Isn't he good at cuddling?"
So, yeah, Y/N loves his scent. It's why she notices the smallest twinge in it, something that's not necessarily irritation but something close. Disappointment? That makes her stomach twist.
"What is this I'm hearing about you refusing the avocado?" He bent down, his knees off the mattress to still respect her nest, and her head was revealed from beneath Jeongin's shirt, "Hm? Didn't I tell you to eat everything on your plate?"
"Hyung, be nice," Jeongin coos, petting the top of her head, "She's never liked avocado."
Y/N's vision is a little hazy, and so is her brain, but she can feel herself pouting up at Minho. He looks pretty -- he always does. His face is soft, even though he's a little upset with her; his eyes give away that he couldn't be too mad.
"Well, this is news to me," Minho replied, "Considering she always eats it when I put it on her plate in any form: sliced, mashed, mixed with lime juice and chopped onion. . ."
"Because she doesn't want to disappoint you," Jeongin explained, and Y/N wondered how he knew -- had she ever told him before? Everyone seems to know much more about her than she thought they did. "You and Binnie hyung praise her so much when her plate is clean, she eats even the parts she doesn't like, for you." Jeongin is not one for skinship, they told her once, but he's always been accepting whenever she wants it. Y/N thinks he just puts on an act for everyone else because he likes the chase of it. But right now, his fingers feel good on her scalp, and he has her fit in the cradle of his legs perfectly.
Minho huffs, "My baby could never disappoint me," he grumbled, "Let me in."
Y/N nods before she feels Minho crawl into the nest as well. He strokes his wrist against hers where it rested on the bed, before tipping his nose against her sweaty nape, "Sorry," she musters up, "I'm sorry."
"Shh, I'm not mad," he murmurs, letting his tongue lull against her salty skin, and Y/N shivers, "I'll find an alternative then. When's the last time you were knotted?"
Jeongin answered for her, "Two hours ago? Hyunjin did, but Lix had just stuffed her full when I'd gotten here."
Minho clicks his tongue before his hands find her hips and his fingers press deep dents into her flesh, "I can smell that you need it again," he tells her, "You've been slicking all over the nest with Innie, haven't you? Did our baby alpha get you all worked up?"
Her whole body flushes with heat, almost like Minho had just reminded her how badly she needed it. In an instant, she feels too empty -- nothing in her mouth, nothing in her pussy, nothing in her bum. How horrible is that? When she can feel the swell and press of Jeongin's cock against her tummy, especially with Minho stretched across her back, pushing her down? It's miserable. She needs it so badly. So, so, so badly.
A whine leaves her throat, her hips wriggling uselessly, but Minho's heavy on top of her. His knees are on either side of her, just like his arms, so he's caging her in; she feels safe and warm beneath him. Even safer and warmer pressed up against Jeongin, and his prick that she hadn't noticed was hard. Had it been hard this whole time, or did this just happen? She doesn't know. She needs it. Has she said that out loud yet? Words are just too hard right now, though.
"My sweet kitty," Minho presses plush kisses from her nape to her ear, pulling the top between his teeth and nipping playfully, "You're supposed to ask for what you want, hm? Or do you just want Innie to know?" He nips again, and Y/N tries to swallow the drool that's threatening to dribble from her mouth, "Stupid Alpha, doesn't he know he's supposed to read your mind?"
Jeongin whines now, "Heyyyyy. We were doing just fine!" Minho uses one hand to squeeze around Jeongin's hip, his thumb finding the dip where the muscle leads down to his dick, swollen in his briefs. He's sensitive there; his hips jolt forward, but he continued his complaint, "I was letting her sleep. She needs rest."
"She needs a knot," Minho counters, "Don't you, kitty? Need this stupid alpha to fill up this tight little pussy?"
Y/N rubs her face into Jeongin's belly, pushing her nose into his belly button, "Not. . .stupid," she forces her mouth to move, "Innie isn't stupid."
"Yeah," Jeongin pets the top of her head, "Don't let hyung turn you evil like he did the others."
Minho scoffs, and she thinks he must bite Jeongin's hand because the youngest alpha squawks and jerks his hand away from her head, "She's just too sweet, little heat drunk thing. Now lift your hips, stupid alpha, and get your knot out."
Jeongin lifts his hips, managing the weight of both her and Minho on top of him. His cock nearly slapped against his belly, but her body is in the way, so it slaps against her neck a little, touching her chin. Y/N breathes out a sigh, her mouth finding his prick instantly like a magnet had led her there. Jeongin moans when she sponges wet, drooling kisses all over the shaft, on the head, sliding her tongue into his slit. Precum oozes around the tip of her tongue, her eyes fluttering closed while the taste of him fills her mouth. He moans, high and pretty, while his hand finds the top of her head again. His fingers thread in her hair, close to the root.
"That's it," Minho's hands slip down her back. They still feel cool against her heated skin, palms skating along either side of her spine. Y/N pushes back against him, his zipper digging into her bum, and the hard press of his cock makes her moan. Minho isn't as big as an alpha, but he's still a handful, a mouthful; something that feels good when it's in or around her at any capacity. She kisses along Jeongin's shaft, down to the starting swell of a knot. Felix had whispered to her once that when an omega in the pack is in heat, all of the alphas are practically pre-swollen, their body always prepared to knot at least once. When he shared this tidbit with Y/N, she thought he'd just been bragging about how lucky he was. She'd brag too, if that was what she got during her heat.
She did not expect it to mean her heat as well. Hyunjin was already swollen when he'd peeled off his briefs, but she'd attributed that to him being a sucker for omegas. It was a little more suspicious with two alphas already having their knots swell preemptively, but Jeongin is still only 2ish years out of presentation, and their bodies are still quite sensitive to pheromones, especially heat. She'd overheard Changbin, though, when they thought she was asleep under Seungmin's shirt, that the base of his dick was sore and sensitive. Even Chan had been readjusting himself more, and he's typically pretty polite about doing that.
So maybe it's just any omega in heat? She isn't sure, really. Y/N doesn't have many alpha friends outside of this pack, and they had never discussed the intricacies of their knot during a packmate's heat. How was she supposed to know? All she knew right now was that she was warm, and she took Jeongin down as close to the root as she could, choking around him. It made him groan, his legs twitching up and around her -- "Fuck," he cries out, tugging at her head to pull her back where Y/N drools all over his shaft, his balls, coughing a little before sucking in a sharp breath. Her eyes sting, and she is about to dip down and get him back in her mouth, but Minho stops her.
"C'mon, honey, Innie can't handle that," he murmurs, sliding his arm over the front of her shoulders and tugging her up to his chest, "He'll try to pop his knot in your mouth." Y/N whines, shivering as Minho ushers her forward and all but drops her on his cock. Twin moans lift in the air when her messy slit meets Jeongin's shaft. His hips buck forward, slipping between her folds, and Minho is still holding onto her tightly, but now he's a bit lower. She felt him reach down with one hand to touch her, his fingers slipping between her lips and spreading her open. Jeongin moans, and it gets louder when Minho grips his cock. Y/N could only imagine that he grabbed it a little tightly, as he tilted it up so that the tip was lined up with her hole.
He guides them like two dolls he was pushing together. Minho presses her down and keeps Jeongin's cock still until she feels the head stretch her hole out. Y/N sighs out the further she sinks on him, her walls mold around him, shaping to his prick. Her heart is racing, thundering in her chest, while one hand rests against his belly, the other grips Minho's arm wrapped around her waist.
"There you go," he hums, "My two little kitties."
Y/N likes it when Minho takes ownership of her in any way. She likes being his anything, and even if it's pretend, it makes her feel like she's in the pack. Not just some outsider that they're letting stay, so she doesn't get hospitalized due to her heat. Once she's seated, he lets his fingers dance all around her again, on her sides, up her arms, squeezing around her shoulders, and then running his thumb against her scent gland. Her scent gets more potent, filling the room further while Minho's nose is pressing against the opposite end of her throat, breathing it in from her other gland. Jeongin's big hands find her hips, his fingers dig into the flesh, and he plants his feet on either side.
He starts to bounce her with an ease that she'd never really experienced before. If Minho wasn't holding onto her, she definitely would have fallen forward. Y/N mewls, her head lulling back -- it felt really good, to be stretched like this, and filled up. He hits the swollen, spongy bump inside of her with every buck of his hips; the sound of their skin slapping is loud. There was not a lot of buildup, but she really didn't need it. Her thighs squeeze his hips tightly, and Minho grabs one of her breasts, kneading it.
