sup bish

STAY FOR ANOTHER DAY she/her 24 y.o gang! hey pendehoes my names Youen//YKK

[changbunnies]

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on. 

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder. 

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat. 

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room. 

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist. 

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit. 

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom. 

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real. 

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better. 

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck. 

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse. 

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this. 

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up. 

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you. 

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips. 

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to. 

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see. 

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.” 

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole. 

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him. 

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

[exoelder237]

I love being able to see my oldest likes from the top first 😩can see all the old treasures

[autumnunnie]

Oh, the irony

Lee Know x fem!reader (fluff)

synopsis : You and Minho pretend to be dating just to get a special discount for couples at a cafe, and from that day forward he decides it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend. Just for funsies, yes, ofc.

📝 writing lino is so fun he’s so tsundere-like. Also I almost named this as ‘case 143’ but I thought it wouldn’t really convey the fic vibe idk 🤷‍♀️ anyways i hope u enjoy it !! <3

tags : Lee Know x fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating as a starting point, ‘what are we’ kinda vibe, sarcasm, mixed signals (not on purpose tho, you’re both just confusing with your emotions lol), lino is referred as Minho

reminder: this is all a made-up fan-fiction just for fun!

It was hard to describe your relationship with Minho. Well, you’re friends. At least that’s what you’re supposed to be.

It was known he wasn’t that open with his emotions and always had a sarcastic comment to make instead. It was hard to tell what’s on his mind, but maybe that’s why you both clicked so well. You were more reserved yourself after all. Just like that, what began as jokes and sillyness evolved into a strong friendship like no other. Over time he became the most trustworthy person you knew. And funniest. And very, very good looking. You might also have this tiny little crush on him. But that’s only a detail, of course.

At this point, you were used to hiding what you felt. However things started getting complicated after that stupid idea. And now you couldn’t tell if he might feel the same or not.

evidence i.

“There’s a discount for couples today,” Minho commented as you both read the big letters on the cafe poster you were about to enter.

“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” you say already laughing, and the mischievous look on his face told you everything.

“It’s 35% off, that’s almost a free extra drink!” He chuckles. “Come on, I think we can be very convincing if we try,” he adds already taking your hand on his, intertwining your fingers and leading you inside. You can’t hold back the big smile that forms on your lips.

You both go straight to the attendant to ask for the promotional drinks, hoping for the best.

“Yes, our smoothies are on a special promotion for love birds,” the lady on the balcony explained politely. “Choose two flavors and you get the 35% off.”

“Great!” Minho cheered, his hand leaving yours to go firmly on your waist, bringing you closer, and you hope the way your eyes slightly widen isn’t obvious. He takes the menu. “I think I’ll go with strawberry banana. What about you, love?”

It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. Like yes, you’re ‘love’.

“Oh, I… I’d like the same as you, honey,” you say fast so you wouldn’t have to think too much, the pet name sounding strangely nice.

The woman nods as she registers your order. You’re opening your purse to get your wallet when Minho interrupts you.

“I’ll pay, don’t worry babe,” he winks, making you pause in confusion.

“Huh?” You tilt your head. You then steal a glance at the lady and remember you’re supposed to be playing along. You quickly try to disguise your surprise. “We can split, darling, I don’t mind.”

“Come on, it’s our anniversary, of course I’ll pay for us,” he improvises, already tapping his card on the payment terminal before you could protest.

“Oh, anniversary?” The lady looks up at you with curious eyes. “How long have you been together if you don’t mind me asking?”

“One year,” he replies promptly. You nod.

“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look so lovely together, I can tell just by the way you look at each other,” she compliments.

“We get that a lot,” he comments with a small laugh, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You grin to be polite, a bit too aware of his hand on you. It almost makes you miss the way his ears get redder.

“I’ll get your drinks, wait just a moment, please,” the attendant smiles as she turns her back to prepare the drinks.

“Copy cat,” Minho whispers when she’s not looking anymore. “You were supposed to choose a different flavor so I could steal from you.”

“I didn’t expect this to work, I’m nervous!” You whisper back.

“Why wouldn’t it work? You thought they’d ask us to kiss as proof or something?”

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant!” You hiss with your voice low, your cheeks getting a bit warmer.

“Here’s your order,” the friendly woman comes back with tasty smoothies, making you cease your banter immediately. “I hope you have a very special day today. You’re very lucky to have such an attentive gentleman by your side,” she says playfully glancing at you.

“Of course, thank you so much,” you shyly reply, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Minho’s face.

You sit on a table near the window, smoothies in hand. You can’t help but feel distracted by all that just happened.

“Wasn’t the discount the whole point of doing this?” You finally ask when you felt your cheeks weren’t on fire anymore.

“Yeah, she did discount it.” He shrugs with the straw between his teeth, already finished with almost one quarter of his drink.

“Then why did you pay for both of us? You ended up spending more anyways.”

He averted his eyes for a second before that smirk returned to his face. “Can’t I be a gentleman to my girlfriend?”

“We’re not actually dating,” you manage to say.

He pinched your cheek. “I got you a 100% discount, so stop complaining.”

evidence ii.

After that day at the cafe, for some unknown reason, Minho thought it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend from time to time and started using pet names nonstop. Ironically, of course, as if it was an innocent inside joke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But your heart couldn’t differentiate a joke from the real thing apparently.

That Tuesday you were at his place helping him with ideas to finish writing a sketch needed for a project which deadline was like, yesterday.

“Can you get the red pen for me, princess?” He asked you after taking some notes.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, honey,” he gave you his signature smirk before going back to writing frantically.

It all sounded like teasing, it definitely was, but it was starting to drive you crazy. Minho’s mixed signals were getting to you, and you couldn’t tell anymore if that was his way of flirting or if he was messing around as usual.

“Shoot, Chan’s already coming to get this paper,” Minho woke you up from your thoughts as soon as his phone screen lightens up with a notification. “He’s gonna nag at me the whole day if this isn’t done when he gets here…”

“You kinda deserve it,” you chuckle.

“It’s not like he didn’t finish his part on the last minute either,” he pouts, still writing.

“Ask him to buy snacks or cat food on his way,” you suggest. “That will buy you at least 15 minutes to finish it.”

“Ooh, genius,” he snapped his fingers and quickly picked up his phone to type the message to Chan, but not without teasing you first. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, huh?”

You didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted. He glanced at you and immediately laughed at your expression.

“Can you at least thank me properly for saving you here?” You lightly push his shoulder as retort, the tips of your ears redder.

He looks up at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You know I’m just messing with you.” The corners of this mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “I’m aware you’re very smart and you’re really, really helping me a lot today. Even if you didn’t have to, you are,” he emphasizes in a sincere tone, carefully tucking a hair strand behind your ear, fond eyes looking straight into yours.

“Of course,” you play it off, trying not to sound as shy as you were getting. “You’ve helped me a lot before too so… It’s only natural.”

“Hm-hum. We’re partners in crime,” he nods, and pauses as if he realizes what he just said. He then gives you a look, his smirk making a return. “Who else would I call in this situation if not my beautiful lover?”

Oh, this again.

“Yeah, sure. Now finish this quickly before Chan gets here,” you chuckle, trying to disguise the way your heart skipped a beat.

evidence iii.

“Horror movie? I’m not sure…” You mumble as you both stand at the movie theater entrance, Minho’s film suggestion not being exactly to your taste.

“This one is not that scary, it’s just a bunch of silly jumpscares. Come on, it will be fun! I’ll even let you embrace me if you’re that terrified, since I’m so reliable.” He bumps your shoulder trying to convince you. “Seriously, you’ll like this one, I promise!”

“You’re insufferable.”

You end up agreeing to go anyways.

He guided you to the tickets balcony with a hand securely on your shoulder. The attendant showed you the available seats on the computer screen. It wasn’t sold out, but it wasn’t empty either, so you still had a few options to choose from.

“Wanna get the seats for couples in the back?” He suddenly suggested.

You knew what he was talking about. The last seats on that movie theater were reserved for couples because you could fold up the center armrests in order to cuddle your partner closer. Now why was he offering that.

You turned to look at him, and he playfully lifted his eyebrows at you. Gosh. He was just teasing you wasn’t he. Why would you cuddle in a horror movie session anyway.

“No thanks,” you answer without thinking, but your heart was thumping on your ears. “Let’s just stick to the seats next to the stairs,” you say, avoiding his eyes this time.

“Pshh, you’re no fun,” he breathes out a small laugh, but selects the seats you picked anyways. He went a bit quieter as he bought popcorn. Meanwhile, you just stood there not sure how unserious he was with all of this.

You couldn’t really focus on the movie that day.

And he didn’t try anything the whole session besides laughing when you got scared.

evidence iv.

“I kinda missed you,” he said with a genuine smile when you bumped into each other by coincidence.

“It’s been barely a week,” you shrugged, trying to keep it together.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”

Yeah, sure.

You sigh. How you wish this could be true. But what if you speak up your mind and make a fool out of yourself? Would it ruin your friendship? What if he laughed at your face?? One hundred different scenarios go through your head to make you give up. …but suddenly your eyes lighten up as an idea came to mind. If he was just teasing you, you could correspond jokingly as well. Just to test the waters.

“If you wanted to see me that much you could have asked me out on a date.”

He stiffens instantly, like he didn’t expect you to actually play along. You never did until now.

“Date?” He echoes just to make sure, eyes slightly widened.

“Yes, honey. That’s what lovers usually do.”

“Really?” He tilts his head, trying to get the teasing tone back to his voice without much success. “So you won’t run off if I ask you out?”

“Run off? You’re ridiculous,” you can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, but you try to stay in character. “Why would I? We’ve been on dates before, haven’t we? The movies and that cafe.”

“…I see.” He finally nod, a tint of red coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, and you could swear you’ve never seen him act so shy, his behavior changing so suddenly. “In that case, would you like to go out with me? I could… pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

You felt like your heart was going to burst.

evidence v.

That day, there weren’t pet names. There weren’t couple jokes either. Actually, you were both a bit tense about the date.

“You know, I chose the cat cafe in hopes it wouldn’t be so awkward but I guess it didn’t work,” he says eventually with an embarassed laugh.

“No, it did work, the cats are cute,” you say quickly while caressing the feline sitting next to you. “I’m just a little distracted today.” A beat. “You’re also quieter.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, eyeing the kitten sleeping close to his leg.

“Yet you’re the one who was entertaining the whole lovers thing the most,” you comment. “I thought you’d be full of that today.”

“Well, yes, I was. But actually, I wanted to tell you that... How do I say it…” he bites his lip. “Today isn’t just teasing or playing pretend. I meant it when I asked you out.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. “I know,” you nodded. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” His tone softens. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the idea since you were kinda pushing me away,” he admits as he fidgets with the straw of his drink.

“What? No, I wasn’t! Really,” you immediately try to explain, the cat next to you meowing in complain of your sudden move. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve actually been overthinking it because I didn’t know whether it was all just a joke or if there was something more to it, so I was afraid of… you know… playing along and end up liking you even more to the point there wasn’t going back anymore,” you quietly finish.

He finally meets your eyes, taking a moment to really look at you.

“…That was the risk I was taking too.”

Your breath catches on your throat. He notices your silence and speaks again.

“I started this couple play-pretend thing because… You know.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “It felt like this way I could say and do all that stuff without scaring you off or sounding weird. Since we’ve been close friends for so long.”

Oh. Oh my.

“It wouldn’t sound weird. It would have worked from the beginning if you were just honest,” you say sheepishly, still trying to process his words.

“Yeah, I realize it now from that cute blush of yours,” he points out, making you redder.

“Oh, shut up,” you look down at the cat peacefully lying beside you again. There was a new feeling blooming in your chest. Giddy, fresh and safe, all at the same time.

“So…” he clears his throat. “May I take you to that cafe again this week? So we can get another couple discount and so I can do things for real this time. No play-pretends.”

And just like this, that excited, insistent smile you’ve been trying to hold back appears on your lips.

“…Will I get that 100% discount again?” You can’t help but tease.

“Sure, pretty.” He breathes out a laugh, not hiding his heart eyes either.

— ahhh this was longer than I expected but it’s kinda rushed at the same time..? anyways i think I’m happy with how it turned out ig dkdndjdj Lemme know what u guys think :))

— masterlist

— taglist @niku0704

[autumnunnie]

Oh, the irony

Lee Know x fem!reader (fluff)

synopsis : You and Minho pretend to be dating just to get a special discount for couples at a cafe, and from that day forward he decides it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend. Just for funsies, yes, ofc.

📝 writing lino is so fun he’s so tsundere-like. Also I almost named this as ‘case 143’ but I thought it wouldn’t really convey the fic vibe idk 🤷‍♀️ anyways i hope u enjoy it !! <3

tags : Lee Know x fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating as a starting point, ‘what are we’ kinda vibe, sarcasm, mixed signals (not on purpose tho, you’re both just confusing with your emotions lol), lino is referred as Minho

reminder: this is all a made-up fan-fiction just for fun!

It was hard to describe your relationship with Minho. Well, you’re friends. At least that’s what you’re supposed to be.

It was known he wasn’t that open with his emotions and always had a sarcastic comment to make instead. It was hard to tell what’s on his mind, but maybe that’s why you both clicked so well. You were more reserved yourself after all. Just like that, what began as jokes and sillyness evolved into a strong friendship like no other. Over time he became the most trustworthy person you knew. And funniest. And very, very good looking. You might also have this tiny little crush on him. But that’s only a detail, of course.

At this point, you were used to hiding what you felt. However things started getting complicated after that stupid idea. And now you couldn’t tell if he might feel the same or not.

evidence i.

“There’s a discount for couples today,” Minho commented as you both read the big letters on the cafe poster you were about to enter.

“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” you say already laughing, and the mischievous look on his face told you everything.

“It’s 35% off, that’s almost a free extra drink!” He chuckles. “Come on, I think we can be very convincing if we try,” he adds already taking your hand on his, intertwining your fingers and leading you inside. You can’t hold back the big smile that forms on your lips.

You both go straight to the attendant to ask for the promotional drinks, hoping for the best.

“Yes, our smoothies are on a special promotion for love birds,” the lady on the balcony explained politely. “Choose two flavors and you get the 35% off.”

“Great!” Minho cheered, his hand leaving yours to go firmly on your waist, bringing you closer, and you hope the way your eyes slightly widen isn’t obvious. He takes the menu. “I think I’ll go with strawberry banana. What about you, love?”

It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. Like yes, you’re ‘love’.

“Oh, I… I’d like the same as you, honey,” you say fast so you wouldn’t have to think too much, the pet name sounding strangely nice.

The woman nods as she registers your order. You’re opening your purse to get your wallet when Minho interrupts you.

“I’ll pay, don’t worry babe,” he winks, making you pause in confusion.

“Huh?” You tilt your head. You then steal a glance at the lady and remember you’re supposed to be playing along. You quickly try to disguise your surprise. “We can split, darling, I don’t mind.”

“Come on, it’s our anniversary, of course I’ll pay for us,” he improvises, already tapping his card on the payment terminal before you could protest.

“Oh, anniversary?” The lady looks up at you with curious eyes. “How long have you been together if you don’t mind me asking?”

“One year,” he replies promptly. You nod.

“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look so lovely together, I can tell just by the way you look at each other,” she compliments.

“We get that a lot,” he comments with a small laugh, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You grin to be polite, a bit too aware of his hand on you. It almost makes you miss the way his ears get redder.

“I’ll get your drinks, wait just a moment, please,” the attendant smiles as she turns her back to prepare the drinks.

“Copy cat,” Minho whispers when she’s not looking anymore. “You were supposed to choose a different flavor so I could steal from you.”

“I didn’t expect this to work, I’m nervous!” You whisper back.

“Why wouldn’t it work? You thought they’d ask us to kiss as proof or something?”

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant!” You hiss with your voice low, your cheeks getting a bit warmer.

“Here’s your order,” the friendly woman comes back with tasty smoothies, making you cease your banter immediately. “I hope you have a very special day today. You’re very lucky to have such an attentive gentleman by your side,” she says playfully glancing at you.

“Of course, thank you so much,” you shyly reply, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Minho’s face.

You sit on a table near the window, smoothies in hand. You can’t help but feel distracted by all that just happened.

“Wasn’t the discount the whole point of doing this?” You finally ask when you felt your cheeks weren’t on fire anymore.

“Yeah, she did discount it.” He shrugs with the straw between his teeth, already finished with almost one quarter of his drink.

“Then why did you pay for both of us? You ended up spending more anyways.”

He averted his eyes for a second before that smirk returned to his face. “Can’t I be a gentleman to my girlfriend?”

“We’re not actually dating,” you manage to say.

He pinched your cheek. “I got you a 100% discount, so stop complaining.”

evidence ii.

After that day at the cafe, for some unknown reason, Minho thought it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend from time to time and started using pet names nonstop. Ironically, of course, as if it was an innocent inside joke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But your heart couldn’t differentiate a joke from the real thing apparently.

That Tuesday you were at his place helping him with ideas to finish writing a sketch needed for a project which deadline was like, yesterday.

“Can you get the red pen for me, princess?” He asked you after taking some notes.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, honey,” he gave you his signature smirk before going back to writing frantically.

It all sounded like teasing, it definitely was, but it was starting to drive you crazy. Minho’s mixed signals were getting to you, and you couldn’t tell anymore if that was his way of flirting or if he was messing around as usual.

“Shoot, Chan’s already coming to get this paper,” Minho woke you up from your thoughts as soon as his phone screen lightens up with a notification. “He’s gonna nag at me the whole day if this isn’t done when he gets here…”

“You kinda deserve it,” you chuckle.

“It’s not like he didn’t finish his part on the last minute either,” he pouts, still writing.

“Ask him to buy snacks or cat food on his way,” you suggest. “That will buy you at least 15 minutes to finish it.”

“Ooh, genius,” he snapped his fingers and quickly picked up his phone to type the message to Chan, but not without teasing you first. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, huh?”

You didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted. He glanced at you and immediately laughed at your expression.

“Can you at least thank me properly for saving you here?” You lightly push his shoulder as retort, the tips of your ears redder.

He looks up at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You know I’m just messing with you.” The corners of this mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “I’m aware you’re very smart and you’re really, really helping me a lot today. Even if you didn’t have to, you are,” he emphasizes in a sincere tone, carefully tucking a hair strand behind your ear, fond eyes looking straight into yours.

“Of course,” you play it off, trying not to sound as shy as you were getting. “You’ve helped me a lot before too so… It’s only natural.”

“Hm-hum. We’re partners in crime,” he nods, and pauses as if he realizes what he just said. He then gives you a look, his smirk making a return. “Who else would I call in this situation if not my beautiful lover?”

Oh, this again.

“Yeah, sure. Now finish this quickly before Chan gets here,” you chuckle, trying to disguise the way your heart skipped a beat.

evidence iii.

“Horror movie? I’m not sure…” You mumble as you both stand at the movie theater entrance, Minho’s film suggestion not being exactly to your taste.

“This one is not that scary, it’s just a bunch of silly jumpscares. Come on, it will be fun! I’ll even let you embrace me if you’re that terrified, since I’m so reliable.” He bumps your shoulder trying to convince you. “Seriously, you’ll like this one, I promise!”