"Does that feel good, Aegi?" Minho asks, and Y/N isn't sure who he's asking, but both she and Jeongin make pathetic sounds. He chuckles, clicking his tongue, "Yeah? Alpha, are you g'na knot her?"
"Yes," Jeongin's face is flushed, and strands of his hair press messy against his face. His mouth is red and spit slicked, hanging open, and Y/N can see the sharp point of canines meant to bite and mark, and she shivers from how badly she needs it. That's all she wants, actually, is to be bit, and marked, and claimed by them. She couldn't ask for that, but she wanted to. Sometimes it's for the best that her mouth doesn't always move when she wants to speak like this. That would be embarrassing, really, even though she knew they might understand it was her heat talking.
But her hand moves before she can really think about it, because while her mouth is useless, her fingers aren't. And they trail up his tummy, over his chest, along his throat until she is at his chin. Jeongin didn't say anything, lips still parted for her as she slid her finger inside and touched his tooth with the tip of her index. It's pointy, shiny -- it nearly pierces her skin from how much pressure she tries to put on it.
One of Jeongin's hands leaves her hips and grabs her wrist. He pulls her hand away so that she doesn't actually injure herself, but stays close enough that she's still touching his mouth. He pushes kisses into her palm, dragging the edge of his teeth against the meat of it, "What is it, hm?" Jeongin asks, "You want me to bite you?"
"Ahhh, this is fun," Minho hums from behind her, "She's awfully bite-y herself, I didn't know it went both ways. You want Alpha to bite you, huh? Mark you up? Make you his?" Y/N trembles all over, and when Jeongin playfully nips at her thumb, she cums before she even realizes it's happening. It's rapid little squeezes, and tons of slick oozing out of her, all over his cock, slipping over his knot, and down against his balls. Jeongin's eyes flutter, rolling back, while Minho curses beneath his breath, a soft, "Fuck."
Y/N is surprised she's being held together -- she thinks Minho is the one holding her together -- but any sense of keeping her body lifted is completely gone. She's slumping in Minho's hold, enough that he carefully guides her down to press her front to Jeongin's.
"God, hyung, her pussy is so messy," Jeongin pushes his nose into the top of her head, rolling his hips in a way that starts fitting his knot inside of her, "She's perfect, s'like -- wow, fuck -- I --"
Minho chuckles, his hands on her hips, rubbing soothing circles like he knows where they're sore, "Yeah, I had a feeling you'd like pussy. Y/N's the first one you've tried, hm?" Jeongin hums his assent, and Y/N's brain feels like it's melting from her ears. She swallows hard, thickly, her eyes squeezing closed as another orgasm starts to build. Each tug of his knot against her hole is making her feel crazy, and the wet sound of her pussy is echoing through her ears and making her a little embarrassed, "It'll be the first time a lot of you have felt it."
The noise that leaves her is a moan and a squeal when Jeongin's knot finally slips inside of her. Then he's grinding her down against him, with the help of Minho, and rubs her swollen clit against his pelvis. Heat boils over in her belly as she starts to squeeze around his knot, milking it when he starts to cum, hot white streaks painting up her walls. His fingers dug into her deep, and he held on so tightly she wondered if he would leave marks behind. Y/N hoped it would; she didn't mind. It felt good with him so deep inside of her, like she could feel him in her belly. And to be surrounded by all of the scents of the pack, to have Minho pressed against her back and Jeongin against her front. She feels loved and cared for, and it makes her cum again; somehow, she shakes through it.
Minho pets her back, and she thinks Jeongin is stroking her head. Y/N feels satiated and scent drunk and so pleased beyond words. Her face is stuffed into Jeongin's throat still, breathing him in, warm bread so delicious she could eat him. Her belly growls softly, and both of them giggle a little.
Then she feels Minho again, against her bum, and she whines when he takes it away.
"Want --" she struggles out, reaching blindly for him, "Min--Minnie, I want -- in my mouth."
Minho leans in and kisses her spine, "Lovely little omega, you just want to take care of everyone, don't you? Won't be satisfied until everyone's satisfied."
She warbles a sound, but Minho crawls on his knees up to her head. When Y/N turns her head, her eyes light up at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking, already pulled from his pants. "You'll have to share with Innie-ah, my aegi."
"Yes," she nods like it was obvious, "Yes, oh, yes, I will."
Jeongin, who usually protests anything and everything (for the love of the game, Y/N thinks, because he always ends up doing it anyway -- he was a brat comparable to Seungmin almost, he just somehow avoids the title), merely opens his mouth the same way she does. Tongues outstretched and wet, Minho slides his hard, drippy cock right between them. Neither is very passive, though he does shallowly roll his hips. Y/N is licking wet kisses against the shaft, going toward the head, and Jeongin finds his balls and sucks them into his mouth. They're coating him in spit and moaning like they're the ones getting licked. Minho tastes too good -- he always tastes so good. When he lets her cock warm him, that's all she can think about, is how good he tastes (if she can think at all, that is).
It doesn't take him long to cum. He pets both of their heads and murmurs something about how sweet she is, and how sweet Jeongin can be "once an omega has softened him up around his knot". They had taken turns on what end they'd been licking and sucking, so Y/N had been pressing her nose deep against his balls and inhaling the sweet scent of Minho. But since it's her heat, he grips the hair at the back of her head and guides her back to the tip, "You can have it, yeah? You hungry?" He says, voice tight, before he pops the head back into her mouth and starts emptying on her tongue. There's a lot of it, filling up her mouth, and Y/N wants to swallow it greedily because she's feeling greedy.
But when she opens her eyes, she sees Jeongin's gaze, and Y/N feels like it was just as wanting as she felt. And, even though it's her treat for being in heat, she is nothing if not magnanimous, so she leans in and presses her mouth to Jeongin's. She pushes some of the cum into his mouth to share, and he moans against her, startled, his hips jerking into her and only reinforcing how locked they are together. Y/N swallows what was left in her mouth, then tilts up to look at Minho, parts her lips, and lets him see that there's nothing left.
Minho curses under his breath, cradles her face, and strokes her face with the pad of his thumb, "God, you're so good," he murmurs, "I'm keeping you."
Her eyes flutter, nuzzling into his palm. She'd be okay with being kept. Like a little pet, she'd let them keep her. They could chain her up in the nesting room and just come use her when they wanted. Keep her fed and bathed, they'd pet her and keep her full, and she could bark or meow or whatever they want. Y/N would like that so much. How does she ask them for that?
She isn't sure how long they were stuck together. All she knew was that Jeongin was scenting her thoroughly, his hands moving up and down her body, squeezing and pinching and pulling at her. Minho giggled while watching them, murmured things about his sweet kittens, how cute it was seeing them like this, saying how he'd wished he'd had a picture of this so he could remember it.
When the knot finally loosens, Jeongin pours out of her. Minho's fingers trail through it, and she can hear him lick them sloppily, the taste of them mixed together. Jeongin makes a rumbling growl in his chest, and Minho clicks his tongue, "Ah aht." There's a slapping sound behind her -- he must get Jeongin's thigh with the flat of his palm, "Don't you growl at me, baby alpha. I'll let you have some." Jeongin whines when he uses both hands now, gets more of his cum on his fingers before offering some to Jeongin and some to Y/N.
"Okay," he murmurs, "Y/N, we need to get you in the bath." Y/N knows better than to grumble and growl after hearing Jeongin get scolded, but that didn't stop her from pouting. Especially when Minho carefully pries her off of Jeongin's body, shushing her when she does whine a little bit. "I know, kitty, we'll get you back in the nest and scent you real well."
The door opens after a perfunctory knock, and Y/N lazily lulls her head to find Jisung pressing his face through the crack, "Jagi," he whines, "You started without me."
"Would you want to wait during your heat? Actually, I think you'd tear us up if we tried to make you." He helps Y/N stand on trembling legs, more of Jeongin's cum slipping out of her, making the insides of her thigh all sticky -- and probably Felix and Hyunjin's too. Jisung makes an affronted noise in his throat but still takes a step inside, "Come help me with her bath. Then we can scent her again. Jeonginnie, call Bin, and he'll help you change out the nest."
Jeongin grunts from his spot, his eyes closed.
"Is it okay if Jisung helps wash you up?" Minho asks, "Or do you just want it to be me?"
It takes her a second to sift through her thoughts, but she decides she doesn't mind, "That's okay," she tells him as he guides her the rest of the way.
He kicks the toilet seat up and plops her down on it, "Go ahead and pee, your first pack heat can't lead to a UTI. We've got appearances to uphold."
"So weird," Jisung murmured to himself, but he was leaning over the tub to get the water started.
They fill it up with bubbles and oils, the water steaming before she steps inside of it. The tub is quite big, and the water sloshes around as she sinks into it, letting the heat of it soak deep into her muscles. Minho hikes his shorts up a little further than they were, stepping inside with her but sitting on the edge and grabbing for a new loofa. He rips the tag off, dunks it in the water, "I'm going to clean you up, kitty, okay? But if it's too much, tell me. Jisung is going to tell us about his day and grab stuff for me as I need it."
It's nice, actually. Typically, during her heat, Y/N has to just stay and wallow in her own stink and filth. She tried her best to wash up when she could, but it was difficult when she could barely stand. But Minho is carefully scrubbing her, which is good -- she knows she'll feel better once she has. Part of her still aches at the fact that she's losing a day's worth of scenting. He's careful around her glands, but for some reason, it doesn't help as much as it probably should. Unlike the pack members who, no matter how many times they scrub, would have the scent of their pack mates interwoven in every single skin cell -- Y/N doesn't have that. She was just an intruder, really, mooching off their kindness. Using up their resources, taking up space, making it difficult for them to continue their day-to-day life without having to take care of her.
She goes from content to all around achy very quickly. Her scent must give her away, because Minho stops mid-scoop of water to pour over her sudsy body. Jisung notices too, frowning, "What's wrong? Is the water not good?"
Y/N shakes her head, "Sorry," is all she says, "I'm sorry. I'm -- this is a lot of work. . .for me, and I'm not. . .I'm not even a part of your --"
"Enough," Minho cuts her off before she could say anymore, then takes his wrist and rubs it against the side of her neck. He reaches for Jisung's hand as well, stretching him across the tub and ignoring his little, startled yelp as he strokes it against her throat, "Don't say such silly things. Cleaning you rubbed off our scent, so it's making you think stupid thoughts." She melts almost instantaneously -- Minho is really good at this. She guesses you'd have to be good at this when you've got 3 other omegas and yourself to manage. Y/N shivers, then leans back between Minho's legs. She gets his clothes all soaked, but he doesn't seem to care, instead handing the loofa to Jisung to finish her front. "We'll get you all scented up as soon as we're done, okay?"
Y/N's head is tilted back to look up at him. When she nods, he smiles, then slides his hands down her shoulders. He keeps talking casually, as he strokes her, "Bin's going to want to jump you as soon as you get out," he explains, "But you need to eat a little, hydrate, and rest. He'll probably stay by to cuddle, though. Jisung will too."
"Yes," he smiles dopily at her as he scrubs her calves, "I've been thinking about it all day. Can't believe I had to work while Jinnie and Felix got you all to themselves! So unfair," he pouts his mouth, and Y/N giggles softly, a little amused huff, "They're both passed out on the couch right now -- you really wore them out, hm?"
That feels so far away, being snuggled between them. Had that really been today? She feels like it must have been yesterday or something, but she knows her frame of time is all screwed up. When Jisung brushes past her hand in the water, Y/N catches him and laces their fingers together. He giggles, pulling their wet hands out of the water together to show off, "You want to hold hands? We can hold hands all night."
"Channie comes home soon," Minho mentions softly, the pad of his thumbs digging into her nape, "He's going to pretend he's being chill, but he probably wants this more than he even realizes. Just because he's the pack alpha, though, doesn't mean you have to do anything with him if you're tired, okay, kitty? That goes for everyone, but I think your heat brain is convinced that Chan's a different type of pack alpha than he is. He's patient, and he's kind, and he's very, very nervous because he hasn't dealt with an unmated omega in a very long time, so all of this is on your terms, okay?" He grabs her chin and tilts her up to look at him again, so they can lock eyes, "Just wanted to remind you."
"Yes," she agrees, "Okay."
Once she's out of the tub, she brushes her teeth, but that's all the strength that she's able to muster. Y/N is led back to the bed where the bottom pads and sheets had been changed to dry ones, but the nest itself seems relatively untouched. Changbin, whom Y/N had not seen all day, is waiting patiently with one arm behind his head and his hand holding his phone. He's lying off to the side of the mattress because he doesn't have permission yet, and it makes her bristle. What good alphas they have in this pack.
Y/N crawls into the nest, "Hi," she greets him, before nuzzling her face into the pillows beside her head, "Thank you."
Changbin smiles, "Of course," he says, "You smell good. Did the terrible twosome clean you up well?"
Y/N hums, and it takes her a second, but she does eventually reply, "Yes," before rolling over to her back. The shirt she wears -- she's unsure who the owner is. It smells like all of them a little bit, maybe leaning more toward Hyunjin. It rucks up around her thighs. "Come in, please."
Changbin doesn't have to be told twice. He clambers in, and Y/N is almost immediately engulfed in big arms that tug her close. He doesn't make any move to touch her, but he does nuzzle the top of her head, "Ahh, I've been wanting to do this all day!"
Jisung makes an affronted noise, and Y/N huffs again, another amused sound before peeking her eyes out from beneath Changbin's arms, "You too, please."
Minho swats his ass before he all but dives in, and he's lacing his arms around her waist, hugging and holding her there. Before he leaves, Minho tilts his head toward the door, "I'll send Seungmin in here too. I can smell him lingering." He pointed at both of them, "Let her rest a little. I'm going to warm up some soup -- make her drink water. No bickering over her head."
"I have no problem not bickering so long as he doesn't open his mouth," Jisung mumbled into Y/N's belly, the words muffled and vibrating.
Changbin scoffs, "You can't go 5 minutes without picking a fight. It's okay, me and Y/N will just kick you out of the nest."
"What makes you think she'd take your side?"
"I'll kick you both out of the nest." Minho cut them off as he headed toward the door, "I'll be back."
Y/N closed her eyes and breathed in deep.
Having a pack is nice, even if it isn't her own.
. . .
Jisung
For the record, changbin keeps putting his foot in my face and I am being VERY BRAVE and PATIENT not yelling at him so that y/n can sleep
Changbin
🦶🏻
Jeongin
Not right now
I'm trying to recoup
Jisung
everyone tell me how good I am for not letting him kick me out of the nest with his childish antics
Changbin
he woke y/n up to make her say she was on his side btw
Jisung
NO I DID NOT !!!
SHE WAS ALREADY AWAKE
MINHO SHE WAS ALREADY AWAKE
NEVER MIND the nest he's trying to get me kicked out of the HOUSE
Chan
How is she doing? Is she okay?
I'll be home soon. I just have a few more things to get done
Does anyone need anything at the store?
Also, if you're in the nest with her, where are Jinnie and Lix?
Jeongin
Hyung. . .
pudding please
Minho won't share
Changbin
I'll tell u everyone's whereabouts I know you want to know
Jin and Bbokki are passed out on the couch
Jeongin is in his room but i can tell he wants to come back
Minho warmed her up some soup and is now taking a shower
Seungmin is also in the nest being suspiciously well behaved, but I think it's because he was pacing outside the door so now he's happier.
Jisung is at the bottom of the nest, right in the way of my feet
he called y/n slick NyQuil btw
Jisung
snitch
im not saying it tastes like nyquil!!! it has NyQuil-like properties
I can hear Hyunjin and Yongbokkie snoring from in here
and jeongin's fighting sleep so he doesn't ruin his schedule for tonight but when Minho checked on him he was falling asleep with his phone in his hand
Description: Y/N's heat officially starts and Chan feels weird about going to work. It's okay though, because Hyunjin and Felix are home to help
[warnings: slick eating (like a ton), cum/slick play, threesome, male x male, knotting, face sitting, oral (Felix receiving), fingering, filthy kissing, piv, no protection, mentions of birth control, dirty talk, low-key avocado hate, alphas: Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jeongin/omegas: Minho, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, general omega verse antics]
read part 1 here!!
read part 2 here!!
a/n: hiiii again!! so this time I wasn't trying to stop before it got too long, but I did feel bad that it was taking me a thousand years to post, so more to come! I hope a hyunlix threesome can make you happy until the full blown orgy!! I think I added everyone to the tag list right again but forgive me if I messed it up! And thank you all for such nice comments :-) it really makes me happy I wasn't expecting anyone to like it!! I just had poly omega verse skz worms that needed to be unleashed hehe. hope you enjoy it!
9.4k+ words
Chan's knot has been sensitive all day.