“You’re insufferable.”

You end up agreeing to go anyways.

He guided you to the tickets balcony with a hand securely on your shoulder. The attendant showed you the available seats on the computer screen. It wasn’t sold out, but it wasn’t empty either, so you still had a few options to choose from.

“Wanna get the seats for couples in the back?” He suddenly suggested.

You knew what he was talking about. The last seats on that movie theater were reserved for couples because you could fold up the center armrests in order to cuddle your partner closer. Now why was he offering that.

You turned to look at him, and he playfully lifted his eyebrows at you. Gosh. He was just teasing you wasn’t he. Why would you cuddle in a horror movie session anyway.

“No thanks,” you answer without thinking, but your heart was thumping on your ears. “Let’s just stick to the seats next to the stairs,” you say, avoiding his eyes this time.

“Pshh, you’re no fun,” he breathes out a small laugh, but selects the seats you picked anyways. He went a bit quieter as he bought popcorn. Meanwhile, you just stood there not sure how unserious he was with all of this.

You couldn’t really focus on the movie that day.

And he didn’t try anything the whole session besides laughing when you got scared.

evidence iv.

“I kinda missed you,” he said with a genuine smile when you bumped into each other by coincidence.

“It’s been barely a week,” you shrugged, trying to keep it together.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”

Yeah, sure.

You sigh. How you wish this could be true. But what if you speak up your mind and make a fool out of yourself? Would it ruin your friendship? What if he laughed at your face?? One hundred different scenarios go through your head to make you give up. …but suddenly your eyes lighten up as an idea came to mind. If he was just teasing you, you could correspond jokingly as well. Just to test the waters.

“If you wanted to see me that much you could have asked me out on a date.”

He stiffens instantly, like he didn’t expect you to actually play along. You never did until now.

“Date?” He echoes just to make sure, eyes slightly widened.

“Yes, honey. That’s what lovers usually do.”

“Really?” He tilts his head, trying to get the teasing tone back to his voice without much success. “So you won’t run off if I ask you out?”

“Run off? You’re ridiculous,” you can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, but you try to stay in character. “Why would I? We’ve been on dates before, haven’t we? The movies and that cafe.”

“…I see.” He finally nod, a tint of red coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, and you could swear you’ve never seen him act so shy, his behavior changing so suddenly. “In that case, would you like to go out with me? I could… pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

You felt like your heart was going to burst.

evidence v.

That day, there weren’t pet names. There weren’t couple jokes either. Actually, you were both a bit tense about the date.

“You know, I chose the cat cafe in hopes it wouldn’t be so awkward but I guess it didn’t work,” he says eventually with an embarassed laugh.

“No, it did work, the cats are cute,” you say quickly while caressing the feline sitting next to you. “I’m just a little distracted today.” A beat. “You’re also quieter.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, eyeing the kitten sleeping close to his leg.

“Yet you’re the one who was entertaining the whole lovers thing the most,” you comment. “I thought you’d be full of that today.”

“Well, yes, I was. But actually, I wanted to tell you that... How do I say it…” he bites his lip. “Today isn’t just teasing or playing pretend. I meant it when I asked you out.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. “I know,” you nodded. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” His tone softens. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the idea since you were kinda pushing me away,” he admits as he fidgets with the straw of his drink.

“What? No, I wasn’t! Really,” you immediately try to explain, the cat next to you meowing in complain of your sudden move. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve actually been overthinking it because I didn’t know whether it was all just a joke or if there was something more to it, so I was afraid of… you know… playing along and end up liking you even more to the point there wasn’t going back anymore,” you quietly finish.

He finally meets your eyes, taking a moment to really look at you.

“…That was the risk I was taking too.”

Your breath catches on your throat. He notices your silence and speaks again.

“I started this couple play-pretend thing because… You know.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “It felt like this way I could say and do all that stuff without scaring you off or sounding weird. Since we’ve been close friends for so long.”

Oh. Oh my.

“It wouldn’t sound weird. It would have worked from the beginning if you were just honest,” you say sheepishly, still trying to process his words.

“Yeah, I realize it now from that cute blush of yours,” he points out, making you redder.

“Oh, shut up,” you look down at the cat peacefully lying beside you again. There was a new feeling blooming in your chest. Giddy, fresh and safe, all at the same time.

“So…” he clears his throat. “May I take you to that cafe again this week? So we can get another couple discount and so I can do things for real this time. No play-pretends.”

And just like this, that excited, insistent smile you’ve been trying to hold back appears on your lips.

“…Will I get that 100% discount again?” You can’t help but tease.

“Sure, pretty.” He breathes out a laugh, not hiding his heart eyes either.

— ahhh this was longer than I expected but it’s kinda rushed at the same time..? anyways i think I’m happy with how it turned out ig dkdndjdj Lemme know what u guys think :))

— masterlist

— taglist @niku0704

[autumnunnie]

Oh, the irony

Lee Know x fem!reader (fluff)

synopsis : You and Minho pretend to be dating just to get a special discount for couples at a cafe, and from that day forward he decides it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend. Just for funsies, yes, ofc.

📝 writing lino is so fun he’s so tsundere-like. Also I almost named this as ‘case 143’ but I thought it wouldn’t really convey the fic vibe idk 🤷‍♀️ anyways i hope u enjoy it !! <3

tags : Lee Know x fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating as a starting point, ‘what are we’ kinda vibe, sarcasm, mixed signals (not on purpose tho, you’re both just confusing with your emotions lol), lino is referred as Minho

reminder: this is all a made-up fan-fiction just for fun!

It was hard to describe your relationship with Minho. Well, you’re friends. At least that’s what you’re supposed to be.

It was known he wasn’t that open with his emotions and always had a sarcastic comment to make instead. It was hard to tell what’s on his mind, but maybe that’s why you both clicked so well. You were more reserved yourself after all. Just like that, what began as jokes and sillyness evolved into a strong friendship like no other. Over time he became the most trustworthy person you knew. And funniest. And very, very good looking. You might also have this tiny little crush on him. But that’s only a detail, of course.

At this point, you were used to hiding what you felt. However things started getting complicated after that stupid idea. And now you couldn’t tell if he might feel the same or not.

evidence i.

“There’s a discount for couples today,” Minho commented as you both read the big letters on the cafe poster you were about to enter.

“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” you say already laughing, and the mischievous look on his face told you everything.

“It’s 35% off, that’s almost a free extra drink!” He chuckles. “Come on, I think we can be very convincing if we try,” he adds already taking your hand on his, intertwining your fingers and leading you inside. You can’t hold back the big smile that forms on your lips.

You both go straight to the attendant to ask for the promotional drinks, hoping for the best.

“Yes, our smoothies are on a special promotion for love birds,” the lady on the balcony explained politely. “Choose two flavors and you get the 35% off.”

“Great!” Minho cheered, his hand leaving yours to go firmly on your waist, bringing you closer, and you hope the way your eyes slightly widen isn’t obvious. He takes the menu. “I think I’ll go with strawberry banana. What about you, love?”

It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. Like yes, you’re ‘love’.

“Oh, I… I’d like the same as you, honey,” you say fast so you wouldn’t have to think too much, the pet name sounding strangely nice.

The woman nods as she registers your order. You’re opening your purse to get your wallet when Minho interrupts you.

“I’ll pay, don’t worry babe,” he winks, making you pause in confusion.

“Huh?” You tilt your head. You then steal a glance at the lady and remember you’re supposed to be playing along. You quickly try to disguise your surprise. “We can split, darling, I don’t mind.”

“Come on, it’s our anniversary, of course I’ll pay for us,” he improvises, already tapping his card on the payment terminal before you could protest.

“Oh, anniversary?” The lady looks up at you with curious eyes. “How long have you been together if you don’t mind me asking?”

“One year,” he replies promptly. You nod.

“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look so lovely together, I can tell just by the way you look at each other,” she compliments.

“We get that a lot,” he comments with a small laugh, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You grin to be polite, a bit too aware of his hand on you. It almost makes you miss the way his ears get redder.

“I’ll get your drinks, wait just a moment, please,” the attendant smiles as she turns her back to prepare the drinks.

“Copy cat,” Minho whispers when she’s not looking anymore. “You were supposed to choose a different flavor so I could steal from you.”

“I didn’t expect this to work, I’m nervous!” You whisper back.

“Why wouldn’t it work? You thought they’d ask us to kiss as proof or something?”

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant!” You hiss with your voice low, your cheeks getting a bit warmer.

“Here’s your order,” the friendly woman comes back with tasty smoothies, making you cease your banter immediately. “I hope you have a very special day today. You’re very lucky to have such an attentive gentleman by your side,” she says playfully glancing at you.

“Of course, thank you so much,” you shyly reply, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Minho’s face.

You sit on a table near the window, smoothies in hand. You can’t help but feel distracted by all that just happened.

“Wasn’t the discount the whole point of doing this?” You finally ask when you felt your cheeks weren’t on fire anymore.

“Yeah, she did discount it.” He shrugs with the straw between his teeth, already finished with almost one quarter of his drink.

“Then why did you pay for both of us? You ended up spending more anyways.”

He averted his eyes for a second before that smirk returned to his face. “Can’t I be a gentleman to my girlfriend?”

“We’re not actually dating,” you manage to say.

He pinched your cheek. “I got you a 100% discount, so stop complaining.”

evidence ii.

After that day at the cafe, for some unknown reason, Minho thought it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend from time to time and started using pet names nonstop. Ironically, of course, as if it was an innocent inside joke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But your heart couldn’t differentiate a joke from the real thing apparently.

That Tuesday you were at his place helping him with ideas to finish writing a sketch needed for a project which deadline was like, yesterday.

“Can you get the red pen for me, princess?” He asked you after taking some notes.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, honey,” he gave you his signature smirk before going back to writing frantically.

It all sounded like teasing, it definitely was, but it was starting to drive you crazy. Minho’s mixed signals were getting to you, and you couldn’t tell anymore if that was his way of flirting or if he was messing around as usual.

“Shoot, Chan’s already coming to get this paper,” Minho woke you up from your thoughts as soon as his phone screen lightens up with a notification. “He’s gonna nag at me the whole day if this isn’t done when he gets here…”

“You kinda deserve it,” you chuckle.

“It’s not like he didn’t finish his part on the last minute either,” he pouts, still writing.

“Ask him to buy snacks or cat food on his way,” you suggest. “That will buy you at least 15 minutes to finish it.”

“Ooh, genius,” he snapped his fingers and quickly picked up his phone to type the message to Chan, but not without teasing you first. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, huh?”

You didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted. He glanced at you and immediately laughed at your expression.

“Can you at least thank me properly for saving you here?” You lightly push his shoulder as retort, the tips of your ears redder.

He looks up at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You know I’m just messing with you.” The corners of this mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “I’m aware you’re very smart and you’re really, really helping me a lot today. Even if you didn’t have to, you are,” he emphasizes in a sincere tone, carefully tucking a hair strand behind your ear, fond eyes looking straight into yours.

“Of course,” you play it off, trying not to sound as shy as you were getting. “You’ve helped me a lot before too so… It’s only natural.”

“Hm-hum. We’re partners in crime,” he nods, and pauses as if he realizes what he just said. He then gives you a look, his smirk making a return. “Who else would I call in this situation if not my beautiful lover?”

Oh, this again.

“Yeah, sure. Now finish this quickly before Chan gets here,” you chuckle, trying to disguise the way your heart skipped a beat.

evidence iii.

“Horror movie? I’m not sure…” You mumble as you both stand at the movie theater entrance, Minho’s film suggestion not being exactly to your taste.

“This one is not that scary, it’s just a bunch of silly jumpscares. Come on, it will be fun! I’ll even let you embrace me if you’re that terrified, since I’m so reliable.” He bumps your shoulder trying to convince you. “Seriously, you’ll like this one, I promise!”

“You’re insufferable.”

You end up agreeing to go anyways.

He guided you to the tickets balcony with a hand securely on your shoulder. The attendant showed you the available seats on the computer screen. It wasn’t sold out, but it wasn’t empty either, so you still had a few options to choose from.

“Wanna get the seats for couples in the back?” He suddenly suggested.

You knew what he was talking about. The last seats on that movie theater were reserved for couples because you could fold up the center armrests in order to cuddle your partner closer. Now why was he offering that.

You turned to look at him, and he playfully lifted his eyebrows at you. Gosh. He was just teasing you wasn’t he. Why would you cuddle in a horror movie session anyway.

“No thanks,” you answer without thinking, but your heart was thumping on your ears. “Let’s just stick to the seats next to the stairs,” you say, avoiding his eyes this time.

“Pshh, you’re no fun,” he breathes out a small laugh, but selects the seats you picked anyways. He went a bit quieter as he bought popcorn. Meanwhile, you just stood there not sure how unserious he was with all of this.

You couldn’t really focus on the movie that day.

And he didn’t try anything the whole session besides laughing when you got scared.

evidence iv.

“I kinda missed you,” he said with a genuine smile when you bumped into each other by coincidence.

“It’s been barely a week,” you shrugged, trying to keep it together.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”

Yeah, sure.

You sigh. How you wish this could be true. But what if you speak up your mind and make a fool out of yourself? Would it ruin your friendship? What if he laughed at your face?? One hundred different scenarios go through your head to make you give up. …but suddenly your eyes lighten up as an idea came to mind. If he was just teasing you, you could correspond jokingly as well. Just to test the waters.

“If you wanted to see me that much you could have asked me out on a date.”

He stiffens instantly, like he didn’t expect you to actually play along. You never did until now.

“Date?” He echoes just to make sure, eyes slightly widened.

“Yes, honey. That’s what lovers usually do.”

“Really?” He tilts his head, trying to get the teasing tone back to his voice without much success. “So you won’t run off if I ask you out?”

“Run off? You’re ridiculous,” you can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, but you try to stay in character. “Why would I? We’ve been on dates before, haven’t we? The movies and that cafe.”

“…I see.” He finally nod, a tint of red coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, and you could swear you’ve never seen him act so shy, his behavior changing so suddenly. “In that case, would you like to go out with me? I could… pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

You felt like your heart was going to burst.

evidence v.

That day, there weren’t pet names. There weren’t couple jokes either. Actually, you were both a bit tense about the date.

“You know, I chose the cat cafe in hopes it wouldn’t be so awkward but I guess it didn’t work,” he says eventually with an embarassed laugh.

“No, it did work, the cats are cute,” you say quickly while caressing the feline sitting next to you. “I’m just a little distracted today.” A beat. “You’re also quieter.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, eyeing the kitten sleeping close to his leg.

“Yet you’re the one who was entertaining the whole lovers thing the most,” you comment. “I thought you’d be full of that today.”

“Well, yes, I was. But actually, I wanted to tell you that... How do I say it…” he bites his lip. “Today isn’t just teasing or playing pretend. I meant it when I asked you out.”

You feel your heart skip a beat. “I know,” you nodded. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” His tone softens. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the idea since you were kinda pushing me away,” he admits as he fidgets with the straw of his drink.

“What? No, I wasn’t! Really,” you immediately try to explain, the cat next to you meowing in complain of your sudden move. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve actually been overthinking it because I didn’t know whether it was all just a joke or if there was something more to it, so I was afraid of… you know… playing along and end up liking you even more to the point there wasn’t going back anymore,” you quietly finish.

He finally meets your eyes, taking a moment to really look at you.

“…That was the risk I was taking too.”

Your breath catches on your throat. He notices your silence and speaks again.

“I started this couple play-pretend thing because… You know.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “It felt like this way I could say and do all that stuff without scaring you off or sounding weird. Since we’ve been close friends for so long.”

Oh. Oh my.

“It wouldn’t sound weird. It would have worked from the beginning if you were just honest,” you say sheepishly, still trying to process his words.

“Yeah, I realize it now from that cute blush of yours,” he points out, making you redder.

“Oh, shut up,” you look down at the cat peacefully lying beside you again. There was a new feeling blooming in your chest. Giddy, fresh and safe, all at the same time.

“So…” he clears his throat. “May I take you to that cafe again this week? So we can get another couple discount and so I can do things for real this time. No play-pretends.”

And just like this, that excited, insistent smile you’ve been trying to hold back appears on your lips.

“…Will I get that 100% discount again?” You can’t help but tease.

“Sure, pretty.” He breathes out a laugh, not hiding his heart eyes either.

— ahhh this was longer than I expected but it’s kinda rushed at the same time..? anyways i think I’m happy with how it turned out ig dkdndjdj Lemme know what u guys think :))

— masterlist

— taglist @niku0704

[sssoulesss]

──── sweet boy, wild lover ⧽ lee felix ( 필릭스 ) ⸝⸝

╰ 필릭스 x fem!reader • wc. fingering, squirting, use of pet names, oral sex (f. receiving) 𑣲

felix was the dream boyfriend—literally.

he treated you like absolute royalty, ensuring you never had to lift a finger if he could help it.

he howered you with clothes, makeup, flowers, and expensive gifts.

no matter how many times you scolded him for his extravagant spending, he would simply wave you off with a soft smile, murmuring that you were his girl and he intended to spoil you until his last breath.

to say the man was whipped would be a massive understatement.

whenever his friends were around, they’d loudly groan about what a hopeless, disgustingly soft lover boy he became the second you walked into the room.

it wasn't even like you were trying, you just existed, looking effortlessly breathtaking without doing a single thing.

but looking at him now, you had to wonder what had become of that sweet, angelic boy.

right now, buried deep in your mattress with your hands desperately gripping his hair, you were crying out his name.

the sheer intensity of the pleasure he was delivering stripped away everything else, until you couldn't even remember your own name.

"ff-fuck, lix..." tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you tightened your hold on his scalp, drawing a low, ragged groan from his throat.

he was devouring you like a starving man, his grip on your thighs unyielding, pinning them wide open so you couldn't close them even a fraction of an inch. he showed absolutely no mercy in bed. he could be the gentlest soul in the world outside, but inside the bedroom, a switch flipped.

"you like it when my fingers are buried deep inside you, hm?" he hummed.

now up on his knees, his knuckles drove deep against your walls, relentlessly striking the sensitive, spongy spot that made you see stars with every thrust. his usually sweet, warm eyes had gone pitch black, entirely consumed by lust as he held your gaze through his heavy breathing.

you couldn't answer. the words trapped themselves in your throat, leaving you to do nothing but whimper, mouth parted and eyes rolling back. you tried to slow his relentless pace by wrapping your hand around his wrist, but your strength was nothing against his momentum.

seeing that he wasn't getting the verbal answer he wanted, he brought his palm down in a sharp smack against your soaked center. your breath caught, a fresh wave of heat slicking the sheets beneath you as your legs began to tremble violently. you let out a shattered cry, tears finally spilling down your cheeks.

"answer me, baby. I can do this all night," he breathed, his voice a dark, velvety purr right against your ear.

"y-yes! please... you're so deep, lixie..." you sobbed out, feeling the vibration of his satisfied hum vibrate against your skin.