At least the area around it has been. It always is, when his omegas are in heat; it's like his body was preparing to pop one at a moment's notice, so it just stayed ready, in a slight limbo. Which has never been a problem before when it's someone in his pack -- as a unit, and despite how difficult it could be to coordinate, all of them would take off when someone in the pack was going through their mating cycle. Maybe not for the whole week, but for at least a couple of days, when they would be in the thick of it. Then Chan's knot was ready to go for whoever wanted it -- whether it be the omega (or 2, or 3, or 4) in heat (sometimes their cycles matched up), or any of his other mates that wanted to be knotted (sometimes Hyunjin liked to be knotted. Changbin too, if he was in the mood, and Hyunjin himself had been trying to convince Jeongin that it feels good for alphas too, but he's still a bit reluctant).
It does become a problem, however, when he's stuck at work.
Regarding heat and ruts, that normally wouldn't matter. He worked in music production, which led to relatively flexible hours as long as he met his deadlines. If he needed a Tuesday off, then he could just crack through an all-nighter on a Wednesday to make up for it. He makes his own hours, for the most part, which is beneficial to being the pack alpha, so he can be around when necessary. And it was possible to take his work home too, both a blessing and a bother, because he could bring the work home all he wanted, but whether or not his mates would let him actually work on it was up for debate.
Still, whenever one of his mates needed him, Chan was there in a heartbeat. Even if he couldn't be, he knew that there were at least six others who could take care of whoever needed him until he could get there. Though that never does cease the restless feeling in his body, until he can get home, and in that regard, he's pretty useless at work anyway, with his mind far away (in his nest, with his pack), so he might as well just be home.
But he was the one who made a big fuss about their schedules and what it would look like trying to take care of an additional omega's heat with such short notice -- so he felt like he had to go. Especially since the others (save for Felix, who suspiciously had the next week off, and Hyunjin, who straight up just admitted he called out) had been going to work diligently, no matter how badly they wanted to stay with her. It wouldn't have been fair for him to stay when he'd all but encouraged and insisted at the beginning that they try to continue their days as normally as they could (granted this was before he'd experienced her purring, so. . .).
He thought it would be easier, though, since she wasn't his mate. At least, he didn't suspect it to feel so close to that gape in his body when he had to leave the nest for even a moment when Minho was in his heat. Or the way it felt like swallowing rocks to leave a pouting Jeongin shuddering and biting into his pillow when he'd tired all their omegas (and Hyunjin) out – to go get water. Not to mention when Changbin fusses at him with teary eyes for leaving him before he'd woken up (his mates were very open and vulnerable with their emotions at all times, which is really nice, since Chan had trouble doing the same -- they inspire him to be just as open).
All this to say, he thought that he would be able to go to work and actually get some things done. He should have been suspicious as soon as he woke up to find that she'd left his bed, and it felt like waking up without his pillow; he knew he wasn't going to be normal. A pout had fixed on his mouth as soon as he started his day, trying to tell himself that it was okay if she left bed before he had woken up. He snores pretty badly, especially on his back, so he's sure that must have pulled her from sleep. Or, in the fashion of the other day, one of his mates might have come to seek her out early in the morning to eat and cuddle. There had been faint traces of Minho's scent in his room, mixed a little bit with Jisung. Maybe they had sought her out.
And instead of just getting ready for his day and accepting that he woke up alone, Chan does go ahead and check each and every room for her. Starting with Jeongin's room (and finding Hyunjin sleeping, sprawled out and with half his body out of the covers, while Jeongin was scrolling idly through his phone), then Jisung's (who was snuggled up with Felix, like two small animals huddling for warmth -- Chan felt his heart urge him to crawl into bed with them), and Changbin was in Seungmin's room (there's no surprise there either -- except for the fact that Seungmin was still asleep, because he's usually awake by this time; having an omega in heat in the house does change some things, though).
As he opened Minho's door, he remembered the others accusing him of monopolizing his time with her. So he actually wasn't too surprised to see the two of them in there, surrounded in a tiny nest on his bed (a nest they would eventually relocate to the nesting room, as they always did), and it seemed like Y/N had been pilfering items of clothing from everyone. There was a small pile on Minho's reading chair (or "cuck" chair, as Felix had lovingly referred to it once), but Y/N seemed to have gotten distracted, stuffed under Minho's shirt instead. And Minho had his glasses on, watching something on his phone that he paused with a tap to the screen.
"I found this thief rummaging through closets and hampers this morning," he told him, "Then she came in here and fell back asleep. I’d be concerned with how much she’s sleeping if I didn’t know Jisung -- I hardly suspect she'll be as much of a brat though."
Chan felt at ease after finding them. Everyone in his pack. . .in the house, he meant -- had been accounted for, which settled something deep in his bones.
"Do you think it'll start today?" Chan inquired, because beyond the clear scenting that had taken place in there, Y/N's scent is far sweeter in Minho’s room than it has been thus far -- like a citrus-y dessert. It wasn't cloying, but he could taste it on his tongue, swallow it down to his belly.
Minho hummed, nodding, "I'm surprised it didn't start yesterday," he admitted, "I was looking into it though -- omegas like her. It has something to do with like. . .genes that date back thousands of years: the purring, the need for a pack, apparently even sleeping up under the shirt too. They’re things that most omegas got rid of, over centuries, the less a pack was needed." He started to trace designs on her shoulder, "When she was lucid enough for me to poke her brain, she mentioned always being like this, though. Both her parents are omegas too, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. It's just interesting," he sighed, softly, "I don't want to leave her today, but it's too late for me to get a class covered."
Chan nodded in agreement, "I'm. . .having trouble too," he admitted, because he could only admit this to Minho, "Who will be here?"
"Felix and Hyunjin," he plucked at his lip with his free hand, "Jeongin should be getting home early today too, so it isn't like she'll be alone, but-- you know. It feels wrong to leave her."
"I -- yes," he agreed again, "I feel. . .weird about it."
"Don't." A voice, muffled, comes from underneath Minho's shirt. He and Minho both stare at each other with wide eyes for a second, startled she’d been eavesdropping, as Minho carefully takes the hem of his shirt and peels it up, revealing Y/N (who was very much awake). She pushes up a little but not entirely off Minho's belly, "Feel bad -- don't," she shook her head, "I'll be okay," she nodded then, and Chan could see the amount of effort she was putting into getting the words out again -- just like she did last night with him. It made his heart too tender and soft; malleable for her. "I'll nest and wait for you to come home."
Minho is the first to speak, sighing softly when he went to cradle her cheek, "Yeah? Yongbokkie will be here to take care of you, kitty," he murmured, running his thumb over her soft skin, "Hyunjin too, but I think you'll be taking care of him more than vice versa. He gets so scent drunk when one of us is in heat."
Y/N tilted her head back down and nuzzled into Minho's stomach, rubbing her head back and forth like an actual cat -- and had her purrs coming out like one too. Chan decided he had to leave then or he'd miss the window where his alpha would allow it. So he told them that he had to go, and high-tailed it out of there before she could look at him and change his mind.
So that's where he's at. He was already struggling through his day the moment it started, and then on top of that, Yongbok and Hyunjin are cruel, cruel creatures. His phone has been buzzing all day, non-stop, and he doesn't have it in himself to ignore what they're sending, despite knowing it would make him more miserable. Because what if they needed him? What if there was an emergency? What if Y/N's heat was more than they could handle alone, and he needed to come home immediately?
Hyunjin
pleaseeee, i need her always
so pretty
cute
i wanna crawl inside of her
Seungmin
Stop being a freak
. . .Send pictures
Jisung
Yeah, SEND NUDES NOW!!!!!
DON'T GATEKEEP 😤
I NEED THEM
Felix
Didn't take pics of her bc we didn't discuss before
took some of hyunjinne tho
look how wet his mouth is
guess what it's from
image_143.JPG
Changbin
I'm going to pass out 😣
Felix
Go on, guess, guess, guess, guess
Hyunjin
Yongbok and Y/N taste so good together
need to put their slick in jars for later use
Minho
I can't believe I left my sweet kitty with two degenerates
Tell her I'll be home soon to save her
Did you give her the fruit I sliced this morning
Felix
ye ye
she and jinnie are sharing strawberries rn
she keeps turning her nose at the avocado tho I don't think she likes it
Minho
force feed her, she needs the fiber and oleic acids
Jisung
😧
Jeongin
enough.
I CAN'T THINK, my phone has been going off every three seconds
tell noona I'll be home in an hour
Chan all but slams his head down into his arms on the table in front of him, knocking into his keyboard and adding a reverb that didn't belong.
It was only 10 AM. This day was going to drag.
. . .
Felix loved omegas, and he loved being an omega.