"fuck, look at that. look at the way you're dripping just for me," he muttered, his rhythm quickening to a pace you didn't think was humanly possible. "sshit, look at you. you're soaking the entire bed, sunny."

at his words, a sudden, heavy warmth bloomed in your lower belly—a sharp, swelling pressure that made your core tighten instinctively.

"w-wait, i..." you tried to warn him, but the overwhelming sensation cut you off entirely.

the dam broke. you arched off the bed, squirting violently over his hand, the hot moisture slicking your thighs and his fingers, making an absolute mess of the sheets beneath you.

felix’s eyes widened, darkening with a primal, predatory hunger.

before you could even register he dropped his head back down, pressing his lips flush against your pulsing folds, greedily lapping up the slick ruin he had made of you.

you let out a breathless scream, weakly pushing at his shoulders in a futile attempt to back away from the overstimulation.

his tongue was relentless, sweeping over your sensitive skin and nipping lightly at your throbbing core.

your legs shook uncontrollably, entirely spent, leaving you completely at his mercy as he kept your thighs pinned wide.

finally, he pulled back, rising to his knees. his gaze lingered on your wet center before slowly traveling up to meet your face. his lips were swollen and flushed red, a stray drop of your moisture clinging to his chin before he swept his tongue out to lick his lips.

leaning forward, he slid his body over yours to capture your mouth. the kiss was a contradiction—sweet but possessive, a violent clash of tongues as you fought for dominance against him, yielding to the intoxicating taste of yourself on his lips.

"so good, baby. so, so good," he murmured against your skin, pulling away to press soft kisses along your collarbone and neck while his hand gently stroked the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

your breathing gradually slowed, your heavy eyelids fluttering open. gathering the absolute last shred of energy in your body, you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him back down for another deep, lingering kiss.

"you okay, sunny?" he asked the moment his lips parted from yours. he looked down at you, his gaze searching yours with genuine, tender concern as he waited for your nod.

you gave a weak nod, your eyelids instantly dropping from sheer exhaustion. even without actually taking you, he had completely undone you with nothing but his fingers and tongue.

"i've got you, baby. jus’ relax now, okay?" he whispered softly, kissing your forehead before slipping out of bed.

he padded down the hallway to the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a warm, damp cloth. he cleaned you up with meticulous care, his touch incredibly light and gentle, knowing how sensitive you were in the aftermath. you let out a soft, appreciative hum, murmuring a quiet thank you as exhaustion finally dragged you under.

by the time he tossed the soiled cloth into the hamper and slid back under the covers, you were already fast asleep.

a fond, quiet smile tugged at felix's lips. he pulled the heavy comforter up over both of your shoulders, settling into the mattress and spooning you closely from behind. he wrapped an arm around your waist, his hand resting flat against your stomach, pulling you flush against his chest.

"g’night, sunny," he whispered into the dark, holding you tight—looking every bit the innocent, devoted boyfriend, as if he hadn't just completely ruined your ability to walk for the next three days.

© sssoulesss

a/n ⋮ a lil quick smut with yongbokkie 🫧

[ybklix]

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑

★ pairing: subneedy-slightly inexperienced!felix x horny fem!reader

✦summary: Temptation and lust take over Felix when he meets you; he is a young adult with an angel face who really is an angel, he is a naive and kind man who moves to a new neighborhood and has to change his usual church as it is part of his routine and hobby. You have an angel face with intense feelings and hidden thoughts worthy of the red bad man from hell himself, you can't wait to satiated your deepest desires with the new pretty boy you met at church. Making Felix sin, over and over again.

♡ warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, daddy kink, teasing, handjob, masturbation, oral sex, sex in the church (sorry), boobplay, multiple orgasms, fingering, faceriding, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, slight aftercare.

word count: 8.2k (i may need to learn how stfu)

MASTERLIST — TAGLIST FORMS

𓆩❤︎𓆪 warning: mention of religion and religious objects, without ofending anyone I hope.

;༊ playlist: only angel by harry styles ๋࣭ ⭑ gods & monsters by lana del rey ๋࣭ ⭑ god is a woman by ariana grande ๋࣭ ⭑ religion by lana del rey

dividers by fairytopea & anitalenia

❝𝐢 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧❞ ❦

Oh, sweet lord, you thought. You couldn't take your eyes off him, from the moment he stood in that sacred place to read the Sunday mass reading, you watched every detail like a predator guarding its prey. After so many years of accompanying your parents as a family tradition, the mass was finally getting interesting. Oh, amen, amen.

The man returned to his seat, right in the front seats so you could only see his long, dyed blond hair combed into a man bun from a distance and in detail. You were seated next to your parents in the middle of the seats, the ceremony continued, until it finally ended and… between a little yawn, you waited for the people to gradually leave, without losing sight of the blond boy; you noticed that he didn't leave either, usually your family stayed until the end since they were such a well known and respected family, your parents greeted and said goodbye to each of the people who attended the church that Sunday, from the usual people, to the new ones, so you waited for the boy to come closer, besides your father was the older brother of the priest of the church.

Finally, no one was left, just the few other families talking outside the church, and the blond boy talking to your uncle, until finally they both approached you, who were outside the church. You watched him closely from top to bottom looking at every detail of him, he was so cute, he had a beauty that caught you instantly, he was slim, delicate features, big lips and eyes, you noticed the delicate freckles spread under his eyes down his cheeks and nose, looking so innocent, he looked like a nerd, totally your type, he looked like at any moment he was going to correct you of your mistake with a 'actually', with his white diamond pattern vest, a short sleeved shirt underneath, his beige pants with a belt and his big glasses with a square shape, who the fuck in the 21st century dressed this conservative, he simple was cute.

“This is Felix, he just moved to the neighborhood, so now he comes to this church, he used to go to another church in another district, honestly I'm happy we can keep him” your uncle commented, amused and with a smile, introducing the blond boy who looked shy.

Felix, you repeated in your head, interesting name. He smiled shyly and sweetly.

“Nice to meet you, my pleasure, I'm really new to the neighborhood” he spoke, surprising everyone except your uncle, who already seemed to know him, with an incredible thick voice, not matching his angelic face.

Felix shook your parents's hands and then it was your turn, you took his soft, medium sized hand as you smiled at him, you didn't think your gaze was heavy, until you noticed Felix swallowed saliva nervously at the sight of you as he shook your hand, marking his notorious Adam's apple on his throat. You went back to watching him without missing any detail, from his few, slightly noticeable roots in his hair, to the delicious, delicate veins marked on his slender arms with soft hair. He wore a ring with crosses on his right index finger and another cross necklace. You couldn't help it, you had him in your sights, he was so cute you couldn't help but think of him in such dirty situations, maybe you were just ovulating, or you really wanted to fuck him.

Felix felt a little uncomfortable, your gaze was more than obvious and penetrating, but Felix didn't finish deciphering it, he didn't want to think that someone pretty would see him with such evil eyes.

“A pleasure Felix, we are the priest's family, this is our daughter, Y/N” your father spoke, "Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You smiled at Felix, now innocently but mischievously now that he knew your name.

“She's in college, I know she's young and baby-faced” your mother hastened to say, recognizing that Felix was a cute boy who looked close to your age.

You couldn't even turn to look at your mother moodily, your eyes were glued to Felix.

“Felix will give little catechesis to the children and Y/N, I think Felix can guide you to teach you the bible, so you can teach soon” advised your uncle and priest.

You blinked suddenly, perplexed that fate was in your favor.

“Of course, uncle, I'd love to” you replied, more than happy, without wiping off your smile and looking straight at Felix.

Felix wanted to sweat… he recognized that he liked you instantly, wearing your pretty floral sundress, exquisitely marking your silhouette and breasts, your very feminine appearance, your light make-up, hairstyle hair and sweet scent, you drove him crazy and… he rarely had female contact.

“Oh, of course she'll be there” added your mother, also happy that you could meet a nice and cute church boy.

“Oh, our dear Felix is a very good Samaritan, he just came back from volunteering, but his life duties called him” your uncle commented.

Cute, handsome and truly a good person, he just lacked some damn wings and halo for him to start flying, you thought.

“Oh, Felix, what are you doing on Friday? Let us welcome you to the neighborhood” spoke your father.

“I'd love to” Felix replied cheerfully.

“Friday at our place, we'll cook something delicious for you, I'll send you the address and Y/N… you'll see him on...” commented your father.

“Wednesday and Thursday” Felix quickly replied, which surprised you, “In the afternoon if you can, because of the university and thank you for the invitation, sir.”

“I'll be there” you replied to Felix, smiling at him, with such a dark look that only he could decipher.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Wednesday. Your horniness calmed down a little bit from monday to wednesday, you thought that maybe you were over exaggerating with Felix, that he really was a nice and cute guy, and that you should stop with the sudden dirty thoughts that crossed your mind. You walked into the small room, compared to the rest of the place, of the church where Felix would give you lessons on how to interpret bible verses and readings to train you to give lessons to the kids too, honestly, every year since you turned eighteen, your parents and uncle would insist you to support them with those little lessons to the kids so they can do their communion and confirmation but… you always ignored them and, it was until with Felix you were completely hooked and engaged.

You walked in quietly, apparently there was no one in the church and you didn't want to make noise and, you died of tenderness to find Felix on his knees, praying. He really was a bible eater, you thought, you didn't understand why you were suddenly so turned on by the fact that he was such a nice, good boy. You saw him in silence, apparently he didn't notice your presence, he was still concentrating, holding a rosary in his hands. Five minutes later, he finished, he crossed himself and opened his eyes and stood up, he saw you standing at a distance looking at him, which surprised him a little.

You smiled at his reaction, he was really concentrating on praying.

“Hi” you said to him, setting your bag down on one of the tables in the place, moving dangerously close to him.

Felix rubbed his hands, instantly sweating, on the denim of his jeans, nervous. The truth was… Felix liked you so much that he didn't know how to react, it was silly, but he was a bit naive to believe in love at first sight, he was convinced that what he felt with you at first sight was an inexplicable connection and the poor guy couldn't control his emotions and his little body excited at the mere sight of you. His heart was pounding and he was blushing slightly. Felix hadn't flirted with a woman in years, he was 24 years old and only dedicated himself to his job as a programmer and in his free time he adored with an incredible passion the church, but he got a wonderful job so he opted for a neighborhood closer to the place, so… girls and relationships was something that without realizing it, he started to displace from his life, until you arrived.

“Hello” nervously replied Felix in a low tone.

My god, you loved his voice. You adored him, you wanted to do all the cheesiness in the world in public and the dirtiest obscenity in private. Again, you were horny.

“I see you went ahead, you prayed without me” you told him slowly, trying to have a conversation.

You were definitely going to seduce him today. You just wanted to see his reaction and make sure if he also wants to play along and take it somewhere else.

“You w-want to pray?” he replied nervously.

You lifted your shoulders, with an impish grin, “Mmhum, why not” you got down on your knees in front of him without breaking eye contact.

You held onto his leg a little and were left in such a compromising position, right in front of his cock. Felix cleared his throat and took a step back instantly, so surprised by your action, you innocently closed your eyes, as if you had done nothing, raised your chin proudly and clasped your hands together.

Felix wasn't an idiot, but he chose to believe you did it without thinking, he believed so much in the goodness of people, it wouldn't fit in his head that someone so pretty, educated and family oriented suddenly behaved strangely, with double meaning. You pretended to pray, you were not concentrating, you asked god for forgiveness for just thinking of all the shapes and colors Felix's penis could be, while you were supposed to be praying. You stayed like that for a few minutes, not getting tired, you were young and your knees were strong. Felix saw you, with such a straight posture as you prayed, you wore a short white clingy skirt, so short he could almost see little fabric of your pink panties, Felix's heart pounded again… he hadn't analyzed you, you wore a tight top, marking your breasts and showing your navel… he watched you dumbfounded, as if he had never seen a woman before.

You felt his gaze, who would have thought that with his soft looks, he also had a penetrating gaze, you half opened one eye, managing to see blurred that he was licking his lips. You finished, stood up nimbly, almost forgetting to cross yourself from your fake prayer, wiped your bare knees and watched him cheerfully, almost waiting for a command from him.

“Aham” cleared his throat once more Felix, trying to avert his gaze from you, “You have… background knowledge of how to read the bible?”

You nodded, bored, it really wasn't the kind of relationship or lessons you wanted from him. You sat down on the bench, patting your side and inviting him to sit down. Felix picked up his heavy book and sat down next to you, nervous about your closeness. He saw your bare thighs, your skirt getting shorter… after all, Felix was a man entitled to feel, and his body was reacting on its own, he quickly placed the heavy bible on his lap, trying to hide his growing erection he felt so painful, he felt guilty and surprised, he knew he liked you… but seeing you suddenly show a little more skin, turned him on too much.

You noticed Felix, flushed, nervous and with his ears red.

“H-honestly I didn't prepare a class itself, I don't know what priest Kim was referring to, if you occupy any guidance let me know” he spoke, without looking you in the eyes, looking down at the floor.

You sought his gaze, but he was unwilling to look at you, you laughed in disbelief.

“I don't know what he meant either, I only said yes to spend time with you” you said, suddenly, exciting him more with your voice.

You slowly noticed the tension in the room, you were surprised how fast it was going to work with Felix, all you have done is dress in short clothes, you hadn't even made a proper innuendo to him and he looked like he was already struggling with himself, you thought it was amazing, when you really make a move on him he would explode, you thought, you had barely been there a little over 10 minutes and his pretty freckles were tinged with red under his cheeks.

Felix felt pity, shame, and so much guilt, but he could not control himself, his erection was growing more and more and his body was excited, he was not thinking clearly, suddenly lust was filling his body… he thought, what kind of magnetism you must have to put him like this and if, it really was a divine test not to fall into temptation, you were a very tempting and beautiful demon, that Felix would be willing to give himself completely if you continued.

He was so needy, he wasn't a virgin, he lost his virginity when he was eighteen with his first girlfriend, then he had another one at twenty… but the sex was so smooth, so simple and vanilla, but you, oh Felix thought how incredible you must be sexually. Everything about you said so, said you would know how to please him, your confidence, the sway of your hips and your subtle tone and suggestive looks. Felix was losing his mind.

“I want to know more about you” you opened your eyes excitedly, telling him, to which he finally looked into your eyes.

“What do you wanna know?” he asked, in agony, wishing his pain would end soon, his throbbing cock drowning in his tight jeans.

You went back to admiring Felix, he was again wearing his glasses and now had a half ponytail, leaving some of his long hair loose.

“I don't know… what do you do for a living, how old are you…?”

Felix wanted to let out a sigh, but didn't want to look too obvious.

“I'm a computer programmer” you looked at him attentively, waiting for a more concrete answer, “I repair them and install important programs to companies” he added, in a strangely deeper voice than usual.

You looked at him with admiration, he really was a little nerd trapped in an attractive body and face, you would not be surprised if he was a virgin…. or… you bit your lip at the thought that maybe behind his innocent appearance could be an insatiable monster. You also thought about how nimble he would be with his hands.

Felix was normal, a gen Z boy with a job, he grew up in a family environment where his parents always let him express himself widely with who he is and explore his persona, that's why he feels free to dye his hair but he chose the church as a hobby, he adored it with passion, he was religious and wasn't afraid to admit it… however just now he felt like the most vile and sinful being on the planet, he felt dirty, promiscuous and lustful, falling into temptation.

“And you…?” added Felix, standing up suddenly, turning his back to you, to move away. He could no longer stay close to you without his member aching.

Felix regretted it though, now he didn't know how to hide his erection, you instantly followed him, stood up and moved closer to him.

“I don't want to talk about me, I just want you to talk about you” you replied, seductively as you frowned.

You found his attitude strange, almost sweating, he turned his body, for the way his hands clung to the big book, glued to him, curious, you moved his arms, trying to push the book away, but his grip was strong, you looked him in the eyes quickly, in sign of what he was hiding, Felix felt trapped and with embarrassment, he let you take the bible from him, leaving it on the table next to him and surprising you by noticing that your new church instructor was aroused, reflecting with a bulge in his pants, hard.

You bit your lip, so surprised that you literally didn't lift a finger.

“Oh wow, you're seriously excited about preaching the word of the lord” you teased, watching as he increasingly pulled back and held from the desk, pinning his body to the wall, his pronounced Adam's apple quivering nervously, “You're seriously excited” you whispered, bringing your hand to his erection, stroking it.

“P-please don't” he requested, in a halting, excited sigh, “There's people outside. Stop.”

“Actually we're alone, it's the priest's nap time and the night watchman doesn't arrive until eight, the janitor doesn't work on Wednesdays” you told him again teasingly, with a smug smile.

Felix gasped, as he felt your hand squeeze his bulge, you moved up to his chin, watching in detail his thick lips half open.

“Stop” he whimpered.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me to really stop and I will” you commanded, searching his gaze but he never dared to look at you.

Your smile widened, as did the swelling of Felix's cock, he felt so needy and you were incredibly attractive as to be true, it was obvious that deep down, you awakened his sexual appetite that he thought he had put on pause, or at least know how to control.

“Do you like it when I touch you?” you said again teasingly, but excitedly, your panties were starting to get soaked and sticky, you would do anything to feel his heart shaped lips brush against your pussy just now while pulling on his long soft hair.

Felix didn't respond, he just let out a held back moan, all his muscles were tense, all of him was tense, he needed to relax, and you noticed it.

“Why are you like this, Felix? I just want to make you feel good” you told him almost in pleading, with a slight pout and with sparkling eyes, Felix saw your eyes again, finding your pretty and angelic look so demanding and hot, “You can de-stress with me, come on” you smiled mischievously.

And the next thing you did was to remove your top and bra in one swift movement, leaving your young, round breasts in full view and at Felix's mercy. Felix looked at you in fright, and then at your garments which you set aside on the desk.

“No, no, no, no, put that back on” he said nervously in a low voice, reaching for your clothes with his hands.

You quickly caught his hand, then the other, leading them both to touch your breasts, Felix didn't remove himself, he was carried away by the sensation of your hard nipple brushing his palm, he bit his lips, incredibly aroused, able to cum just by touching your tits.

“Just touch me and de-stress a little, aren't they soft?” you gasped.

Very soft, Felix thought, grabbing them with more confidence and squeezing them, massaging them delicately enjoying every second, he had never felt boobs like that, he never thought they would turn him on so much either… his former sexual relations consisted of sizzling kisses, him caressing his penis and then entering his ex-girlfriend's vagina, Felix did not know the slow, wicked and delicious art of foreplay. You gasped as you felt him enjoy your tits and took your hands off him, down to his pants.

“May I?” you asked innocently playing with the button of his pants.

“Yes, please” Felix gasped, needy.

At this point temptation got the best of him, he hadn't even fucked you yet and he was already empathizing with Adam and Eve for tasting the forbidden fruit, it just felt so fucking good, his body was shaking, his cock was pumping and the adrenaline had him on edge.

You smiled, so prettily that Felix wanted to melt, you looked so pretty with your cheeks flushed, your lipgloss and eyelashes curled and a look so dark and evil. Felix thought you were definitely an angel, one cast out of heaven for misbehaving, banished to earth, ready to torture men.