He doesn't know why. Maybe it's because he had an upbringing that was very omega-positive; despite both of his parents being betas, they were very supportive in his presentation and did everything they could to help him transition into life as an omega. From finding him groups to be a part of, screening online forums, and contacting family members who were also omegas. They made sure he was surrounded by people who not only shared his subgender but also loved it too.
Anyway, he's always loved it, and he loves them. He loves his alpha mates, too, of course, more than anything in the world. It's just a different type of love that he has for his omegas.
Which is why he was so adamant that Y/N join them for her heat.
It hadn't been his first time hearing her discuss it. Of course, his sweet friend was always so self-sacrificing (like someone else he knew closely), and very dismissive of her own problems. She'd told him her heats weren't great all the time, but had downplayed it severely. Actually, he remembers her describing it along the lines of, "Yeah, you know, they're crampy, I'm hot, making everything sticky -- the usual."
Felix always had a feeling that she wasn't being super honest, since her heats would take her out of commission for like two weeks (sometimes even three). The heat itself was never that long, but the recovery time always seemed sort of lengthy and horrible. He and Minho had brought her meals a couple of times after the worst of it was over, and the sight of her always made his heart ache. With bags under her swollen eyes and lips bitten dry and red, sometimes she'd even have bite marks on her arms like she'd been trying to quiet herself. Still, she was always smiling, acting like it wasn't that bad.
"Thank you so much, you really didn't have to," she told them, when Minho would set the food (warmed up on the stove) in front of her, "I feel bad that you came out of your way."
"No talking, just eating," Minho would always silence her, stuffing the chopsticks in her mouth with a bite of whatever it was he'd made for her (typically something hearty, with a lot of mind paid to ingredients that would help repair her body), "Yongbok tell her about that awful game you're keeping Hyung up at night yelling over."
So when she finally admitted that they were bad enough, her doctor was concerned, and that she needed to be with a pack -- he was over the moon. He'd offered his help to her a couple of times, but he could sense she turned him down because he was mated, and she was always worried about overstepping boundaries and all of that. It's why they had to initiate the scenting with her most of the time.
He both does and doesn't feel bad for snapping at Chan when they had her muted. Chan is a good person, and he's an amazing pack alpha who is always so concerned with the welfare and both physical and mental well-being of his mates. Almost to a fault, at times, where he forgets that there are other people out there who can need the same amount of love and attention. He'd been so concerned about what everyone would think that he hadn't been considering the distressed omega on the other line, finally asking for help. But he didn't know the history of it -- Felix realized that later, after talking it through with Seungmin in his carefully curated nest (Seungmin makes the best nests out of everyone). He'd never discussed with Chan that he suspected her heats were worse than she'd admitted. So how was he supposed to know?
Still, he needed to know how serious it was, and for that reason, Felix is glad that he stood up for her as intensely as he did.
Y/N fits in perfectly with them always, but even more so like this. A lot of omegas handle heat differently; a hormonal shift accompanied by the overbearing warmth that filled the body was not for the faint of heart. Every omega in his pack has similar but different responses to their cycles, and it has taken a long time to get everyone's varying needs and wants in order.
Minho is extra snuggly leading up to his heat. He is quite snuggly in general, but in secret -- private cuddles in his nest or quiet nuzzling on the sofa while he watches something with you are his preferred methods. But before his heat and during, anyone, anywhere, at any time could have their arms full of their pouty cat hyung, grumbling something about them moving too much and to stay still before he "makes them". He starts making his nest a couple days before as his instincts dictate, and he typically "allows" Chan to prep his heat meals (by allowing, he means sitting in the kitchen and watching with a keen eye while he cooks -- but if anyone is capable of dealing with a hormonal Minho who doesn't have control in his kitchen -- it's Chan). During his heat, he likes to be knotted several times the first day, even if he's sore and achy afterward. He prefers staying locked together for a while (which is what Innie is good for -- his knots never go down quickly), and he likes it when he has someone to sit on his face -- omega or alpha, he doesn't care. He likes to shower at least once during the three days -- otherwise, he'll tolerate being wiped down if he's too weak to stand for too long.
Seungmin is a little more particular about his heats. Like Minho, he begins rummaging through their mates' closets, drawers, and hampers a couple of days before it should hit fully. He keeps them safe in his room, in a container made specifically for safekeeping the clothes, pillows, and blankets he plans on using. He's a little moody but he's quiet about it; the only reason Felix can ever tell is because his sweet face is all pouted, and his forehead is scrunched, but the softness in which he speaks doesn't alter too much (at least with Felix -- the same cannot be said for Changbin, who swears that Seungmin is the biggest brat before his heat). He wants to be doted on, but he fights at first so that he doesn't come off too needy. And he cleans, and cleans, and cleans around the house like property management was going to come and check for dust on the top of their door frames. Once his heat actually hits, he's a sweet little thing -- all quiet mewls and head butting. He likes to be manhandled into positions and held there. His preferred method of sleeping is safe beneath someone, typically an alpha, but one of his omegas would do too. He wants to eat the same thing for all four days (much to Minho's dismay), and requests a shower daily -- maybe even twice a day if he can get away with it. They change out his pads and sheets the most of all of them.
Jisung is low maintenance in some things but high maintenance with others. For him, nesting doesn't matter as much -- as long as he has like one good hoodie and maybe a blanket that everyone's scented, then his nest is as good as complete (though Seungmin can't stand the thought of it, so he always ends up making him a proper nest anyway). They sort of have to force him to eat and drink because he isn't focused on it at all. His preheat lasts all of a day and a half (he sleeps a ton for like a week leading up to it) before he's in the throes of his heat, and is the biggest brat that he could ever be. He growls at them sometimes, fusses, and whines when he doesn't get his way. If it were up to him, then he would have a knot ready for him as soon as the one inside of him deflated. He wants his mouth stuffed even though he gags when they press too far, and he wants his hair pulled, and he whines until someone realizes that his back is itchy, but he won't tell them. Like Seungmin, he wants to be doted on, but unlike Seungmin, he isn't keeping it a secret. They all hear, "You have to be nice to me, I'm in heat," at least three times an hour from him. Still, despite his brattiness, he can be sweet -- normally when Minho has edged and denied him a couple of times, and “Alpha Chan” comes to save the day and plugs him full. He and Hyunjin go at it like absolute animals, and he whines and cries for Changbin to knot his mouth. He also likes to have his fingers inside of his "comfort hole," which is usually Felix or Seungmin (Minho if he's feeling kind and rewarding Jisung for eating). They just wipe him down until he's strong enough to shower, and he refuses to let them change the pads or sheets.
Felix would love to say that he's more low-maintenance than his other mates, but really -- he couldn't tell you. Nobody has ever complained about him, and they admit that they honestly miss his voice a little bit. When his heat hits, he's mostly nonverbal now -- a luxury that not many omegas are permitted. There is such intense and devout trust that he has in his mates to know exactly what he needs from physical cues alone, save for a few vocalizations he can manage (mostly whining and moaning). He makes his nests two days before, strategic in his stealing pattern, and it just depends on the month, from whom he has more clothes. Felix nests with it in his bed, puts up a little fight when they have to move it to the nesting room, but settles into it easily. Before he had a pack and mates, his heats were so painful that he used to be anxious every time he could sense one was coming. But now that he has his lovely pack, he knows he doesn't have to worry about anything. He eats whatever is given to him, even the things he usually turns his nose up at. He likes to be knotted, sure, but he has to have one of his omegas with him the whole heat -- it doesn't matter who. They just have to spend a majority of their time in the nest with him, and he'd like it if they were getting knotted too (he calls it "knot bonding," and when he explained it to them, Hyunjin told him he'd never heard of something so beautiful in his life). He lets them do whatever, as far as bathing. If someone wants to run him a bath, he'll get in it. If it's just a quick wipe down, he doesn't mind that either. He's pretty chill.
So, of course, he was interested to see what Y/N was like in her heat. Her preheat, he thinks he has down. Felix is unsure he's ever met someone more cuddly, leading up to it ever, in all the omegas that he's known. Cuddling is nice, sure, but usually the warmth swelling in your body starts to discourage it during brief periods to cool down, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for her. She's warm, sure, but she's not as hot to the touch as Jisung gets, or even Seungmin. The way she disappears beneath their shirts just lets him know how desperate she'd been for that proximity -- that comfort that she'd been lacking before. The purring is so beautiful, Felix wonders how he's going to go to bed without it, since most nights he practically kidnaps her before sleep so that he can feel the vibrations rumble through him.