You bit your lip and quickly pulled down his pants, seeing his hard cock between his boxers, you sighed in surprise, so what you had expected… you stroked him over the fabric, taking in from his balls to his entire length trapped in his boxers and, with such a hungry look, you pulled down his underwear, freeing his stiff cock, as cute and needy as he was. You sighed, it was better than you could have imagined, it wasn't small, let alone monstrously huge, it was perfect for filling your pussy to the bottom and moving it without pain. Its pink, sensitive tip was already covered in its glistening precum and the rest of its length was a more slightly tan color, covered in veins. You needed it inside you, now. You took him between your hands, his cock throbbed just like your wet pussy, you would love to get down on your knees and suck him off, but you knew Felix would get so carried away he would lose awareness of his surroundings and you needed to be alert, after all you were in a church where you were supposed to study the bible, anyone could walk in.

And you watched Felix so needy with his red sex and hands squeezing your breast, just this time, you would make him cum in your hand, just because he was a pretty boy and you wanted his nice shiny cum in you, making a mess.

You couldn't help but let out a slight teasing giggle, honestly it wasn't the kind of thing you did, you rarely had sex with college guys because you were very selective with who you let yourself go and satisfy yourself sexually, it wasn't like you went around wanting to suck the cock of any cute guy you could find like you did with Felix either, there was something about him that held you captive.

Felix felt your giggle in every part of his being, the vein in his neck began to exalt and his grip on your breasts became tighter as he felt your hand gently play with his foreskin and then run it up and down his length. Felix moaned, his voice thick, so loud it terrified him that anyone could have heard him.

Your gaze focused on his cock and then you looked into his eyes as you found your pace, pulling on it, stroking it up and down, giving attention to his testicles, teasing his glans with his slippery precum, moving it at your mercy as if it were a toy and a rigid joystick as you watched him with a haughty grin. Felix was struggling with all his might, thinking of nothing but the incredible sexual pleasure you were giving him, gasping in a deep voice "Oh, god" and you felt him so close, his body twitching and his sex throbbing and agonizing for release.

“Cum for me, daddy, please, fill my hand with your cum” you whispered to him, not resisting any longer and moved in to kiss him.

You wondered why you didn't kiss him before, so desperate were you both that you forgot to feel his sweet lips before the dirty act. His lips trembled and let out a sigh, suddenly Felix had cum in your hand, spilling all his glory all over you, you felt his thick warm liquid, you would have loved to see his needy tip expelling his semen, but you were so focused on his lips, you smiled and kissed him again, his lips as soft and sweet as cotton candy, he followed your kiss, embarrassed to have his cock exposed, still he enjoyed your nice romantic kiss, almost making him fall in love with you.

He felt so sorry and guilty, but there was no doubt you would know how to treat him so well. You were still still horny and wet, but you were not crazy enough to ride his cock in a church room, you could wait for him, if it's for Felix you would be so patient with your good boy.

˚₊‧꒰Ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The next day came, you were so excited about your second encounter with Felix, you wanted to feel his throbbing sex in you again, you wanted to see his every reaction, so needy for your touch with his delightful gasps in the background. However your plans came crashing down when your uncle called, saying Felix couldn't attend which disappointed and upset you, you understood that poor Felix must have been embarrassed, his whole pretty head must have been over thinking all night, but he didn't have to, you want him and you are willing for him to get to fucking heaven if he wants to touch you and you were going to make it clear to him if you should continue… or if he really wants you to stop.

Felix knew he could have sex, like any normal person, but really after not having sex for a while he thought he would be saving himself more eagerly for the woman he would take to the altar of the church; but what hurt him most was that he did such a grotesque act in the presence of god, in his house, he was so tormented that he did not know how to remedy himself, neither praying 100 rosaries, nor going to confession would make the guilt leave his sinful little body.

On Friday he couldn't escape his already agreed welcome to the neighborhood, so he had to see you no matter how much he avoided you. That Friday Felix gave his first catechism class to the kids and went home to shower and get ready, where, in his shower he thought of you all the time, he thought of you in his vulnerable moments, he thought of you the night you touched him, and he touched himself and now he was masturbating to your image in his shower, pulling on his needy cock as if he were a horny teenager, he couldn't help it, he was suddenly full of you.

Felix rang your doorbell nervously, fixing his long hair and clothes almost shaking and letting out a sigh, you ran to your door; as soon as you left the university you rushed to get ready to see Felix again. You opened the door and found him, once again with his half ponytail, big glasses and wearing all white, white jeans, white shirt, and a thin jacket as an accessory.

“Welcome” you said to him with a big smile, letting him pass.

Your whole family greeted Felix, your mother's sister, your aunt, your parents, and your uncle, priest of the local neighborhood church. Your mother suggested Felix to wait a bit in the living room while she served dinner, you followed Felix, sitting next to him, this time you were dressed more modest, still wearing a short skirt, but not enough to show your butt. You wanted to whisper so many things to Felix, but your father was there, asking the poor boy if he was interested in football. Dinner was ready, which saved Felix from your father's conversation and your closeness, everyone washed their hands and, he took a seat as sweetly your mother instructed him and you, who saw your little sixteen year old cousin with every intention of sitting next to the pretty boy in the only available seat next to him, pushed her, to which your aunt sweetly said “Oh, Sally, come sit here.” Your parents were at the ends of the table, your uncle the priest, your mother's sister, and your cousin, sitting across from you at the sides of the table, you and Felix alone. Felix wanted to let out a half-hearted sigh at having you near, but tried to forget all thoughts and focus on a nice healthy dinner.

“Let's pray for food,” your mother said.

Everyone put their hands together and closed their eyes, you did it last managing to see how everyone at the table did, you prayed, oh god forgive me for what I will do, but I can't stop.

You waited for Felix to stop praying, you didn't want to be so mean and interrupt him in his sacred moment of prayer and, when you saw him tenderly open his big round brown eyes, you dropped your hand on his thigh caressing it. Felix opened his eyes, surprised, but he didn't want to show a stronger reaction since he was in the presence of more people, but that never stopped you.

He slyly lowered his hand, stopping yours, again not allowing you to take him into forbidden territory, but he had to pretend to eat, so he took both cutlery while your hand started stroking his member and, like magic, Felix slowly got hard in such a short time, Felix over bit the fork, almost sighing, which caused the attention of the others at the table.

“The food is delicious” he excused himself embarrassed with his red face and a smile.

You were teasing him so much, you squeezed his marked penis in his pants, it was so much fun to feel it, you wanted to sit on it, rub yourself on it, run your face in it, you wondered desperately when it would finally happen. You decided that you tortured poor Felix when you saw him so needy, struggling with not panting, with a smile you pulled your hand away and just kept watching him out of the corner of your eye. But the excitement wouldn't stop or leave Felix's body, he didn't know what to do, everyone was finishing dinner, ready to move from the table, but once he stood up, a visible erection in his pants would be present, leaving him looking like a pervert.

You checked your Felix again, still hard, you looked at him with tenderness and compassion, thinking that the poor guy must and must have suffered a lot.

“Felix and I will clear the table” you went ahead to say.

“But what are you talking about, he is a guest, let your cousin help you” your mother replied, getting up from the table.

“Mary, leave Y/N alone with the boy…” your aunt whispered half-jokingly to your mother, “Don't worry dear, we'll be in the living room, I'll play the piano for a while.”

Felix felt the slightest bit of relief to see the people leave, so he could go towards the bathroom embarrassed trying to calm down…. but he saw you, so attractive and with an arrogant smile, which infuriated him a little, it infuriated him that you can play with him whenever you feel like it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Felix claimed to you, annoyed, which surprised you quite a bit.

You both stood up from the table and proudly saw his outstanding erection caused only by your minimal frictions.

“We can sneak out to so I can help you with that, daddy” you whispered to him, approaching him ready to stroke him again but he stopped your wrist tightly.

“Don't even think about it and don't call me daddy. Where is the bathroom?” he said again annoyed and domineering, confusing you.

You pointed him where to go and, you didn't know if you were more turned on by his unexpectedly domineering attitude… or if you really pissed him off and had ruined your chances.

Felix ran to the bathroom and cursed internally, every inch of his cock ached, and he cursed you too for being a pretty promiscuous girl driving him crazy, he thought there was no other choice but to make himself cum, so he pulled down his pants and underwear and started to jerk off holding back his every gasp, Felix took his thick swollen cock in his medium sized hands, so sensitive it almost made him shudder, thinking it could be your hands pleasuring him and began to stroke himself frantically bringing him to orgasm, biting his lip hard and throwing his head back in pure pleasure, almost crying. His sixth masturbation since he met you, one after your first encounter, three on Thursday, one before he came to see you and…. one just now in your mothers guest bathroom. Felix dropped all his semen into the toilet and flushed the handle hard followed by washing his hands frantically and maniacally as if he was trying to clean up blood from a atrocious crime he had just committed.

You disappointed, on the other hand, went to listen to your aunt play, until you felt Felix's fresh fragrance and presence next to you, he had decided that he didn't want it to stay that way and that, after all, he was still a normal 24 year old male, in every right to explore his sexuality and, you were cute, close to his age, he liked you, you wanted him, why not give it a try.

“Why don't you… come to my place tomorrow to discuss something…” whispered Felix in your ear slyly in his deep voice.

You smiled broadly, you couldn't wait.

˚₊‧꒰Ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Saturday, glorious Saturday before your Sunday family reunion at church, Felix finally took the initiative and invited you to be alone. Now it was you, who knocked on the door of his apartment nervously, but he was already waiting for you as he had to let you into the building first. He opened the door with a wide smile, so tender that you wanted to pinch his cheeks, but you only returned the gesture, for some reason, now you felt a little shy, after being the one who had taken all the important steps… You greeted each other shyly and you held out your shopping bag, indicating that you had brought him something.

“Come in, sorry about the mess, I'm still tidying up” he said, after you had seen apartment more neat and tidy apartment ever.

“I brought wine… I guess I didn't give you the proper welcome to the neighborhood” you told him seductively with a smile and dared to give him a quick kiss, which made him blush in seconds.

“I… cooked, well more like baked dessert and ordered dinner” he replied nervously, causing you tenderness.

You smiled at him and you both sat down to eat, bringing up any topic of conversation only to hear his voice and closely analyze the peculiar way his mouth moved every time he spoke, how his eyes looked up when he thought about something and his hands were in constant motion as he chatted about something.

You both relaxed afterwards, with nothing more to say, so you looked around his entire apartment and something of what looked like a keyboard in pieces caught your attention, you approached it, it was on the little table in front of his main couch in his living room.

“You were doing this? What is it?” you asked him with interest.

Felix followed you and stood there with his hands slightly shoved in his pants pockets.

“Oh, it's nothing, just a keyboard, I was just assembling it for fun.”

You looked at him, so tenderhearted, you literally didn't understand anything he said but you really liked him “You're so cute” you blurted out naturally, “Come here” you told him.

Felix sat next to you, obeying you and a little nervous, you approached his face with a smile and he watched you, suddenly you touched his lips, joining you both in an intimate act, you both enjoyed the angelic touch of your lips, but you couldn't help turning it into something more daring, opening your mouth and letting Felix explore inside you, but you noticed him so shy and insecure, you slowly let your body fall over him, you leaned down while your hand nimbly caressed his cock again, he grabbed you by the waist, taking you both into a sizzling and hot make out session.

But you couldn't wait, you were finally alone and it was more than obvious that Felix wanted to take things to another level, so you parted from him, agitated and unashamed, you undressed completely, exalting Felix, totally lost in your naked silhouette, and feeling bad for not having time to appreciate you in underwear, maybe next time; you approached him playfully, taking his shirt, without saying any words and also inviting him to undress. Felix was more than excited, he felt like a first timer exploring sex, as horny as a young man discovering his first porn, you were for him an erotic divinity, exploring every part of him he never thought existed, like the incredible lust and desire for intense sex.

Felix took off his shirt, revealing his thin complexion but marked abdomen, you bit your lip and without thinking twice you got on your knees in front of him, this time looking him in the eyes while you tried to pull down his pants, you caressed his marked abdomen and lowered your hand to unbutton his pants, he helped you to pull it down and playfully you slid all his jeans down his legs, taking them off. Felix gasped as he felt your warm breath near his cock, once again you saw him so yielding, his ears red and his cheeks flushed, you smiled and kissed his stiff cock on the fabric just to tease him some more.

For some strange reason, you loved to hear him so needy, like that time in church when he practically begged you to jerk him off, always so cute and kind not forgetting to say please.

You took his cock, still stimulating it on the cloth, looked him in the eyes and asked, “Do you want me to suck you off, Lix? Do you want to feel my mouth on your cock?”

Felix looked at you perplexed but excited to hear you talk so dirty, but gasped as he felt your tight hand on his member, he felt like he was going to cum at any moment. He nodded encouragingly and desperately.

“Yes-yes please, do it” he requested, pleading with his big eyes and contrasting with his raspy voice.

You smiled brightly and deftly pulled down his boxer shorts, freeing his hard swollen cock, sensitive to have its tip dripping with his precum, so throbbing and ready for use. You took him in, stroking his entire length, stuck out your tongue and your first taste of him was his thick glans, so soft and slippery on your restless tongue, you sucked on his tip, teasing him and causing a little 'pop' sound as you pulled him away from your mouth. Needless to say Felix was in heaven itself, he had never felt this desperate and excited in his life, you were giving him an unforgettable night.

You kissed his length and ran your tongue all around to lubricate it and taste every part of him as you massaged his balls. Even his genitals were as soft as he was, masculine looking, but tender. Felix kept whimpering in a high-pitched whine, unable to control the incredible sexual release that every little thing you did gave him. And finally, you introduced his member in your mouth, making him experience his first blowjob, Felix could not believe it, but it was true, his pasts girlfriends never bothered to satisfy him in such a way… he was always leaning towards the serious and reserved girls and at the end of the day they were, for poor Felix, complete dull in bed, but not for you, you who would love to try everything with Felix. He took his bending index finger into his mouth, biting it hard as he enjoyed the sensation of your cavity embracing his cock while you made eye contact with him, slowly he let himself go, and a little insecurely, took your hair gently, seeing how grotesque and dirty his wet member wrapped in your saliva looked sliding into your mouth, and your hand playing with his testicles, but he still loved it and wondered why he had never experienced it before, why he never felt eager for sex before when it was the most incredible thing in the world, at least for him, right now, and with you.

Felix couldn't take that much, you were stimulating him so well that, with his body trembling and hot gasps, he cummed in your mouth. Leaving you more than happy to finally taste him, he still hadn't finished cumming completely, his trembling, agonizing tip releasing his semen, when you pulled him out of your mouth, just for the pure pleasure of his cum on your lips and face, staining your face a bit with little white drops. You looked him in the eyes, and wiped his cum from your face to then suck your finger, making him hard in moments again, his erection being slightly more painful this time.

You wanted to be touched too, your pussy was throbbing hard and you were so wet and messed up that you wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly started squirting, so you sat on Felix's lap, so unexpectedly, positioning yourself sideways and not pressing so hard on his cock. Felix saw your naked body with closeness, he couldn't believe how amazing you were making him feel right now. You spread your legs, showing him your soaking wet vulva.

“I-I'm so wet, touch me” you whimpered, taking his hand and placing it on your pussy.

Felix bit his lip hard and understood instantly, gently caressing your labia with his fingers and nimbly finding your clit.

“Mmm, just like that, you're doing so good, it feels good” you gasped.

“W-what was that little name you were calling me before?” whispered Felix in your ear, his thick voice making you twitch.

You smiled broadly, unable to believe what he would be referring to and for him to suddenly show a dirty side as well.

“Daddy” you sighed, you would love to call him that, for some reason you found it exciting, he was a little older to you, he was a man with his own apartment and a steady job, he was more mature than you who were still a college student, his pretty innocent face was something easy to fool you with, but he was still your soft and gentle daddy, caressing your pussy with such care.

Felix felt so good, his cock throbbed as he heard you encouraging him, your hand reached for his cock as you enjoyed his fingers gently caressing you.

“Mm, Daddy, fuck me with your fingers, look at my so wet cunt” you whimpered, trying to separate your entrance with one hand so he could see it.

More precum came out of his tip, his cock and your hand was already sticky from your previous activity, and he wondered how many times he had to cum today, how many more times he had to make a mess, Felix thought at this point he could be an easy sperm donor with the generous amount you make him spill, he was being pleasured like never before, he didn't regret for a second not getting carried away with your game, otherwise you wouldn't be like this with him now, on his lap while you masturbate him and him playing with your soft pussy.

Felix let out a ragged sigh and with his fingers he sought your entrance, gasping as he felt the softness and tightness of his fingers slide inside you.

“Ahhh fuck, daddy, yes, fuck my pussy please” you whimpered.

You shivered as you felt him, his thick fingers slipping in and out of you, while his other hand caressed your breast, leaving you so hungry and eager to have your whole pussy filled and busy. You kissed Felix, who was concentrating on giving you pleasure, as if it were a video game console and he had to press the right button to make you shudder, and he was succeeding. By this time you had already realized that he was a bit inexperienced, his movements were a bit clumsy, he was so needy that you felt his cock throbbing hard in your hand, cumming for the second time.

And you, you were so full of active sexual energy and wanted to fulfill your every fantasy with Felix and needed constant stimulation and pleasure, you bit your lip, you stirred a little to reach up to whisper in his ear, “Let me sit on your pretty face, daddy, please.”

Felix looked at you surprised while you looked at him expectantly, he knew what was coming, even in his lonely college nights he used to watch porn, thinking that horny girls willing to experience all positions and last long minutes in sex just stayed there… but apparently you came out of his reality, you were a dream, the only difference was that he wasn't strong enough to last long minutes without cumming, he did it so often he lost count, he just enjoyed what you subtly ordered him to do.

“Get comfortable daddy so I can sit on your face” you said again more lusciously.

Felix pulled his fingers away from you and watched you stand up as you gently pushed him off his shoulders.

“Relax your body for me, daddy, lay down a little.”

He followed your orders, putting his back and head on the lumpy cushion of his couch, and you expertly squatted down to direct your whole pussy into his mouth, Felix watched a few seconds of your swollen pussy until he felt it in his mouth, you both gasped, his cock twitched, and the next thing he knew is that he must please you. Oh his sweet angel, tasting so good. He stayed with his eyes open, he held his hands on your thighs and saw your naked body above him.

Felix licked, kissed, sucked hard every length of your folds, stimulating your clit with his tongue while all your wetness was rubbing in around the area of his mouth and on his chin. You gasped loudly, it felt so good. His upturned nose gently rubbing your mons venus with your pussy smeared in his mouth.

“Yesss, daddy, you're doing so well, you're such a good daddy, fuck” you whimpered, his soft moans into your pussy as he licked it sent exquisite vibrations, driving you over the edge, “P-put your tongue inside my daddy, please” you begged.

Felix once again sought your entrance, thrusting his tongue in, playing with your dilated, dripping hole, bringing you almost to orgasm.

“Fuck, daddy I'm gonna cum” you whimpered in a high pitched tone, and you cum shuddered in his mouth.

Felix, like a good little boy, sucked hard on every bit of your fluid, gulping it down with delight as he felt another orgasm, his abdomen contracted and his cock twitched on its own, so painful and pleasurable, he climaxed all over his marked abs.