She sleeps a lot like Jisung, but unlike their Jisungie, she's not as bratty. Or, well, Felix could make an addendum to that. She could be quite bratty, but she was only bratty with a couple of people and not others, whereas nobody is safe from Jisung's tirade. Felix notices that she'll fuss and whine at Minho and Hyunjin mostly. Changbin, if he was nearby. He doesn't know why it's those two (Changbin, he knows, because it's just easy to be bratty with him -- all of them are, even Chris), but Minho is always placating and sweet with her, and Hyunjin is such a sucker for omegas, she could probably punch him in the jaw and he'd still drink her slick.
Y/N has been eating and drinking when prompted. Felix has been showering with her because. . .well, he just wants to, and when he asked, she smiled and started stripping before they'd even made it to the bathroom.
Cramps are another thing that's different for each omega. Minho and Jisung have milder cramps that can be soothed with some scenting. Seungmin's are a little stronger and last for a longer duration, but are also relatively easily soothed. Felix, like Y/N, had horrible heats before joining the pack. He'd become so feverish that sometimes he had to be given meds, and his cramps were so horrible, he'd be doubled over in pain. While being with his mates helped it a great deal, it was still quite hard to manage sometimes.
Y/N's are pretty strong, but Felix has been keeping a hand over her lower belly when he can. If she allows him to spoon her, he presses his small hands just below her belly button, and her purrs reach a frequency that he's certain is healing him of anything he's ever experienced. This morning, as the cramps got worse, Hyunjin and Felix started to take turns resting their palms where it aches.
Her need grows gradually. Minho had her in his room this morning, and Felix thinks they cuddled because when he went to retrieve her, she smelled just like him. He was getting ready, showering in his bathroom, when Felix creaked the door open, and Y/N was awake for once, squinting eyes at her phone like the brightness was a lot.
"Good morninnnggg," he sang at her, and when she looked over to him, a grin spread across her face, "Want to cuddle?"
She nodded, but made no move to leave Minho's bed. It's then that Felix realized she had started making a nest there, and he was still groggy enough not to want to bother with moving it just yet. So he crawled into bed with her. They fell asleep again with his hands on her belly, and weren't woken up again until Hyunjin pressed the door open and crawled inside. Everyone must have already gone to work because Felix doesn't hear any distant chatter or movement around the house. All he senses is the alpha that's slowly but surely making his way up the bed, resting his cheek on Felix's belly.
When he reached his hand down to pet Hyunjin's head, he met with other fingers already caressing his scalp. That does coax Felix's eyes open, and he finds Y/N already awake again -- she hasn't been for long, if her puffy face is anything to go by. But she looked so cute that he wanted to press kisses all over her cheeks and the pout of her mouth, especially when she gave him a sleepy, sweet smile.
Felix was about to let himself melt into the mattress again, but he took one look at her and knew they would need to move the nest sooner rather than later. There was sweat beading at her temple, her eyes were a little glossier than they had been (how they get in the haze of heat), and her scent was even more prominent than it was before. He's surprised that they didn't get more stragglers in here this morning, actually, from how deeply it was beginning to embed itself in the air around them. Though he suspects Minho warned them to let her rest while she could.
"How about we move to the nesting room, hm?" Felix inquired, petting her hair out of her face, thumbing away the droplet of sweat that had trickled down her cheek, "You can finish making your pretty nest in there."
Y/N stared at him for a second, and he would think she was sleeping with her eyes open if he didn't know she was only trying to formulate a response. Sometimes the heat makes your brain feel so sludgy that it takes a second to process and respond, especially if you're prone to going nonverbal (like Felix is). Honestly, he commended her for even making the effort to speak at all.
"Channie won't mind?" She finally said, head tilted, "Since I'm not. . .pack. I don't want to ruin. . .ruin your nest."
Hyunjin, who had been silently soaking in his alone time with two omegas, made an affronted sound in his throat, "No, baby, of course not," he shook his head, a small frown on his mouth, "Chan's probably so sad he isn't here right now, he'll be stoked to see you in the nesting room when he comes back. It'll settle something in his instincts, I'm sure."
"You could never ruin our nest," Felix added, "You could only make it sweeter. Do you smell yourself?" She giggled softly.
So they carefully move everything to the nesting room, just a few doors down. It's a small room with a bathroom attached, but it serves its purpose nicely. There's a big mattress on the floor, tucked against a corner in the room to make it easier to line the edges with pillows and blankets without having to worry about it falling off. The bed itself is always covered in waterproof mattress pads and slick protective sheets, along with a couple of blankets that his mates come in to scent semi-regularly. That way, it was always available and ready for anyone who needed it.
Felix helped her construct it. At first, he was going to sit off to the side and watch her work, but she made it very clear when she shoved a pile of clothes into his hand that this was a group endeavor. Most of the things in her nest belonged to the pack, save for a couple of items she brought in her suitcase to add more of herself to it. She's a little more meticulous about some parts of the nest, like where her head would most likely be; she is very diligent about getting everyone's scent to line the top. Otherwise, she's just placing things in gaps and filling in holes.
When she bent over to grab a pillow she'd knocked down, Felix was supplied with the image of her shirt rucking up. It revealed that she had no bottoms on, which was a given, but it also revealed the huge, slick stain on her panties and the way her thighs glistened. If Hyunjin had been in here, he would've dropped to his knees and buried his face between her legs in an instant. Felix was having a really hard time not doing that himself, but he knew how annoying it was to get distracted in the middle of curating your nest. They were just lucky that Hyunjin was in the kitchen getting the sliced fruits together for Y/N to nibble on.
He may have been patient enough for her to finish building her nest; however, as soon as she crawled into the middle and smiled (indicating she was pleased with it), Felix was on her in three seconds. Hyunjin returned to the nesting room with Felix on top of her, his tongue in Y/N's mouth and his hand between her thighs. She was drenched when he slid his fingers into her panties; it was a soaking mess, and her clit was a stiff bud that he could easily flick with his thumb. She's sensitive, jumping and twitching, squeezing her thighs around him when he slips his fingers inside of her. Her walls are swollen, squeezing his fingers -- he can only imagine what his cock would feel like inside of her. The thought had him slicking down the back of his thighs.
Hyunjin whined, the plate he brought in clinking on the nightstand when he dropped onto his knees on the bed. Felix laughed against her, pulling back just in time for Hyunjin's face to be closer, "He wants kisses too," Felix told her, her lips already kiss swollen and slick with spit, "Go on, baby, he wants it so bad, look at him."
The alpha is waiting not so patiently, mouth hung open, so clearly wanting her to lick against his tongue. Y/N craned her neck to reach him, but he met her halfway, and their tongues slid against each other outside of their mouths for a little bit. Felix felt himself leak into his briefs further, both precum and slick. He finds her G-spot and pokes and prods at it, stroking against it incessantly and feeling her rock her hips up into him. His fingers aren't very big, but he's a big believer that it isn't the size that matters, but if you're able to use them. He knew that Hyunjin, Jeongin, Chris, and Seungmin had longer fingers that were knobbier and reached deeper. He also knew that none of the omegas came harder than when Felix fingered them with his small ones.
He fits three inside of her and watches them kiss. Hyunjin always kisses so messily, and Y/N matches it readily, moving her head with his, sliding her hand behind his head, and he holds onto her throat. His thumb pressed against her scent gland just as the sound of his fingers inside of her got louder, squelching, and Hyunjin moaned so loudly, you would have thought he came. Honestly, he might have, you could never be too sure with him.
When Y/N cums, she crushed Felix's hand between her soft thighs. Her whole body trembles, and she's unable to keep kissing Hyunjin, only moaning wetly and uselessly into his mouth. He worked her through it, kept fucking her while she pulsated rhythmically around his fingers, and ground her clit against his palm. When the intense pulsing turned into light, overstimulated little flutters, he slid his fingers out and brought them up to Hyunjin's lips.
He slid her slick around his mouth, on his cheeks and chin, up under his nose. Some people may find it gross, but this is Hyunjin's ideal way to spend his morning. He moaned again, sounding like he'd knotted himself, and his tongue left her mouth to find Felix's fingers, pulling them between his lips to suck on. Felix chuckles as he pets his tongue, cooing at Y/N, who watched intently.
"You want alpha to fuck you full of his knot?" Felix asked her, removing his fingers and drying them on Hyunjin's shirt, before tucking his fingers into his pajama bottoms. He started to tug down, revealing (unsurprisingly) that Hyunjin hadn't been wearing underwear, when his cock bounces and slaps up against his lower belly, smearing precum below his belly button. His knot was already starting to swell, Felix could tell, and he almost snickered. Hyunjin was so easy for it. "Hyunnie cums so much when he's keyed up, baby, you'll feel it in your belly."