You shuddering, got off his face and appreciated the mess of his pretty, swollen lips stained with you.

“I'm gonna fuck you now, daddy” you said again animated and happy, still not letting Felix catch his breath. You positioned yourself on top of him, rubbing your folds on his cock and realized he cum once again, you smiled smugly, “Fuck, daddy, did you cum again? Did you liked my pussy that much, huh?” you said innocently, biting your lip as you held onto his abs, starting to rub yourself on his cock.

Felix loved the softness with which you spoke vulgarities, so he, aroused, dared to say in something that came out of him in a more low tone:

“Fuck, yes, princess, I loved your pussy.”

You were so surprised, his voice almost vibrating your body that you couldn't hold back any longer. You took his cock and directed it to your entrance, letting yourself fall all the way down his length, making you both gasp.

“Mm daddy your cock fits perfectly on me. Do you like my cunt in your cock daddy?”

“Y-yes” Felix whimpered needily as he felt you rubbing all over your wet pussy on him, stimulating his balls.

“Is it tight?”

“Oh fuck yeah, very tight, angel.”

“I'm gonna fuck you daddy, gonna make you fill up my pussy.”

And you began to move, sliding all over his cock, feeling how it was built right for you, yet it felt so tight to your pussy, it drove you crazy. Felix hadn't fucked in years, he never made a big deal about it but now, he was in heaven itself, he could die in your arms and he wouldn't matter, he would leave very well satisfied.

“Oh, fuck, yesss, it feels so good” he groaned.

He held you by the waist, panting deeply between each thrust and movement you brought to his cock, it felt so good, the way your insides embraced his cock, echoing through his apartment with the brutal sounds of your wet pussy colliding with his member. Felix was so close again, the vein in his neck showing, feeling so guilty about cumming inside you, but the feel of your internal organ buried in his cock made him see stars, maybe now he's obsessed with you and the feel of your pussy in him.

You noticed him so close, his hands shaking now squeezed your breasts and you sped up your movements.

“Cum for me daddy, please” you asked him, while at the same time you felt so close too.

Felix squeezed your breasts hard, shouted an “Oh, god” in a rough voice and cum intensely in you, ten times more intense than all the previous times.

You bit your lip, still moving in him waiting for your orgasm until it took your whole body, combining with Felix's cum sliding down his length and into your entrance. You pulled out of him, and gasped at the grotesque act of your hole expelling both fluids.

Breathless and a mess, you let yourself fall back on Felix's heaving slender chest. He wiped his mouth a little, took your face in his hands and began to give you little kisses around your face making you laugh, Felix may have fallen in love with you a little.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Devil in disguise

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

genre: smut

description: the boy you met at church seems sweet and innocent. but looks can be deceiving.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: dubcon and noncon!!!, fingering and sex in public places, manipulation, reader is innocent and clueless, loss of virginity, oral (f and m receiving), lix is a perv and abusive, unprotected sex (don't do it), religious themes, brief mentions of pee and breeding (lmk if i missed something pls)

important: please please please do not read this if it will trigger you in any way!!! felix is not depicted as a good person here and i do not condone this kind of behaviour irl! this is just fiction!

a/n: don't know where this came from though,hope yall enjoy🤭🩷

~check out my: Masterlist

Ever since you first saw Felix, you thought he was the sweetest and most innocent boy ever. His family was very respected in the community as was yours, so they often hung out together after mass or doing church activities together.

Felix was always smiling, making people around him laugh and feel comfortable, always lending a helping hand, making sure everything and everyone was okay.

He was a textbook example of a good Christian, spreading the word of God, doing good things wherever he can.

He was always polite to you, the innocent smile on his face as he greets you and asks if you would like to pray with him. You did so a few times and you talked about your uni and your church, quickly realizing you share lots of common interests.

You might've even developed a little crush on him but you were so innocent, never even held hands with a boy let alone anything more than that, and the feeling was so new to you so you had no idea how to approach it.

But weird things started happening and at first you brushed them off as accidents.

Whenever your families would meet up or go to mass, as the time went by and you've gotten a little closer to Felix, he would come up to hug you. He pulled you in close, your chest pressing against his and his hand would lay on your lower back.

The next time he wrapped his arm around you, his hand slid down so his fingertips rested on the swell of your ass. You didn't think much of it, but you started noticing other things.

Felix's hand or arm would brush against your ass or breast any time he was near you, sending shivers down your spine but he would continue talking like nothing happened so you dismissed it as accidents. His thigh would press against yours while you sat together in mass or during dinner with your families.

It made you feel hot and wet down there when he pressed against you, weird thoughts filling up your mind and it made you feel so guilty that every night you would kneel in front of your bed and beg God to forgive you for such thoughts. Especially since in your mind, Felix was a sweet boy who wasn't doing anything on purpose and you were the bad one, thinking such dirty and sinful thoughts about someone so pure.

This went on for months, and you felt more and more guilty until you discovered that Felix wasn't as clueless and sweet as you thought.

-

It's another one of your joined family dinners, Felix and you are sitting in the corner next to each other as always. The restaurant you're in is close to your church, and the booths you're sitting in hide you from curious eyes.

You're listening to something your sister is talking about when suddenly you feel a hand on your bare knee. The dress you put on this afternoon was a bit shorter due to the summer heat and as you sat down it rode up even more. Your back straightens as you jolt and cautiously look down.

Felix's hand is resting on your knee, sending waves of warmness from where he's touching you right to your core. You're confused as to why he has his hand there and ashamed that it's making you squirm. He squeezes your thigh a little and you gasp, wetness gathering on your panties.

Nobody notices the gasp thankfully as everyone is animated by your sister's story. You don't know what to do or say and you can't look at Felix. He slowly brings his hand up, until his fingers slide under your dress. You shiver, your legs closing instinctively but Felix grips you harder and pulls your legs open and you grip at the fork you're holding. You still can't look at him as his fingers gently caress your inner thigh, close to your sex and almost touching the wet patch on your cotton panties.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and Felix slides his hand a little further, cupping your wet cunt through your panties and pressing his thumb into your clit. Your hips jerk up, and you almost moan out but you manage to bite your lip. You've never been touched like that, and you were always such a good girl, barely even playing with yourself. You wanted to stay innocent until you got married, giving everything to your husband. This is not what you wanted and you feel so panicked that your family will realize what's happening under the table.

Felix circles his thumb on your clit as your eyes water but you try to swallow the tears and act normal, you hate that a part of you likes his touch and you can't control the wetness of your arousal that's gushing out on your panties. Felix can feel you getting more wet and he presses his finger harder into your clit, moving it faster. Your mind is getting hazy and having his hand on you feels so much different than your own.

The fear and distress you feel don't stop you from subtly grinding your little pussy against his fingers. Felix smirks but you can't see it, you stare at your plate and occasionally look up to see if anyone's paying attention to you.

Without any warning or preparation, Felix moves your panties to the side, pressing the tip of his finger to your wet folds and slowly pushing in. You gasp loudly and your sister turns around to look at you. You quickly shake your head and motion for her to continue talking and luckily she does.

Felix slowly fucks his finger in and out of your soaking wet pussy, the slick coating his hand and you've never been so wet before or felt so aroused. Shame pulsates through you at the same time and you try to clamp your legs shut but Felix presses his thumb into your clit harshly and you bite your lip to stop yourself from whimpering loudly. He pushes his finger deeper as he keeps pressing on your sensitive nub and you comply, spreading your legs a little.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a smug smile on his face, before he turns back to his innocent self, like he's not fingering you under the table in front of everyone. You're fighting against it in your mind but your body is not listening to you as he keeps stimulating you at a steady pace, holding you in the same spot, just on the brink of seeing the stars but not letting you get to it.

You're shameful but your mind got so clouded that you want to chase the good feeling he's giving you. Your hips start grinding on his hand subtly and Felix revels in the way he's got you falling apart. He stills his hand and you don't even realize that he stopped moving and it's you who's creating friction, fucking yourself on his hand, his finger slipping in and out of your tight little cunt.

Felix is hard in his pants and he wishes he could call you a dirty girl and bend you over the table in front of everyone so they can all see your drooling cunt taking his cock. But he knows he can't take it that far so he focuses on you and starts moving his hand again and you whimper and then cough when you realize the sounds you're letting out in public. There is no room for embarassment or shame as pleasure takes you over and you cum on Felix's hand, your thighs pressing around his arm.

You swear you hear him chuckle deeply as your ears ring and pussy clenches around his finger like it never wants to let go. Felix doesn't pull it out right away, he keeps it in as he moves his palm against your clit, smearing your release on it. You almost start crying from overstimulation as your legs start shaking a little but you keep them open as Felix plays with your pussy, pulling his finger out and running the pads of his fingers over your soaked folds. He pulls your panties back over your pussy, tapping it a little and you jolt again, sitting in your wetness as he moves his hand away. Shame washes over you as you watch Felix wipe his hand with a napkin and you want to get up and run to the bathroom so you can cry but you're afraid in case you wet the chair you're sitting on.

You sit until dinner is over and you don't know how to feel about what happened. Part of you is scared of what Felix might do the next time he gets a chance but another part of you wants to surrender to him and let him do whatever he wants.

The confusing feelings and the guilt blossoming inside you make you cry that night at home, as you kneel and beg God for forgiveness.

-

You want to avoid Felix as much as you can after what happened but your family has other plans. As always, you meet up with his family and you instantly feel embarassed when you look at him, remembering how he touched you and how you would run that scenario in your head every night, arousal pooling on your panties but you didn't want to do anything about it. You ignored the burning feeling in your gut and willed yourself to sleep.

Felix hugs you, this time his hand subtly rests on your asscheek and warmness spreads through your core as he squeezes gently. He leans back smiling at you sweetly, looking like an angel and no one would ever assume anything different about him. But you know better now.

You smile politely back at him so you keep up appearances, you would die of shame if anyone found out what happened at dinner the other day.

During the mass, he sits next to you, his thigh pressed up against yours again. Felix smirks when he sees you squirm in your seat, he knows he has you in his hold when he can make you like this without even doing anything. You pray on the inside, squeezing your hands together so your knuckles turn white, praying yet again for strength and forgiveness, ignoring the way your slick pools on your panties.

When all of you kneel down to pray, your eyes close and Felix looks around before his hand comes into contact with the side of your thigh. Your eyes snap open and trail down, he's gently running his fingertips on you and you dare to look at him. Your eyes lock and you see darkness inside his pupils, something akin to hunger and you gulp loudly, lips parting as your pussy clenches around nothing. Felix smirks and squeezes your flesh before getting up and acting like nothing happened.

After mass, there is a charity event you're obligated to participate in and you're ready to put your mind into something else than Felix. But as destiny would have it, you're stuck with him. You think your and his parents are probably doing this on purpose, thinking the two of you would be a perfect couple, unaware of how perverted Felix actually is.

"Why don't the two of you go get some supplies from the back?"- your mother ushers you towards Felix as she smiles at you fondly, completely blind to the panic in your eyes.

In all the situations until now, Felix and you've never been left alone, and even then he managed to have you at his mercy. You are scared of what he might do when there's no one there to stop him.

"Yeah, we can do that."- Felix smiles, looking like a helpful young man to the outside but you know he just wanted to have you all to himself.

"Great, that's settled."- your mother claps and turns around.

You have no choice but to follow him to the supply room and as soon as the door closes, he's quick to put the latch down so no one can come in. You don't even have time to turn around or say anything before he cages you against the door.

You gasp and writhe against him but he's too strong and he wont budge. A malicious smile spreads on his face as he leans in closer to you.

"Finally."- he says.

"P-please... please don't."- you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes. Your hands fall on his chest and you try to push him away, but he grabs your hands and pins them above your head.

"You seemed to like my finger the other day, though."- he says, his voice deeper than usually.

"T-that was a mistake. It was wrong."- you start but he shushes you, pressing his semi hard cock on your thigh. You gasp when you feel it twitching against you and you feel arousal gushing out of your cunt again.

One of his hands comes down to grope your chest, while the other holds your wrists pinned. You whimper as he easily finds your nipple even through your dress and bra, and he pinches it, rolling it between his fingers. He pries your legs open forcefully with his thigh, pushing it up against your clothed cunt.

"S-stop..."- you beg weakly, tears running down your cheeks slowly.

"Don't fight me, sweet girl. It'll feel better if you just give into me."- he says lowly, grinding his thigh against you.

You try pushing him away again, but his grip on you is strong and he's not letting you get away until he gets what he wants. You're crying quietly, trying not to make any loud noises, your pussy throbbing as he runs the rough material of his jeans against the thin cotton of your soaked underwear.

"F-Felix please, please stop."- you beg once again, hoping he'll show you mercy but he just smirks, releasing your arms and grabbing your breasts roughly as his thigh presses into you harder.

"Ah!"- you let out a surprised moan and he laughs deeply.

"You're a dirty girl aren't you?"- he asks and you shake your head fast.

"I'm n-not!"- you whimper, gripping at his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Yes, you are. Look how wet you are just for me. I can feel it on my jeans."- he smirks and you gasp as he pulls your dress down to reveal your chest. Felix licks his lips at the sight of your breasts squished in the simple white bra and he sneaks his hands around you to snap it open.

"Felix!"- you cry out as your breasts spill out of the bra and he grabs them immediately.

"I bet you taste so sweet, my dirty little girl."- he smirks.

"I'm not d-dirty! I'm a good girl."- you whine and Felix smirks as he stars playing with your nipples, making you mewl out and involuntarily arch into his touch.

"If you're such a good girl, prove it and be good for me."- he smirks, one of his hands grabbing the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair.

Your heart is almost leaping out of your chest, fear and arousal running through your whole body. You don't answer him as he leans in close, his breath ghosting on your lips, hand squeezing your breast and the other holding your head tightly.

You know you can't fight him, he's stronger than you and if you yelled out for help he would probably get angry and you would be shunned by everyone for letting something like this happen to you. So you surrender, tears racing down your cheeks as he presses his lips into yours.

You don't react as he kisses you, his hand gripping your hair, his other hand traveling down between your legs as he moves his thigh away just enough so he can sneak his hand between your legs. Felix grunts in annoyance as you keep still and kisses you more harshly, his lips are soft in contrast to the way he's abusing yours. You give in and kiss him back, following his lead.

Felix slowly lifts your dress up and licks into your mouth at the same time as you hold onto his biceps, little sounds coming out of your lips and slipping into his as he pushes his tongue in.

You open your mouth and let him explore it as he hikes your dress up to rest on your tummy, his fingers tugging at your cotton panties. He pushes his tongue deep into your mouth, circling it around yours and making you moan into his mouth.

Felix leans back, a smirk on his face as he presses his lips wetly into yours a few more times, the pads of his fingers dipping between your folds, massaging you all the way to your sensitive clit.

You moan quietly, nails digging into his arms as pleasure starts taking you over. You feel wrong but you can't fight him, not when he's running his fingers all over your pussy, pinching your clit and rolling it between his fingertips, getting you so wet that you drip all over them.

"Feels good?"- he smirks, pinching you again.

"Y-yes..."- you whisper, head hung in shame as fresh tears slide down your cheeks.

"Yeah? See, you can be a good girl if you just let me have my way with you."- he says and you look up at him, shivering from the way his eyes stare into your soul.

"I want to try something."- he adds and your eyes widden as he starts fiddling with his belt.

"I- I can't... Please..."- you cry as he pushes his jeans and boxers down, his hard cock springing out of them. You gasp when you see it, you've never seen one and you have no idea if his is considered above average or not but in your eyes it seems big.

"Don't be scared, I won't put it in. At least not yet."- he smirks. "I just wanna feel you a little. I promise it'll feel good."

"F-Felix... Please d-" - you start but he already presses his blunt tip against your tortured clit, his pre cum mixing with your wetness.

Felix groans lowly, leaning in and kissing your neck, his hand squeezing and massaging your breast as he jerks off, the tip of his cock dragging against your pussy.

You feel incredibly dirty, but you're so turned on and you feel like you would fall apart if Felix would move away, he's holding you and controlling your body like you're a puppet on a thread so you grip his shoulders, throwing your head back and moaning as you let him drag his heavy cock against your folds.

You're so wet that you coat his cock in your slick in no time and it slides perfectly between your legs, making you lose your mind as you dig your nails into his flesh. Felix grips one of your wrists and brings your hand down between your legs.

You panic when he puts it on his cock, jerking your hand away but he holds it tightly.

"Touch it."- he smirks devilishly, wrapping your fingers around his length. You obey, holding him in your hand as he covers it with his own and starts moving it.

"Like this."- he says and you follow his movement as he guides your hand. You can't believe that this is happening but you try not to think of anything except begging for this to be over soon before someone starts looking for the two of you.

"You can go faster."- he pushes between your legs, and you move your hand faster, him still controlling you, moving you how he likes to be touched. His tip is constantly massaging your sensitive bundle of nerves and it drives you over the edge and you cum, spilling your juices on his cock and your panties.

"Mm."- Felix moans, moving your hand away and jerking off faster, abusing your sensitive pussy as you grip onto him and whimper quietly.

Without warning, he explodes, his cum painting your pulsating pussy and the inside of your panties. You gasp as he looks at you darkly, breathing hard. He grips your panties and pulls them up, pulling them harshly so his cum sticks to your soaked pussy.

"F-Felix!"- you whine when he runs his fingers on your wet panties.

He pulls your dress down over your legs as he looks at you, before he tucks his cock in his boxers and pulls his jeans up.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and keep my cum in your panties all day?"- he whispers, as you fiddle to put your bra back on.

"Y-yes."- you say, eyes watery again.

"That's my girl."- he says, his thumb gently running on your cheek.

You stare into his eyes as he helps you adjust your bra and dress straps.

"W-why are you doing this?"- you ask quietly and Felix chuckles darkly, stepping away from you.

"Let's get those supplies before people start asking where we are."- he says and turns away from you.

You press your thighs together, the wetness of his cum mixed with yours keeps you turned on throughout the whole event, reminding you of your sin.

-

Your mother is celebrating her birthday and she decides to throw a small dinner party, just for a few close friends, which ofcourse include Felix and his family.

He smirks at you when no one is looking at him and you turn away, shivering and you don't know if it's from fear or anticipation, it's like there is a blurred line in between those two feelings.

He sits next to your during dinner, ofcourse, and his leg is pressed against yours, ofcourse.

You know in your gut that the first chance he gets alone with you, you won't be able to escape his grasp.

And that happens right after dinner, when everyone disperses around and your mother practically makes you take Felix to your room so the two of you hang out. She thinks that Felix is the most respectful young man in the community, she trusts him completely to be alone in his daughter's room and you wish you could scream and tell her what he actually is.

When you walk into your room and close the door, you try to mentally prepare yourself but fear starts coursing through your veins as Felix approaches you.

"I like your dress."- he smirks.

"T-thank you."- you say quietly and he starts walking closer to you, making you back away until your thighs hit your vanity.

"It accentuates all the right things."- he says lowly, hands on your thighs as he lifts up your dress.

"P-please, not here. My- my parents or yours could walk in any moment."- you plead with him, your voice trembling.

He laughs- he laughs viciously as his hands rest on your hips.

"I think that's so exciting. Letting everyone see how dirty you are. How wet you get just for me."- he says, an evil smirk gracing his lips.

Your eyes water again, you pray yet again for someone to walk in, to make this end. Something to make Felix leave, make him leave for good.

"Are you praying?"- Felix asks in a mocking tone, looking at your mumbling lips.

You look at him as tears start slowly streaming down your cheek and he brings his hands to your face, wiping them away.

"Don't cry. I'll make you feel good."- he says and hooks his hands under your thighs, sitting you on the vanity. You gasp a little, grabbing at the edge of it as Felix kneels between your legs, lifting your dress up.

"Mm, gotta taste your sweet little cunt. So pretty and tight only for me."- he smirks, his fingers rubbing you hard immediately.

You can't help the moan that falls from your lips, as you lean forward into his touch.

You want to fight against him but it's like you lose all control over your body every time he's near you, he just makes you feel so weak and compliant.

He slides your panties all the way down after a wet patch forms on them, and then he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket.

"I'm keeping these."- he grins and brings you closer to his face.

You feel his breath ghost over your fluttering hole and you start to panic.

"W-what are you doing?"- you ask meekly.

"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm just gonna give you kisses down here, I promise it'll feel really good."- Felix looks up at you as he massages your clit in circles, the look in his eyes almost sweet and innocent.

"B-but I-"

"Shh. Give in."- he says firmly and you can't escape.

Satisfied with your obedience, Felix leans in and presses a kiss to your clit. It's different than fingers and it's already making your mind dizzy as he keep leaving little kisses all over your wet pussy.

You're completely still, the only things that can be heard is your short breaths and the sounds that Felix's lips make when they come into contact with your lower ones.

He starts licking your clit slowly with small kitten licks and your breath hitches in your throat as you grip the ends of the table. Felix hasn't taken his eyes off of you and you peer down at him to see him looking at you darkly as he darts his tongue between your folds.

"Ah!"- you moan and then clasp your hand over your mouth and Felix chuckles into you, making you vibrate.

"Be quiet or someone will hear us and come in. But maybe you want that, hm? Would you like for everyone to see your little cunt taking it?"- he smirks and pushes his finger only half way inside you.

"N-no! I- I don't want anyone to see."- you cry out, tears in your eyes again.

"No, because this is just for me, right?"- he asks and you're quiet as you cry again while he grips your thigh harshly and pushes his finger deeper inside you.

"Answer me."- he says through gritted teeth, as he pulls out and then shoves his finger back in, right into your sweet spot. Your legs jerk and you almost whine loudly as your eyes widden.

"Yes! Yes! It's just for you."- you say, scared that he'll become more rough with you if you don't comply.

"Good girl."- he smirks, pulling his finger out as he grabs your arm and yanks you down closer to him.

"Taste yourself."- he smirks, his finger prodding at your lips. You open your mouth and let him push his finger in, your eyes flutter as you lick at his finger before you start sucking on it.

"Wow, you're a natural. You'll do good later."- he smirks before pulling his finger out of your mouth. You don't even want to ask what 'later' is as he buries his face between your legs again and starts fucking you with his tongue, his thumb playing with your clit harshly, coaxing your orgasm out.

You try to hold it in, begging in your head for this to stop again, but you know the sooner you let go, the sooner he'll leave you alone so you start gently griding on his tongue and finger, moaning quietly at the increased stimulation.

Felix becomes rock hard in his pants when he sees you complying to him and he palms his erection with his free hand as he buries his tongue as deep as he can inside you, fingers pinching and rolling your clit to drive you over the edge.

You whimper and the coil inside you snaps as you cream all over his lips and chin.

Felix groans and starts licking you clean, his eyes fluttering shut as you mewl quietly begging for him to stop.

He leans back, licking his lips before he stands up and grabs your face roughly, making you gasp. He crashes his lips on yours, his tongue prying them open and you moan as he makes you taste yourself, swirling his tongue around your mouth and licking at you.

He helps you up and then smirks maliciously at you.

"I think I deserve a little treat from you since I made you feel good."- he starts and you gulp nervously, ready to cry again.

"Please Felix, please no more."- you beg but he shakes his head.

"It's not fair that only you get to cum, don't you think so? I helped you out so you need to be a good girl and help me out too, okay?"- he caresses your head.

"O-okay."- you nod, hoping that whatever he wants isn't something too scary.

"You need to get on your knees then."- he smirks triumphantly.

"O-on my knees?"

"Yes, it's like when you pray except you won't be worshipping god, you'll be worshipping me."- he smirks and your eyes widden.

He puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down and you kneel in front of him, your big innocent eyes looking up at him and it drives him crazy.

Felix unbuckles his belt and you think he'll toss it aside, instead he loops it around your neck. You gasp, squirming as he puts the end of the belt in the buckle and pulls it towards him, creating a makeshift leash on you.

"W-why?"- you whimper, your hands coming up to grab at the belt.

"So you don't try to run away from me."- he smirks, gripping the belt in his hand and unbuttoning his pants.

"I won't - I swear!"- you say, tears brimming at your eyes already.

"Be silent."- he looks at you sternly and you shut up, your heart beating fast against your chest.

Felix lets his jeans and boxers fall to his ankles, his cock right in front of your face. You realize what he wants you to do, he wants your mouth on him like he did to you but you have no idea what to do.

"Kiss it."- he smirks, tapping the tip of his cock on your lips. A tear streams down your cheek as you press your lips into the head of his cock.

"You can lick it like a lollipop. Slowly."- he says and you put your tongue out, licking at his head, the tip of your tongue running over his slit.

"Yes, just like that, sweetheart. Doing so good for me."- he says, looking down at you with darkness in his eyes, and you feel your pussy clench at the praise.

"Put your lips around it and suck."- he instructs and you do as he says, wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking on it, and Felix moans lowly wrapping the belt around his hand and bringing you into him, making you accidentally take more than you could. You almost gag, tears in your eyes and he chuckles at you. Your hands end up on his thighs and you hold onto them.

"You're gonna need a lot of training to take it deeper. But don't worry, I have patience."- he says and you shiver as he pushes in a little more.

You panic, thinking you'll choke as he holds you tightly, holding the makeshift leash in one hand and your head in his other, pushing you towards him.

"Breathe through your nose."- he says and you try to calm down and breathe as he slowly fucks into your mouth. You want to move away so bad but he has you basically on a leash and if you moved away he would probably pull you back and you don't want to risk making him mad, you have no idea how he is when he gets upset and you don't want to know.

You try to relax as much as you could as Felix uses your mouth, and your core throbs, wet again as you press your thighs and rub them together.

"Look at that, you're enjoying this."- he smirks and you whine around him, making him groan and slip deeper into you. You gag a little, tears spilling from your eyes.

"I said you were a dirty girl and I was right."- he says and you whine again, trying to move away to protest but he holds you firmly, fucking his cock faster into you.

"You're not done until I'm done, sweetheart. You're gonna take my cum and swallow everything."- he says and you start trembling, leaning into him and looking up at him in a mix of arousal and fear. Felix enjoys seeing you so helpless and he fucks you harder, making you gag on his cock. You try to resist him and move away because it makes you panic but he doesn't let you move away as he yanks on the belt and your hair.

You feel his cock twitch and he grips you making you whimper.

"I'm cumming. Gonna fill up your dirty mouth, darling."- Felix groans and you keep whining, but he doesn't let up as he uses you until his cock twitches again and he spills inside you, the liquid spurting harshly into your mouth making you choke on it. You swallow as fast as you can, swallowing everything he gives you, your eyes wide and heart beating hard in your chest.

Felix slides his cock out of your lips and you cough, grabbing at your throat. Felix unloops the belt as you try to catch your breath.

"Was that too much for you, sweetheart?"- he asks, leaning down to look at you after he pulls his pants up.

You nod with tears in your eyes.

"You did so well for me. Such a good girl."- he praises you and you cry.

"Why- why me?"- you ask weakly, your voice breaking.

"Because you're mine anyways. Didn't you hear our parents talk about our wedding?"- he smirks as you slowly get up.

"Wh-what?"- you look at him in shock, you haven't heard anything.

"Yes, they really want us to get married. They think we're the perfect couple. I'm glad they do, cause I worked really hard for them to trust me."- an evil grin dances on his lips as he cups your face.

"What do you mean?"- you ask, lips trembling.

"I had to keep up appearances. With the mass and charity and you know helping others and stuff like that."- he waves his hand dissmisively. "I did all of that for you. I waited for this moment ever since I first saw you. I knew you were gonna be mine one way or the other."

Your lips open and close a few times, you don't know what to say.

"Felix! Y/n! Come try some desserts!"- you hear your mother call out and you wish she'd done that earlier.

"Let's not keep your mother waiting, sweetheart."- Felix smirks, taking your hand in his and leading you downstairs.

-

It's the last day of the big charity event and you have a bad feeling in your gut. Felix has been glued to your side the whole time, and you already know what's coming later.

When it's time to clean up, Felix volunteers the two of you and ofcourse you have to go to the supply room.

You actually clean up and bring some stuff with you and as you put the last box down, Felix locks the door.

"Fe-" - you start but shriek when he pushes you down, bending you over the table in the room.

"Quiet."- he says and loosens his tie, untying it and grabbing your hands. He pins them on your lower back as you squirm around.

"Be still."- he slaps your ass lightly and you gasp and stop moving as he ties your wrists together.

"Wh-what are you gonna do to me?"- you ask.

He grins as he lifts your skirt up.

His fingers hook into your panties and he pulls them down to your knees.

"What I wanted to do since the first time I touched your pretty cunt in the restaurant."- he says and you hear his belt unbuckling.

"P-please don't! We- we're not married! You can do it when we become husband and wife, I- I promise!"- you try to reason with him.

He laughs at you, the tip of his cock running over your folds.

"I'll do it then and I'll do it now. You better be good and take it."- he says as he pushes his tip in.

You try to move away as you cry and beg for him to stop, lifting your upper body but he puts his hand on your back and slams you back down onto the table.

"Stay down."- he growls, forcing his cock into you.

"S-stop! Please! It hurts!"- you cry.

"Stop moving around and relax. It won't hurt if you just surrender."- he says, his hands on your asscheeks spreading them apart as he keeps pushing his cock deeper into your tight cunt.

You know there's no escape so you do as he says, spreading your legs as much as you can and trying to relax so you can take him.

Felix moans as he bottoms out, stretching your little pussy only for him.

You whimper quietly as he starts moving, his cock dragging on your walls, the warmness and wetness of you engulfing him and sucking him in.

It hurts a little but you stay still, hoping you'll adjust to his girth and that the pain will subside.

"Fuck, you take me so well! What a tight little cunt, sucking me in."- he smacks your ass, fucking into you faster.

You mewl under him as he holds your hip and tangles his other hand in your hair, keeping your head down on the table, ramming his cock deeper and harder into you.

"Fe- Felix!"- you whimper, the pain turning to pleasure as you've never been stretched and filled up like that. He groans as he keeps forcing you open, his hips smacking into your ass, the sounds filling up the room.

You would be embarassed of the sounds if you weren't already on edge, his cock hitting something inside you that makes you want more and more. You feel a pressure you haven't felt before, like you have to pee and you panic, trying to hold it in as Felix keeps abusing your hole.

"F-Felix stop! It feels weird!"- you whine.

"Weird how?"

"L-like I'm gonna pee."- you say embarassingly and he chuckles.

"It's okay darling, you can let go. It will feel even better than before. My cock will make you feel better than anything."- he says as he leans over you and fucks into you relentlessly.

You can't fight the feeling anymore as he doesn't slow down and the pressure builds up, he pulls out just as you squirt all over your and his legs, some of it landing on his cock.

"Ah!"- you whine, tears of embarassment and pleasure sliding down your cheeks.

"Felt so good, didn't it?"- he coos at you as he pushes back in.

"F-Felix!"- you moan his name again, your hands becoming fists as you grip at the tie.

"Fuck, this pussy is mine! Only mine!"- Felix growls into your ear as he presses you down with his body, pushing as deep as he can and fucking you so hard that the table rattles and moves.

"Say it!"- he orders as he grips your hair and pulls your head back harshly.

"Ah! It's yours, Felix, my pussy is yours!"- you cry out, bursting with overstimulation, your cunt clenching around him as you feel like you'll explode again.

"Yes, that's right. I wish I could breed this sweet pussy right now, put a baby in you."- he groans.

"D-don't, please!"- your eyes widden.

"I won't, not yet."- he smirks as he kisses your cheek and pulls out, jerking his cock fast against your flesh until he cums all over your ass and cunt.

You lay, still shaking from your orgasm and Felix smears some of his cum all over your pussy before he actually cleans you up everywhere except your core, pulling your panties up like he did before to make you keep his cum in them.

"Good girl."- he says, caressing your pussy.

"P-please untie me."- you beg.

"Alright."- he says and unties you. You slowly lift up as he put his tie back on and looks at you.

You want to escape, not just the room you're in but whatever destiny awaits for you as his wife, as he smirks and looks at you darkly.

You ask god or whoever is up there, just why did you deserve something like this?

Felix leans in and kisses you and you kiss him back, you wouldn't dare test his patience.

"You're gonna be a good little wife for me, aren't you?"- he smirks, hand around your neck and your eyes widden.

"Yes, yes I will."- you nod but on the inside you wish you could rewind the last few months and you wish you had told someone what Felix did that day in the restaurant and maybe now you would be free.

But there is no escape for you.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght

[lieslab]

Change your ticket

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: You surprise your boyfriend on tour, but when the time comes for you to leave, he doesn't want to let you go.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5.2K

Trigger warning: Brief mention of anxiety, stress, insecurities and an accidental physical assault.

Anxiety resources

Chan’s life was good, but you were the one who made it great. Not just great, you made it the best thing he’d ever experienced. In life, people come and go. Some people leave memories, some leave experiences, but some people? Some people, you fall in love with them and drown. Head soaked beneath the covert of another, their touch, their gaze, their safety, and their life. 

Some people are met to connect and fizzle out, while others infuse together and collide, like fireworks on the fourth of July; something indescribable happens, chemistry works in magnetizing ways, and the unthinkable happens.   

You were Chan’s firework stash and no matter what shape and color formed, no matter how bright you were while bursting through the darkened sky, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Some people are here for the beauty and some take up the entire view. The two of you could argue back and forth about which was which and who was what, but this afternoon, Chan didn’t want to lose his view. 

It was only one day between a triple set of concerts. One day to relax and explore the city. One day to rest up and sleep in. No soundcheck, no pressure to squirm into stage costumes, and no piling on the energy to keep the long concert going. Tomorrow, he’d give a hundred and ten percent when he walked upon that stage. A body soaked with sweat, a human becoming an artist, an ordinary man turning into an idol. 

And then there was you. 

You showed up with zero warning. He missed you more than he thought he would. He’d never admit to spraying your body spray into the bottom of his suitcase, just so every time he opened it, it smelled like home. He wouldn’t talk about the plushie he brought, the one he sprayed with the same scented mist, so he could curl his arms around it at night. It’d never take your place, but it smelled like you. Nose buried in the crook of its neck, he lulled himself to sleep alone. 

The hotel bed felt too big, too empty, and too cold. Queen-sized beds are better for sharing. No matter how many degrees he cranked up the thermostat, the call of winter came from within his own body. It was a chill he couldn’t shake, no matter what he did. It lived within his chest when you were gone. Only a phone call away and he still couldn’t fill the empty pocket of space within his heart. 

At least, he couldn’t until last night. Last night, he went out with the guys to find a burger joint. Grease shined their lips and the burst of a sun-ripened tomato sat on his tongue. No matter how many salty fries he’d consumed after that burger, the tomato took over his taste buds.  Tomato juice squirted from the bite he took and a quick squirt of seeds flew towards Jisung, who flinched at the sudden attack. 

“Dude, are you trying to take my eyes out?” 

All eight of them laughed. Jeongin reenacted the squirt of tomato, crashing his fingers into Changbin’s arm. Changbin’s laughter caused Minho to shake his head. The others mocked Jisung. Hyunjin made a similar noise to mock Jisung’s surprise. Felix snorted as Seungmin chucked a fry at Jisung, just to watch him flinch again for his own amusement. 

Chan’s chest hurt from laughing so hard. Everyone tried to regroup, not wanting to be too rowdy and upset other customers. It was hard to remain calm with the dramatic look on Jisung’s face. Eyes wide, mouth open in shock, and a hand clutched against his chest, he swore he thought the light was coming for him. 

Chan uttered an apology, promising it wouldn’t happen again. He successfully ate his burger. He was right, it didn’t happen again, but an arrow shot through his chest. Sharp and isolated, he sat there with the guys with a smile pulled onto his face, but he wanted to recreate what happened for you. You were the one he wanted to tell with the theatrics. He wanted to make you laugh and he wanted to be the one that sparked the light behind those eyes. 

Fortunately, his wish was granted when he came back to his hotel after dinner. Face flushed, sitting on the front of his bed, you sat with a shy smile, waiting for him to notice you. He froze with a hand still on the door and another near the light switch. 

“Babe?” 

“Hi, Chan.” 

“Is it really you?” 

“Live and in the flesh, yeah. I hope you’re okay with me appearing like this. The guys kept saying you missed me. I talked to my manager and got two days off. Surprise! Are you surprised? I hope I didn’t ruin anything…” 

When he didn’t respond right away, your heart fell. Brief thoughts of doubt clouded your head. Maybe this was wrong and the guys misread the situation. Chan’s loneliness had been mistaken for something else, but then he sprinted forward. 

You gasped and curled your arms up to your body. Limbs tackling yours against the bed, Chan squirmed until he was on top of your torso. “You have no idea how much I missed you. Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here.” 

He fell into your chest, like a lost child finally being found. The weight of everything melted away. Everything melted away and life was good. The world re-orientated itself upright on its axis. His fingers curled against your hips, gripping onto you so tight, he grew afraid you’d melt and this was all a dream. 

“Did you miss me that much?” 

“You have no idea. Every time I’m away from you, it’s a punishment. I’m so happy you’re here.” 

Lips brushed against the side of your neck. Jet lag’s exhaustion weighing over your head no longer mattered. Your brain buzzed and the only thing that mattered was the two of you alone in this hotel room. Bodies taking up space and pressed against one another. 

You no longer felt the desire to complain about the rude flight attendant or the screaming baby who ruined your flight by spiking a headache. You forgot about the toothbrush you didn’t pack, so you’d have to find one between today and tomorrow. You didn’t admit you left behind your body wash, so you could purposefully use Chan’s because you missed him. 

Some people claim a relationship is love because they think it sounds right, but with your relationship with Chan, it didn’t just sound right, it felt right. How was it possible for two people to align and feel this way about each other? Did the universe trap you together on purpose or before you were born? Did fate have a script written out where it lasted forever? 

Words weren’t enough. His nose bumped against your pulse point, causing your heart to jump. Hands found his head, threading through the soft strands of his hair, and then there were lips. Lips and warmth and the rush of love. Deliriously drunk on something so sickly sweet, neither of you wanted it to end. Lips against lips, bodies pressed together, every nerve jutted to life. Goosebumps trailed arms, fingers traced invisible lines, and desire stretched into a wildfire. 