They had discussed it all beforehand -- knotting and cumming inside. It was actually something Y/N had requested, admitting to them that it'd been a very long time since anyone had actually knotted her. She was on the same birth control that the entire pack took, and she showed them the paperwork to prove she's clean (though the paperwork was entirely unnecessary), so they all agreed it would be okay. And Felix knew firsthand how disappointing it could be to not have anything dripping out of you after being artificially knotted. It takes away from any post orgasmic glow you could've had.
"Yeah, I'll stuff you full," Hyunjin promised, "I'll make you squirt, then I'll eat all my cum out of you."
Y/N shivered, then scrambled to sit up, pressed at Hyunjin's shoulders so he'd roll over with his back on the bed. She straddled him, using one hand to stuff his shirt up to reveal his stomach, and the other, she reached for Felix. He slid up beside her, scented her while she whined at him, "What, what, baby, what is it?"
"Sit," she ordered, one hand pressed against Hyunjin's stomach, to the left of the pretty mole there, "His face -- sit, please."
And what could he and Hyunjin do but satisfy her every wish? She's a special guest, after all. Plus, she'd asked so nicely.
Felix hovered over Hyunjin's face after stripping down to nothing. He was the most naked of all of them, but he figured the others would be following suit sooner rather than later. Hyunjin's hands rested on Felix's pale, freckled, creamy thighs while they waited for Y/N to mount him. Technically, Felix could sit down now, but he likes the tortured sound the alpha makes when he slips inside, so he wanted to hear it without any barriers.
They both watched as Y/N's fingers slid around his shaft. Hyunjin was by far the biggest of all the alphas -- he was pretty tall, so it made sense. He said a love of slick made it grow three sizes or something stupid once, but honestly, Felix wondered if there was some truth to it because it was big and beautiful. A size queen's dream, truly. The tip was always red and readily wet, dripping from even the most minimal stimulation (or sweet words and romantic gestures -- he got love boners frequently), and led down to a girthy shaft and full, swollen balls. His pubes weren't shaved bare, but neatly trimmed, in a soft little tuft that only Jeongin could really rub the tip of his nose in ( the "having no gag reflex" shocked all of them, but with how he stuffed food into his mouth, they should've known). Right now, they were a little matted from how much he'd been leaking into them.
Felix twitched above him, leaking more slick that dribbled down his thigh. Y/N brushed her thumb over the head, then dug it into the slit, and they both listened to Hyunjin cry out because of it; his hips twitched into her palm. The sight of it was pretty -- if they'd discussed pictures beforehand, then he would have definitely pulled his phone out to take one. Her fingernails were done relatively recently (she had sent him photos after she left the salon), and they looked like glittery jelly, way too pretty against Hyunjin's already pretty cock. Especially when she sits up on her knees again, and slick slides out of her in an impressive amount, dripping down onto his cock and pubes.
He would think he's just down bad for everything to do with her, if not for Hyunjin murmuring something about wanting to paint this whole picture. Y/N let the tip nudge at her hole, rocking her hips gently until he started to slip inside of her. The sound Hyunjin made is so worth the edging Felix was doing to himself; broken and desperate, turning into this grumbled, growl that vibrated through his chest and rumbled through the room. It's only after he finished that Felix sat on his face while Y/N took more and more of him in, going quicker than Hyunjin probably would have had her go if he was the one controlling the pace.
Hyunjin immediately started to flicker his tongue against Felix's puffy rim, swollen and wet as he flattened out against it, and dragged the wet muscle over him. Warm saliva made his whole body twitch while Y/N moaned, toes curling, her fingernails digging into Hyunjin's sides as she seated herself just above his knot. He could tell she was squeezing around him, if Hyunjin's moans were anything to go by, and he imagined that if her walls were as swollen, puffy, and soaked as they had been when he was fingering her -- it must feel like paradise. And the same goes for Y/N, who he knew was being stretched so full, satiating something deep inside of her when she felt the tip pushing against her cervix.
"S'good," Y/N mewled, rutting down onto him, a whine pitched in the back of her throat, as her palm rested against her lower stomach, "Can feel you here, can feel alpha in my belly."
Hyunjin groaned, sucked on Felix's rim, and his hips bucked uselessly from below. His fingers dug into Felix's thighs as he pulled him down harder onto his face. It seemed like Felix always had to be the mindful one so Hyunjin wouldn't suffocate, because he was definitely willing to in the name of eating slick. There was almost too much stimulation for Felix, being eaten like that while he watched Y/N fuck herself on Hyunjin's cock. Her hips are clumsy and unpracticed, but it's the best thing Felix thinks he's seen all month. She leaned back, breathless, tugged her shirt up just above her belly so that Felix could visualize her getting stretched open on his boyfriend. Strings of slick and precum cling between her thighs, to her pussy, and his cock, stretching and snapping, only to stick back together. It looks like a sticky, delicious mess that he wants to stick his hands in and get his fingers wet with it.
There's a moment where she almost slipped onto his knot when Hyunjin's hips jerked again, the swell of it tugging at her entrance, but Y/N gasped and forced herself to stop. "No!" She shook her head, "Not -- not yet, need -- Lixie needs to cum."
It is once again that Felix is reminded how desperately Y/N belonged in a pack. To still be so concerned about someone else's pleasure in the throes of her own heat -- if he thought about it too much, it might bring a tear to his eye. Hyunjin's tongue wriggled against the ring of muscle that opened easily for him, and the sound that left Felix was wanton and loud. She dropped the shirt in favor of leaning forward, pretty fingers circling Felix's shaft before squeezing and milking him. It's in a pattern that's reminiscent of what he felt on his fingers when he'd been stretching her open and making her cum, and that, plus his mate's tongue licking inside him -- sent him spiraling toward the edge.
His orgasm tore through him, slicking against Hyunjin's tongue, and throbbing in Y/N's palm. He squirted cum on her belly, covered her shirt, then it dribbled down to Hyunjin's stomach, a rivulet dripping down to his slutty little waist mole, and then the rest painted milky over her knuckles. Felix was out of breath, panting a little when he raised on shaking legs to move off Hyunjin's face. Normally, he likes to stay there for a while and ride out the aftershocks of his orgasm, but as Y/N was looking out for him to cum, he wanted to look out for her. And despite the damn near shocking amount of self-restraint she had, he could see how difficult it was for her not to move.
He flopped down on the spot beside them, watched as Hyunjin caught his breath, face slick and shiny. "Thank you, baby," Felix petted the hair out of Hyunjin's face, then turned to Y/N, "And thank you too, baby. Both of you are taking care of me -- so sweet. I think it's time for you to get knotted, hm?"
Hyunjin tugged her down closer to him, gasping when Y/N squealed and probably tightened up around him. His thighs spread when he planted his feet on the mattress, and his hands grabbed onto her sides. This urged her to be chest to chest with him, their messy shirts rubbing together, though the bottom hems started to rise up, so the skin of their stomachs was touching. Felix guided her head into Hyunjin's throat where she sucked in greedy lungfuls of his scent, "Knot me," she ordered, lips moving against his skin, "Want it so bad, wanna feel you paint my insides, warm and gushy and, ah --"
"Fuck," Hyunjin growled again, grip tight on her hips as he started to fuck up into her. Each thrust of his hips upward punched a sweet moan out of her mouth, which threatened to make Felix's dick twitch again. Y/N's fingers dug into the pillow covered in Jisung's shirt beside Hyunjin's head, when his knot started catching on her walls, "Yeah, g'na stuff this pretty pussy for me. Sweet little omega, need to be full -- Jinnie will do it, Jinnie will make you full." And he must be really far gone, scent drunk and out of it if he's referring to himself in third person. 2 v 1 Hyunjin with another omega is always so much fun, because he's desperate for it, and easy. It's one of the reasons Felix wasn't pouty about Hyunjin taking off work too, to be with her, therefore interrupting his cuddle and purr time because he knew he'd have to share.
He kept fucking his knot into her until eventually, it's too swollen to tug out of her. Then Y/N's hips started to move again, grinding down on the knot inside of her, and Felix knew from experience that it was pressing into all of the right places. It's when she's locked in place that she started to cum, and he realized that her moans were muffled because she had Hyunjin's shoulder between her teeth. She milked around his knot, soaking him, and his pretty groans filled up the room while she did it. Felix has to steel himself to not get hard again so soon, even though he knew he could just get on his knees and rest his dick against Hyunjin's plush mouth (he would immediately open it -- an oral fixation and the sheer pleasure in taking care of your pack mates goes a long way) -- he didn't want to be selfish. Why would he cum twice when Y/N had cum twice? She needed to be way ahead of them -- it was only fair.