The smiling didn’t stop. Even when Chan’s lips found you, you couldn’t focus on his lips. He was met with more teeth than lips. Head tipping back, he wanted to find the cause of the issue, but there wasn’t one. All the people you’d ever loved before and then there was him. Night and day, black and rainbow, the BC and AC; before Chan and after Chan. 

After Chan caused your days to blossom and bloom. Even with the problems erupting, even when everything fell apart, it all came together in the end. You knew it because Chan was there and with him, you could conquer anything you set your mind to. 

“I love your smile.” 

He reached out and brushed hair away from your eyes. Before his arm could return to his body, you reached up and curled your fingers around his wrist. Everything felt right. His stomach twisted with need, but he forced himself to pause and focus on this moment. 

The only thing that ever made him high was you. No amount of alcohol, no intake of illicit substance could recreate this drunken haze clouding his head. You were his and he was yours. Locked in a room, tucked in a fantasy, everything unwound like it was supposed to. 

“I like your face.” 

With those words, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his, certain you could kiss him properly this time. 

~ ~ ~ 

And when the world woke up the next morning, it felt like a dream. Rolled over and facing you, your cheek smushed into a pillow, every muscle relaxed with your chest steadily rising up and down. Movement came from a room behind, probably Changbin and Jeongin screwing around, the two of them were already up for the day. Knowing them, they’d head down to the hotel’s attached gym. 

Chan planned to go with them, but that was before you showed up. You with that voice and the tenderness that he couldn’t bear to rip himself apart from. Is loving another selfish or the most selfless thing a person can do for themselves? The thought ran around his brain and dropped a cold marble of consideration between his finger tips. No matter which answer he ended up with, it didn’t matter. 

You took the time out of your day and your life to show up to be with him. He didn’t ask you to take days off work. He didn’t ask you to buy a plane ticket or a concert ticket, but you did it anyway. Money down the drain, but you didn’t see it as a regret. If paying money was the price you had to pay to spend an extra day with the love of your life, so be it. 

Trapped in a dream, you were unaware of the longing gaze on Chan’s face. He didn’t want a photo of this. He wanted the memory imprinted on his brain, so he could go back and revisit it at any time. He wanted to expand this memory, climb inside, and shut the door behind him, so he could access it whenever he desired. 

Your snores with the added mixture of the traffic below. In the city, heavy traffic backed up already. People honked horns and cars steadily rumbled along the paved roads. Everyone was in a rush and, for once in his busy life, it wasn’t him. There were a few hours before soundcheck. Hours until he had to break this illusion and part ways.

It didn’t matter what management said. He didn’t know if you purchased soundcheck tickets, but it didn’t matter. You’d be down below, so you could watch him perform. With or without the fans' knowledge, you’d be there, so he could keep an eye on you. Watching you would only give him more energy. 

No matter how badly he wished he could pull you on stage and serenade you with some cheesy love song, pulling out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, he knew it wouldn’t happen. Management would never allow it, but it didn’t stop him from imagining it. The smile on your face, the flushed cheeks, and the way you’d cover your face from embarrassment. He lived for the thrill of embarrassing you. 

Minutes ticked by, but he didn’t get up. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on you. He wondered if you’d find it weird or maybe you’d find yourself embarrassed by his close observation, but he didn’t view it that way. What a privilege to be able to lay next to the person he loved. Time suspended and came to a slow crawl. 

Cars rushed by on the busy streets below, but he’d take this moment for as long as the world allowed him to have it. 

~ ~ ~ 

You were so insistent to be the one to lay down. In the back of the venue, you laid down on the leather loveseat, pushed off to the side of the beige wall. Fluorescent lights rounded three square mirrors for makeup artists to apply makeup correctly. Other members lingered around the area, waiting to get their makeup done. Your platform shoes dangling over the edge of the arm, Chan cautiously sat on your stomach. 

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” He asked for the third time. 

“If you were, I wouldn’t be allowing you to sit here,” you reassured him. “I want you here, so kindly shut up and keep sitting. You’re helping warm my organs, it’s cold in here.” 

He chuckled at your predicament and leaned back. His weight pressed against your stomach, but truly, you didn’t mind it. Something about the pressure felt nice. Your head fell back against the arm of the fabric. The two of you weren’t alone, but it felt like it… 

Until Hyunjin had to go and open his mouth. 

“Have you two considered sitting five feet apart and not on top of one another? I feel like you’re mocking me for being single.” A cup of ramen in one hand, chopsticks holding up strands of soaked noodles in the other, he stared with a frown. “It’s ruining my meal.” 

“And you’re ruining my moment with my man,” you shot back playfully. “Where’s your man?” 

Hyunjin paused and glanced over his shoulder. The plastic chair beneath him creaked with his adjusted weight. Changbin hung out beside Felix, talking to the makeup artist doing Felix’s makeup. 

Hyunjin frowned and spun back to face you. “He abandoned me.” 

“You should win him back.” 

“You think I could compete with Felix? He’s got so many ambassador brands, he’s loaded. He could buy Changbin’s love and I’d still be here, lost to the wind.” 

Chan snorted at his words and shook his head. A black t-shirt and a pair of loose jeans sat on his hips. The soundcheck was only about an hour away. Until then, you hung back in the dressing room with Chan. Eventually, you’d have to go out and find your spot for soundcheck. You dreaded having to leave him alone. Once soundcheck ended, it’d be a while before the official concert started. 

Hyunjin paused mid-slurp and frowned. “Do you guys ever think about how confusing Felix’s taxes must be? My taxes are confusing because I have a few brand deals, but he has so many and he lives here in South Korea, but he came from Australia and do you think…” He trailed off. 

His head suddenly snapped up and his eyes found Chan. “Wait, you’re Australian! How confusing are your taxes?”

Chan threw his head back and groaned. “Oh, please. I hate even thinking about it. I hire some guy to help me with it every year. It’s confusing, but he always helps me figure it out.” 

“You don’t want to go to jail for tax fraud?” You joked. “I can see it now.” Your hands reached up and circled above your head. “Bang Chan of Stray Kids arrested for tax evasion and fraud.” 

He leaned forward, pushing more weight on your body as he moved closer to your face. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” 

“Yep. A real hoot.” 

“Gross,” Hyunjin mumbled beneath his breath. “I wish I’d go to jail for tax evasion. At least, I wouldn’t have to sit here and watch the two of you flirt.” 

Chan jerked up instantly. “What’d you say?” He shifted upright, standing up, and moving towards Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin shrieked and cowered back in his chair. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I was joking!” 

Felix caught a glimpse of the action happening in the makeup mirror. He grinned at Chan’s threat and egged him on. “Yeah, get him! Sic him!” 

Changbin’s conversation with the makeup artist froze. He whirled around, trying to figure out what was happening. “Hey! Are you threatening my wife? Back up, bucko!” 

Before anyone threw punches, the dressing room door swung open. Minho appeared with a foam cup of sliced fruit. He paused when he heard the bickering. Behind him, Jeongin leaned forward with two of his own fruit cups. 

“What’s going on?” Jeongin asked. 

Minho shrugged, tugged one of the fruit cups from Jeongin’s hand, and lightly shook it. “Channie-hyung, we found you a snack.” 

The bickering halted, even you looked up from your lounge spot. Minho shook the cup again and walked forward, holding it out for Chan. “It’s sliced pineapple. We know how much you like pineapple.” 

His attention fell from Hyunjin and went to the cup. Sure enough, yellow tidbits piled high on top of one another. The sight of them alone caused his stomach to growl. He reached out and gently took them. “Thank you.” He carried them back to you. 

Hyunjin huffed and shoved himself upright in his chair. “How rude.” 

Changbin brushed off Hyunjin’s shoulders. He made sure he was okay, before returning to the now empty makeup chair. Jeongin took a seat on the other side of the room with his own fruit cup. He stuck the plastic fork inside and pulled out a blueberry. 

Chan laid back against you and stabbed one of the pieces of pineapple. Before he consumed a bite, he brought it up to your face. “Open up.” 

“You don’t have to feed me. I’ve already eaten. You’re the one that’ll be burning tons of calories out there.” 

He refused to hear it. Not taking no for an answer, you obliged and opened your mouth. The cold tropical fruit brushed against your tongue. You chewed through the sweet taste and swallowed. Chan held another to your mouth and you took it from the fork again. 

That’s how the rest of the time went. He took a few bites and shared another with you. If you tried to object, he shook his head. While conversations flowed between you, Seungmin and Jisung appeared back from the bathroom. Jisung asked Chan for a bite, but he refused. 

You’d never admit it out loud, but you found Chan’s commitment to only sharing certain food with you absolutely adorable and it caused your heart (and maybe your ego) to swell with pride. 

~ ~ ~ 

The shrill screams from those around you deafened you, but you didn’t care. Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, you waved the Stray Kids’ lightstick frantically. It flashed a bright burst of colors, linking up with the others flooding the arena, and colors pulsed. Neon colors flew one right after the next. They bobbed between songs and swayed for others. 

When Chan sent a kiss blown in your direction, you couldn’t stop blushing. It was impossible to see with the lights dimmed down, but he knew. His laughter and pointing and giggling said everything. You shook your head, drunk on the feelings engulfing you. 

It wasn’t a surprise when the fan next to you let out a high-pitched scream. “CHAN! I LOVE YOU!” Her lightstick jerked up and waved frantically back and forth. 

When Chan waved in your direction again, she literally swooned. Her body dipped to the side in a slight sway. “Oh my god, he’s the love of my life. He doesn’t know it, but he’s the love of my life.” Her fingers curled around the lace frills of her shirt. 

If only you knew he’s mine. 

You kept your words to yourself, but you knew you were his. On that same edge of the stage, he kept his gaze upon you. He didn’t want to leave. It was Minho that dragged him away, reminding him he had to interact with other parts of the stage or people would figure out something was up. 

It was hard to hide anything with hundreds of people filming the guys from a variety of angles while they all enjoyed the official concert. 

~ ~ ~

Soundcheck occurred and passed relatively quickly. You enjoyed it, but not as much as you wanted to. Since you couldn’t speak to Chan, every time you had something you wanted to say, you tugged out your phone and texted it to him. He didn’t know until he pulled out his phone to reveal more than fifty text messages from you. 

Each one made his heart swell a little more. Pride plucked his heart. He turned himself around in the dressing room after he changed out of his concert outfit. Hiding in the corner, he ignored his members as he scrolled. He smiled so much, his face hurt and his dimples ached. It was always worth it for you. 

Why are you doing this to me? It’s like the stylist wants me to suffer. Are you aware you keep flashing your abs each time you raise your arms? Do you want me to die? 

OMG! ARE YOU OKAY?!?! I can’t believe they didn’t push the cords further away from the stage. What do they control anyway? The lights? We should sue for physical damages. 

Pheeeeeew. It’s getting so hot, but I can’t tell if it’s the venue or if it’s just you 😏 (seriously you’re killing me) 

His giggles were unstoppable. It wasn’t until Jeongin peeked over his shoulder that he whirled around and jerked his phone away. “Huh? I wasn’t doing anything bad.” 

“You’re over here giggling at the wall.” 

“Some of us are reading the text messages from our significant others. You wanna see? Look! They even complimented you!” 

He scrolled back up, showing Jeongin the text you sent about his shoes. When Jeongin saw it, his face brightened immediately. “See! I told you someone would appreciate my shoes. Tell them I appreciate it and tell them I got them from–” 

“Nuh-uh. If I tell them where you got them, they’ll want a pair. It’s bad enough knowing you wear those moon boot looking things. I can’t have my partner wearing them, too.” 

Jeongin shook his head and pulled out his own phone. “Just for that, I’m texting them right now.” 

“Innie, don’t you dare!” 

Chan trusted you so much, he didn’t doubt your loyalty. Not anymore. It took some time for him to slowly accept you having all the numbers of his group members. It hadn’t been your choice. It started with Jeongin sneaking into Chan’s phone while he was asleep. 

Chan had been restless and anxious during the last comeback. Way more anxious than usual, it worried everyone. Jeongin texted you on a whim, wondering if you’d noticed. Everyone tried to ease his inner turmoil, but Chan’s brain did what it did best. He overworked himself and he ran around in circles internally until he was on the verge of breaking down from the pressure. 

You knew something had changed. He was different. Date nights were cancelled back-to-back. The third time it happened, no plans were made for another date night. You knew he was busy. Not wanting to add onto his stress, you took a few steps back, knowing if you’d be too overbearing, he’d feel suffocated and retreat entirely. 

You were placed into a group chat with his group members. One-by-one, their numbers filled your phone. Concerns, notices of him missing meals, the constant pressure to rework songs, rewrite lyrics, and produce more. His own brain became a black hole. 

You were the one to catch him. You called it an emergency and said you needed to talk. To your surprise, shortly after you texted, he showed up at your place within twenty minutes. Eyes wide and hands open to receive and support you in whatever way he could, he was confused when he appeared to a bag of takeout. 

Your words hurt. It stung to come face-to-face with reality. To know he’d been hurting you, but it hurt a little more when you showed him the messages on your phone. Every text message between you and his group members. Even from Changbin and Minho, who believed that if Chan needed assistance, he’d always come find them. 

The wave of anger turned into the fear of failure. Head in his hands, the walls of the box he’d caged himself in crumbled. The fear of never being good enough, the desire to please, the constant need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, everything tumbled out and seeped through his fingers into unsteady piles of sand. He choked out the words. The lump in his throat tried to silence him, but he was stronger than his inner demons; he always had been and he always would be. 

Whether he had to be reminded or the self-confidence within him grew and he kept that belief close to his heart, it depended on the day and his mood. No matter which it was, you’d always do your best to stitch it into his heart. Even if he rebuked your words and jerked out the stitches, you’d stitch praise back into him again and again and again, until those stitches dissolved and his brain accepted it. 

There never was any other option. Even if he doubted himself, you never did. Doubt is ingrained in everyone and we are no different from one another. Doubt is inevitable, it’s the faith in yourself and the faith from those around you who take you far. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Don’t leave. It feels like you just got here. Please don’t leave me.” 

Chan’s words came out half-mumbled. Lips pressed against your neck, they barely made sense, but you understood them perfectly. Arms wrapped around your waist, he’d been begging since the two of you came back to the hotel room after the concert. 

Both of you had showered and the plan was simple, you’d stay until Chan fell asleep. Once you were certain he was off to dreamland, you’d take your suitcase and disappear into the night. Your red-eye flight took off in a few hours and you had to be there on time for boarding. Your boss gave you two days, not forever. By the time you flew back to South Korea, the sun would rise and you’d try to get some sleep before the next day. 

“You know I have to go.”

Your fingers slipped through his hair. The products the hair stylist used washed out of the damp strands. His dark curls came back in small tufts. The frown never left his face. He squeezed you tighter and let out the faintest huff. He pouted and you knew he wanted pity, but you chuckled. 

“Not funny,” he grumbled. 

“I’ll see you again in a few days. This leg of the tour will be over and you’ll come back home for a bit.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “just to do more scheduled things. I don’t want to do my job, I want to see and hold you.” He squeezed you tighter. “What if I never let you go?” 

“Careful. You’re on dangerous territory. You’re squeezing me so hard, it’s getting hard to breathe.” 

“Great, so let’s call your boss tomorrow and tell her you can’t come because your sexy boyfriend gave you a heart attack.” 

“Wooow,” sarcasm filled your voice. “I bet she’ll love that. Can’t wait to explain that one when I get back.” 

He sighed, knowing you were right. “I know you’ve gotta go, I just miss you. You haven’t left and I miss you already.” 

You glanced up and tipped your head. His lips pressed into an exaggerated pout. An undertone of citrus hit your nose. You sucked in a deep breath and leaned closer. “I’d stay here with you if I could.” 

“You can quit your job and travel with me full-time.” 

“Your company wouldn’t allow that.” 

“I could always use an assistant.” 

“Good try.” 

“It sounded good.” 

You untangled your arms and pulled away. “Come on.” You walked over to the hotel room bed and gently patted the top covers. “Let’s go. If you don’t get enough rest, you’re going to be sore tomorrow. You’ve spent the past three hours dancing and jumping around, like a wild kangaroo.” 

His bare feet kicked the worn carpet. Another huff and arms over his chest, he dragged himself to the right side of the bed. He lowered himself beneath the covers you pulled back. “Right now, I’m merely a kangaroo with a bruised heart.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

“I could really use someone to stay and cuddle, but since you think you have to leave so soon…” He trailed off and propped himself up on his elbow. “I will settle for a kiss.” 

You carefully leaned forward and shifted closer. “Because I love you.” Your lips found the apple of his left cheek and then the right. A centered forehead kiss, the tip of his nose, and then his lips. 

When you pulled away, he gripped the front of your shirt and kept you there. Eager lips didn’t leave yours. Yesterday replayed in your head. The fireworks exploded, blush developed upon your cheeks, and then came the smile he’d do anything to see. Laughter bubbled within your chest and then he cupped the side of your face. 

The moment his thumb brushed across the top of your cheek, you yelped and jerked back. A sharp hiss, a hand curling against your throbbing face, and an ache radiated through the orbital bone. You gritted your teeth, trying to be stronger than the pain coursing through you. 

“What was that?” Chan questioned. He sat upright and held an outstretched arm to you, wanting to steady you. “What happened?” 

“It’s nothing.” You mumbled the words and gently rubbed the top of your cheek. The moment you did, you wince again. 

“Babe?” 

“Just the fangirl next to me. It was an accident, that’s all. She didn’t mean to. She was so excited during the concert. Halfway through it, she got too excited and her lightstick collided with my eye socket.” 

His face fell. Gentle fingers curled around your chin and his eyes scanned the injured side of your face. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you.” 

“Do what? It was a piece of plastic to the eye socket. Really, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t bullshit me. No wonder this eye is puffy and red. I thought you rubbed it too hard or it was irritated from makeup. You should have told me right away.” 

“You’d panic.” 

“You’re right and that’s exactly why you’re not getting on that flight tonight.” 

“But I–” 

He shook his head. “You took care of me when I needed it the most, yeah? So let me take care of you now. Let’s find some ice and see how it is in the morning. I’ll have a member of management take us to urgent care if it’s worse in the morning. I’ll call your boss and personally explain what happened.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you whispered. 

“But I love you, so I want to.” His fingers reached out and gently curled into your hands. “Let me love you the way you love me.” Thumbs trailed your knuckles, tracing the ridges of your bones. 

“Is it selfish to ask if we can pick up where we left off?” 

His smirk caught you off guard. You yelped as he leaned forward and scooped his arms beneath your body. “Don’t you worry, I know exactly where we were.” 

You might not have been back in your country and back at your place, but you were certainly right at home. 

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan @zayn-210 @beal-o @geni-627 @princesskrystix @itsraininghyunebuckets @makaira-nina2005 @enhacolor @ayedomino008 @iconicallyher @emeraldgem22 @sapphirewaves @karlee10261990

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This is Fake... Right?