Once they'd ridden the waves of their orgasms, breath caught, but still locked together, Y/N began to purr. Both Felix and Hyunjin make delighted coos in their throat when Felix snuggled closer to them, both Y/N and Hyunjin holding out an arm so that he could tuck against them. Her eyes were closed, and her hair was a mess -- the shirt she was wearing was rumpled and definitely needed to come off. There was fruit that needed to be eaten on the plate beside them, and water that needed to be drunk.
But her body was warm, and she needed her pseudo pack mates snuggled up against her while she was knotted, it seemed. So he ignored all of that for now in favor of cuddling closer for a while (not before taking a close-up of Hyunjin's face, still covered in slick).
They all fall asleep like that. Felix is unsure how long they'd been asleep, but he does wake up to murmured voices beside him.
"No, you," Hyunjin's voice is gentle, despite how demanding he sounded, "The fruit is for you, Petal, I don't need it."
"Yes," he heard rustling, then a muffled sound from Hyunjin, and a reluctant sigh and chewing, "We both need to eat."
Hyunjin swallows, "Yes, I know we both need to eat, but it's more important that --"
"Shhh," she cut him off, "Enough."
Felix finally peeked his eyes open, squinting against the light that was now filling the room. It was warm where the sun would splice to the curtains, but since they were typically in this room, overheating, they kept the bed tucked away in the corner to avoid it. So their corner of the room is relatively cool, with a fan pointed at the mattress and the ceiling fan whipping around the top of them. Y/N was still on top of Hyunjin, but he was no longer locked with her, though she still straddled him, just a little bit above his softened cock.
The plate of food is balanced on her palm: strawberries, orange slices, watermelon, peaches, and what appears to be an avocado. Her lips are wet and glossy like she'd been eating, but Y/N is also clearly making Hyunjin eat as well. His lips are red, glossy, and sticky. There's strawberry staining the corner of his lips that Felix wanted to lick off.
"Jinnie," Felix's voice is gravelly, deep, coming straight from his chest, "Is Y/N taking care of you well?"
Hyunjin turned to face him, "She's so good at taking care of me," he agreed, and Y/N smiled, a little purr humming from her chest, "I just wish she'd keep some more for herself." Then he grabbed the fork, taking it off the plate, piercing through the little slice of avocado. He took it to her mouth, "Here," he offered, but Y/N closed her lips and turned her face. Hyunjin frowned, "What? You don't like it?"
"Hmmm." Is all she said, plucking a piece of watermelon and pressing it into her mouth instead.
"Y'know, if Minho puts something on the plate he expects you to eat it, baby."
Y/N took the fork from Hyunjin, fooled both him and Felix into thinking that she was going to eat it, before placing it back on the plate. Felix chuckled, reached blindly for his phone, and then updated the group chat to let everyone know what was going on.
She grabbed for the water herself, drinking half of the bottle before pressing it to Hyunjin's mouth. Then, before Felix could pout that Hyunjin was getting all of the attention, she reached over and grabbed another water bottle. She's a little clumsy when she unmounted Hyunjin, and Felix got a glimpse of the mess on her thighs. She opened the water and pressed the nozzle to Felix's lips, and he laughed a little, but drank, even as the water dribbled down his chin, his jaw, his neck.
"Thank you," he smiled, eyes crinkling, and Y/N chased the droplets of water sliding down his throat with her tongue. Her scent sweetened like another wave of heat was coming, and the tip of her nose pressed against his throat, huffing him like a drug. "You're very sweet, aren't you? Taking care of everyone so well. What are you gonna do when there are 8 of us, hm? Are you gonna make sure everyone's well fed?"
She hummed softly, shivering before blindly reaching for his prick and finding him half hard. Those pretty fingers work him stiffer, and he lets his hands fit around her hips, squeezing tightly. She starts to mouth at his scent gland, and he pushes more of his scent out for her, letting it swell around them, vanilla and tangerines mixing pretty, Hyunjin's own cocoa bean-like scent adding to it. Felix thinks she wanted to get scent drunk, because she doesn't move from his neck, so he makes sure that she does.
This time, instead of letting her ride, Felix flipped them over. He pressed her legs up and slid through the mess of slick and cum to push inside of her. His mouth fell open, a shaky moan left him, and Y/N curled her legs around his hips. He fucked her slow and deep, rutting inside of her, driven by the little whimper-y sounds that leave her lips. Hyunjin let them go at it for a little while alone, before he snuck his fingers between their bodies and started to pull her shirt up. He murmured something about not wanting her to overheat as he tugged it over her head, tossing it somewhere in the nest, then settled at her side. Her tits were soft and supple; Hyunjin's hands cup the one closest to him, and he fits his lips over her nipple.
Y/N came like that, and Felix feels firsthand how she pulsed and squeezed around his prick. He made a sound similar to Hyunjin's cry out when he came before. And as much as he’d like to feel her milk him through his orgasm, Felix pulls out before he cums, only because he liked to watch it paint skin, and he needed to see it in the soft pubic hair that covered her mound. Hyunjin's hand replaced her pussy as he jerked him off messily until he was squirting over her, hitting some of her tummy. Hyunjin realized what Felix wanted, though, and tilted the tip down so that it hit her pussy instead.
He sat back on his heels, using one hand to comb the hair from his face, "Ah," he sighed, using his free hand to drag his thumb over the cum, smearing it into her skin, "So pretty." Y/N nibbled on her knuckles while he did it, legs splayed open for him.
Felix had leaned in, pushed kisses against her tummy, sucking marks into the tender skin. She's quiet again, still panting, warm from the heat sweltering her body, but purring. He's unsure how long he'd been licking and biting into her salty skin when she finally speaks again.
"Innie is home."
Felix and Hyunjin both perk their heads up, and ten seconds later, they hear the front door close. How Y/N knew he was here is beyond them, but there is very little time to question it. Jeongin came to the door almost immediately, knocking softly, and despite being the baby alpha who would be more driven on instinct than reason, he carefully pressed the door open.
"Can I come in, Noona?" He inquired, "Or do you want to be alone with Jinnie and Bokkie?"
Felix smiled -- he's so polite. Y/N blinked at him, nodding, then used her hand to pat the spot to her left where Felix had been sleeping. Now that he was on top of her, though, the space was free. Jeongin grinned, dimples and all, as he kicked off his shoes and wriggled his jean shorts off his legs. When he climbed into the nest, Y/N started struggling with the shirt he was wearing, peeling it off his body. Jeongin did that laugh when he let it out, then sucked it back in while he tried to help her, finally getting it over his head.
Y/N wrangled it into a ball and pressed it to her face, dropping her head back onto the pillow. Jeongin stretched out at her side, leaning his face into his palm while he watched her, "How has she been?"
"Good," Felix answers, "Very caring and affectionate."
"So not much different than her regularly then," he grinned, then ran the tip of his thumb along the side of her face, dragging it along the shell of her ear. She leaned into it -- Jeongin's hands must be cold from outside, so it should feel really good, "Noona, I'll do whatever you need, yeah? Knot you or just cuddle, I'll just be here for the taking."
Hyunjin whined at her side, his cheek pressed against her breast, looking extra soft, mushed up to it, "Heyyy, you never offer that to me."
"That's because you're a brat when you're rutting."
Hyunjin whined again, and this spurred her fingers back into his hair, petting idly. Jeongin continued his movements, tracing designs against her heated skin. He looked over to the nightstand and hummed softly, using his other hand to press Felix's hair from his face again. Felix had planted himself on her belly, much as she'd been doing with them leading up to her heat. It was comforting, he found, that she knew what she was doing.
"Guess force-feeding the avocado wasn't working, hm?" He commented, "Minho might scold you for that, aegi."
They all knew he wouldn't. Minho is much too soft on her already. But Felix and Hyunjin, however, would surely be getting scolded.
He just hopes it's in a fun way.
Jeongin
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everyone wore themselves out before I got here
Jisung
i get why we aren't putting her in pictures but it feels like gatekeeping
can I see the top of her head please
or her ear
or eyeball like zoomed in 😣😭
Seungmin
Please, not this again, I need to focus
Jisung
wait is that my shirt on the pillow next to her head
prguitarman
origamiaround