Bang Chan x F! Reader Synopsis: Sometimes breakups really are for the best. Warnings: SMUT, p in v (be smart!), praise, sweet, talks of past relationship. A/N: Holy crap I missed you guys and writing. I don't know how consistent I'll be, but here's this little, slightly self indulgent, piece. 🩷

Breakups. Sometimes it’s one person’s fault. Sometimes it’s both…

And sometimes it’s neither one.

The sheet beneath you is damp with tears, your chest aches, your mind is exhausted, your emotions are drained and utterly spent. It wasn’t a single, ‘I’m done,’ type of thing. It was days. Trying to talk it out, trying to make it work despite knowing it couldn’t. 

Now you’re laying in a dark room, under the covers completely broken. You wonder if you could’ve been something else for him. But you know it would’ve been at the expense of your happiness. That you wouldn’t have been you if you tried to be what he needed. And he didn’t want you to be anything but yourself, just like you didn’t want him to be anyone but himself. 

It simply was no one’s fault. 

A stream of light barely shines into the room. 

Chan. Your roommate. Your best friend. 

Your tears are silent but violent, your body is shaking slightly. You feel the mattress dip with his weight and the covers raise and his body heat floods your back. His arm snakes around your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“It’s gonna be okay…” he trails off, trying to offer some sort of comfort. But it only makes you cry harder.

“I thought I had forever with him,” you sob out quietly, “I considered changing for him.” 

Chan’s arm only tightens around you, pulling you in closer.

“You don’t have to change for the right person,” he reminds you gently. 

“What if I can’t find the right person?” That’s it. That’s part of the fear. You thought you had everything figured out because it was supposed to be him. Now you’re mourning what you thought you had. Now you’re afraid you won’t find better.

“Y/n, the right person is out there. I promise.” he whispers in your ear. You turn to face him and bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of clean soap and light cologne. 

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” he whispers into your hair before planting a soft kiss on your temple.

“I just wanted it to be him so bad,” your voice comes out weak and whimpery. 

“I know sweetheart,” he says sympathetically.

“Does it ever get better?” A sharp sniffle leaves you. 

“Yeah… eventually,” he says, his own heart breaking.

-

Over the few days slowly your heart starts to heal, to a point where crying is little to nonexistent. Chan has been there for all of it. Letting your tears soak his shirt when needed, with your favorite foods and movies. He’s done all the cooking, letting you rot on the couch when needed. 

Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn into months and life starts to finally feel normal again. 

One afternoon Chan comes home.

“Get dressed. We’re going out.”  

“What, but I’m in my sweats and eating popco-” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll take you somewhere fancy. My treat.” For a moment you consider fighting him. But you decide it’s a waste of time. 

Your feet pad down the hall to the bedroom and you pull out your favorite dress from your closet. You do your makeup and hair, fixing yourself up before slipping on your garments and walking out in a pair of heels. 

Chan changes his clothes, a nice pair of pants and button down shirt. 

He’s waiting on you when you walk into the kitchen and his eyes widen slightly. 

“Wow… you clean up well..” his voice is slightly higher, and he clears his throat before giving you a soft smile. A soft blush blooms on your cheeks as you smile bashfully and grab your purse.

-

The restaurant is upscale, classy and definitely took some planning.

“Yeah, reservation for 2,” Chan says as you look around at the grand establishment. 

You walk through the place, sitting down at a table cloth clad table, a booth, its private- intimate even. You order drinks and your meal, the night goes well. Two friends catching up on daily life, Chan going on and on about new songs and sounds, how Han almost broke the microphone when he went a little hard in the sound booth, and how Lee Know was really off key that day so they’re going to have to re-record tomorrow. 

You’re laughing at a story about Seungmin making fun of I.N when you see it. Your heart rate skyrockets and your breath catches. 

Him. Your ex. He walks in with a new girl on his arm and your stomach turns in knots. Chan sees the instant change in you, goosebumps raise up on your skin as if the room dropped 20 degrees. 

Chan follows your line of sight and his back goes rigid. Were you over the heartbreak? Mostly. You accepted that it was over, but that didn’t make seeing him any easier, especially with someone new. Chan notices the way you shrink into yourself. He grabs your hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You okay?” 

You give him a simple nod. 

“Y/n?” That familiar voice calls. Your stomach drops and you stare at Chan with wide eyes. In the blink of an eye Chan winks before plastering a smile on his face. Your brows furrow. 

“Hey, Cade,” he smiles all too politely. You look over and notice the slightly confused expression on your ex-boyfriend's face. 

“Hey, i, uh, didn’t know you would be here tonight.” 

“Yeah well, my girl deserves the best.” He chimes in effortlessly, his thumb resuming the circles on your hand. You can’t fake the genuinely amused smile that appears , because you see the lines creasing on Cade’s face. 

“You two are… together.. Now?” 

“Yeah, and man I can’t thank you enough for letting her go. I finally got my chance and I don’t plan on squandering it.” 

Your cheeks heat up and you look down at the table. Cade is speechless. 

“Well… congratulations… It’s good seeing ya, y/n.” he says and awkwardly waves to go back to his table. You give him a tight lipped smile and turn to face Chan who looks like the cat who ate the canary. 

“Why did you do that?!” You whisper yell. Chan only smirks before slightly cutting his eyes at your ex’s table and turning to you. 

“Because I wanted to see him uncomfortable.” His nonchalant tone causes you to furrow your brows.

“Maybe we should just go,” you start to slide out of the booth but Chan gently grips your wrist.

“Don’t let him ruin our meal. Please?” 

You sigh begrudgingly.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you tease him. But part of you liked how he was acting. It was sweet, respectful, but dominant in a way that makes you feel safe. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and has it all under control. 

“Wanna kick it up a notch?” He smirks playfully. You raise a brow in silent question.

“What do you mean?” 

He slides in the booth beside you, putting his arm around your shoulder.

“He’s looking, just go with it,” he whispers in your ear, causing your stomach to knot and goosebumps to litter your skin again. A blush spreads on your cheeks and down your neck.

“Mhm, just like that. Good girl.” He teases lightly trying to get more of a reaction. 

And boy does it. A soft giggle leaves you by accident and you lean into him trying to hide your face in his neck. You bite down on your bottom lip as he chuckles and lets you hide. For a moment, there’s no game, there’s no show, it’s just you, Chan and something between you now that’s starting to feel a little too real. 

The waiter returns with your meals, sitting them down on the table, and you give a shy smile thanking him. Chan kisses your forehead then your cheek before turning to his plate. For a brief moment, you miss the feeling of his warmth around your shoulders. But you force yourself to eat, glancing around noticing Cade’s eyes as they glance towards your table. You quickly look down at your food and eat. 

One of Chan’s hands rests on your thigh. Something in your chest tightens as you place your hand over his for a second before cutting a piece of your food. 

Over the course of dinner you halfway forget what’s happening is meant to be for show. Your smile becomes brighter, your giggles become genuine, and out of the corner of your eye, Cade is still sparing the two of you glances. 

As dinner winds down, Chan takes your hand and helps you up out of the booth, smiling like he’s a fool in love. Your expression mirrors his as he kisses your forehead before paying at the counter and walking out.

-

On the ride home, reality crashes in violently. 

A show. A performance. All of it, fake. And it breaks your heart in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The drive home is in silence, your eyes watching as the world blurs by in the car. The silence is tense, filled with words you wish you could say. But Chan is your friend. That’s all he would ever be. 

The car pulls into the parking garage, and the walk up to your shared apartment is still silent. 

“You okay?” His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade. 

“Mhm,” you nod, but both of you know it’s not true. You don’t look at him, only staring at the stainless steel doors of the elevator. 

Finally they open to your floor. The short walk from the elevator to the door is tense, and each second that passes makes you wish you could just get out of this situation. 

Finally the door opens, the apartment is dark, lit only by the moonlight coming in from the windows. 

“Thanks for tonight,” you say quietly, and yet it sounds too loud in the dead silence of the living room. 

“Y/n,” he says softly. You stop, your back to him, eyes staring down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Yeah?” Your voice comes out cracked, you hadn’t even realized that a tear had tracked its way down your cheek until you reached up to your face and felt the wetness there. Chan’s hand gently grips your wrist and spins you to face him. His eyes are laced with worry as they rake over your expression.

“What’s a matter?” He whispers, cupping your face. 

“Nothing,” you whisper, a blatant lie. Chan’s thumb brushes away the tear. 

“It was just.. Seeing him and the way you treated me tonight… it was nice to feel wanted again… and then it made me miss it worse,” you barely whisper. 

His forehead goes to yours. 

“You are wanted,” he rasps. 

“Chan-” 

“I want you,” he admits before you can finish. Your breath hitches. Your eyes look back and forth between his. Before Chan can really over think it, his lips find yours in a sweet, soft but also assured kiss. He knows what he wants, and he’s making it clear. 

A surprised noise leaves you, your lips paralyzed for only a few moments before they move against his, your hands gripping his wrists. Its magical, it’s soft but sure. It’s two friends crossing a line neither knew the other one wanted to. 

Chan pulls you closer, his tongue darting over your bottom lip and your mouth parts for him, letting him explore. His tongue glides against yours and a soft whimper escapes your throat. You can feel him smirk slightly against your mouth as one hand slides into your hair and one goes around your waist. Your arms snake around his neck, forcing the two of you closer together. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against your mouth. 

“Nuh uh,” you respond immediately. He breaks the kiss, taking a moment to search your face for any uncertainty. 

“If we do this,” he whispers, letting the sentence hang. For a moment the only sound heard is your mutual heavy breathing. This is it. Do you cross the line forever? Is it already crossed? Probably. 

You take his hand, lacing your fingers together before gently pulling him towards your bedroom with a soft, shy smile. He follows, wordlessly.

You pull him down on top of you as your back hits the mattress. His nose brushes yours before he kisses you deeply. His hands start to roam, hiking your leg up over his hip as he ruts slightly against you, causing you to gasp. 

“Chan-” you breathe against his mouth. The outline is felt, he’s beyond ready. 

“Need you,” he breathes before capturing your lips again. He removes your dress and his lips find your neck, one hand pulling up your dress to expose your body to him. He pulls back, looking down at you like you're a rare work of art. 

“Fuck,” he breathes deeply before kissing you deeply again. He leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck and chest down to your sternum, before taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking softly, tongue swiping across it, causing short soft bits of pleasure to shoot into your abdomen, making your hips roll upward. The sounds you make cause his hips to stutter. His eyes roll back into his head as he feels slight friction against himself. He lets go, giving the other side attention. 

Once he lets go he smiles up at you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he flicks your hardened bud with the tip of his tongue forcing a soft cry from your throat. He chuckles before kissing down your stomach. 

“So pretty,” he whimpers against your hips as he thrusts his hips into the mattress now. He pulls your underwear down in one swoop, settling between your legs. He kisses up your thighs, and for a moment you can feel the frustration building. He chuckles as he see the way your hips jerk slightly.

“Paitence baby,” he tuts and you whine in response. He chuckles before kissing over your mound, spreading you open and blowing slightly against your bare core. 

You hiss in response, your back arching slightly. While your brain still processes the foreign feeling, suddenly a warm, wet feeling hits you. 

His tongue. It laves over your nub. A gasp leaves you as your eyes roll back and your back arches as he gently, teasingly assaults you. Your hips buck slightly against his mouth, forcing him to hook his arms around your thighs, holding you still as he feasts now, locking his eyes with yours. Moans, whimpers, groans and cries fill the room as he bares down, pushing you just to the edge, before backing off. His tongue traces figure 8’s on you before circling and sucking like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He plunges his tongue into your hole, making your back arch as he simply chuckles, forcing a vibration against you.

His finger replaces his tongue, slowly making the come hither motion. He quickly adds another, finding that beautiful spot inside you. Forcing out cock hardening sounds to leave your mouth as his tongue strikes your nub. Your hand grips his hair, pulling him closer. 

“Chan!” Your voice breaks on his name as the tightening in your stomach begins. 

“Don’t stop, please, baby, don’t-” a sharp cry leaves you suddenly as he hits your sweet spot faster.. He starts moaning, forcing vibrations to push you over the edge, causing you to cry out, your thighs to clamp around his head and your back to leave the mattress. 

He works you through your orgasm, only stopping when you try to push his headway from overstimulation. 

“Fuck you taste so good,” he says once he kisses up your body back to your lips, his tongue plunging into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. His hands work to get his pants and boxers off. 

“This okay?” He whispers, double checking your consent. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. He nods and finishes undressing. He hovers above you. 

“I’m gonna go slow, just tell me if I need to stop,” he warns gently and you nod. He lines himself up, his eyes going to yours as he pushes in. 

“Oh God,” he groans as you gasp. 

“That’s it, baby. Just take it,” he breathes into your ear. You whimper in response as he finally gets himself sheathed inside you.

“Fuck you feel so good… Like home,” he says lowly in your ear. He pulls out and slides back in, creating a gentle rhythm. He takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his, beside your head as his eyes peer down into yours. Your mouth hangs open slightly as the pleasure starts to build. 

“God you sound so pretty like this,” he moans as he hears you whimper and moan. Your legs hook around his waist, letting him drive in deeper. He kisses along your neck, sucking marks and nipping at the skin there below your ear. 

“Y/n,” he groans as your muscles squeeze him.

“Feels so good,” you whimper, hips bucking to meet his thrusts as he picks up the pace. He kisses you deeply, tongue plunging in and out of your mouth in time with his thrusts. 

“You’re everything,” he growls softly. Your body arches into him, your chests pressed together. 

“I love you, Chan,” you breathe as your bodies start to tense, pleasure and heat rising between you. 

“I love you more,” he breathes before going faster, forcing you to completely abandon all thought. Only feelings exist. Only pleasure. Only him. 

“Chan- ah!” Your body desperately tries to writhe beneath him as he sucks a nipple into his mouth causing you to groan. 

The tightness builds, your muscles contracting before a scream rips from your lungs and your body trembles as you squeeze around him, forcing him over the edge. 

“Shit,” you breathe deeply despite the trembling. For a moment the two of you are suspended in a tense moment of realization. You did it… You felt wanted… You felt desired and loved. You still do. 

“Chan,” you whisper and he takes one of his hands and cups your face.

“Please don’t tell me you regret it,” he whispers vulnerably. You immediately shake your head.

“No- no I don’t,” you reassure him and it’s like you can see the relief on his face.

“Good, because I don’t either.” He kisses you chastely before pulling out slowly, making you both groan. He grabs a towel, wiping off both him and you. Your hips twitch as he gets close to your clit. 

“Sorry.” His voice is gentle as he methodically and carefully cleans you up. He discards the towel and pulls you into his arms. 

“It was nice to feel like you were mine for a night,” he says in your ear. 

“It was nice to feel like yours,” you admit. 

“I want to feel that all the time.” 

“Me too,” you look up at him, eyes wide and puppy-like. He smiles and kisses you passionately. 

“Good, because I’m not letting go. Not ever,” he whispers against your lips.

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But You're a Cheerleader! [NSFW]

Day One: Nerd x Popular Trope

for #daisy's 12 days of tropemas <3 event!

Summary: General chemistry 1 might actually be the bane of your existence. You don’t have time for a class to be this hard, not when you’re already juggling the maximum number of credit hours they would let you take on top of a packed competitive cheer schedule. So you get desperate, and you take the walk of shame to your university’s learning commons, and submit your application for a tutor. What you hadn’t expected was for your tutor to be so cute, and for him to spark some sort of chemistry with you outside of the classroom. You’re not going to complain, not when it all comes to a head one night at a house party before finals week and you end up with your pretty little tutor underneath you in bed.

Warnings:  nerd x popular trope, nerd!sub!jisung, popular!dom!reader, penetration (reader!receiving), quickshot Han Jisung, the glasses stay on, overstimulation (Jisung!receiving), semi-public sex (other people are in the house), swearing

w.c.: 8.8K

– – –

You know I had to do it!!! Nerdsung is so special to me <3 Gross little loser with glasses and poorly shaved stubble (you know the Jisung picture I’m talking about…) is my foil. I know this has been written before, but that’s the fun of this event! Putting my own little spin on it. Sorry that this didn’t actually come out on day 1??? Literally so technology stupid that I fumbled using tumblr dot com. Forgive me everyone…Added a few thousand words as an apology <3 Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and happy almost day 1!

You’re failing chemistry.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself at first. In all honesty, you still don’t want to admit it.

Because you pride yourself in being smart. In actually having a head on your shoulders. You’re a competitive cheerleader, the treasurer of your sorority, an honors student, and hell, you’re the student representative on the school board. You’re that guy that everyone knows vaguely for some reason, and you like to think that you’re well-liked amongst your social circles.

And somehow, despite all of your efforts, you’re failing chemistry.

General chemistry 1 was not a course you necessarily wanted to take. It was tedious, long lectures from a geriatric professor whose tenure needed to be challenged, and recitation periods with a jittery TA who clearly cared more about their Phd than how their students did in class. Which was fair, you suppose, but still didn’t make your life any easier. And the lab was no saving grace, with shitty rubrics that don’t actually tell you anything and a five page minimum procedure for every. Single. One. You were pretty sure you were going to tear your hair out at this point if the TA looked over your shoulder again and made a confused sound at what you were doing.

You’d try everything you could think of to pass this class on your own, but, much to your chagrin, you couldn’t take this class as a pass/fail course, because it was required for your major to graduate. Which meant the grade had to be good, or else it would tank your GPA into the depths of hell. You could say goodbye to your academic scholarships, and your spot on the cheer team (and your dignity).

In your time of need, halfway through the semester, you had given up, trudging across campus to the library and doing the walk of shame to the learning commons, which, of course, was at the far end of the first floor. You figured the only people who actually had to use the learning commons were idiots who didn’t actually try in their classes - the kind of desperate where you have to look your fellow students in the eyes and ask for not just help, but paid help. Plus, while you were a bit of a “nerd” yourself, the people that they usually hired for these positions had questionable hygiene on a good day. You shuddered, but trudged on, your shattered pride worth passing this god damn chemistry class.

There’s a mousy girl with a kind face sitting behind the front desk as you walk up, and she smiles at you as you approach. You realize with dread that she’s in the honors society with you, and you pray that she doesn’t recognize you.

“Hey, you!” she chirps, and you internally groan. “How can I help? Are you looking to become a tutor?”

You wince, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, no. General chemistry 1 is kicking my ass, and I can’t afford to fail it. Do you guys have any tutors who are free for that subject?”

“Oh, a million,” she responds, head bobbling as she nods, “Though some of them are, like, terrible. Let me try and hook you up with a good one.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you say, a grateful smile crossing your face, “I owe you big time.”

She waves you off with a laugh, scrolling through some sort of database on the ancient computer perched in front of her. The light in one of the private rooms behind her flickers, and you’re stuck fiddling with the zipper of your coat while she searches.

“Scale of 1 to 10, how piss-poor?” You quip back, and she laughs.

“You’d hate Minho-oppa, he’s actually kind of a jerk,” she starts, fingers slowing down, “But he’s smart. If you can deal with his piss-poor personality, you’ll learn a lot with him.”

“Oh, like a solid 8. If his students didn’t get excellent grades after working with him, I would’ve thrown a fit about keeping him on our team. But I don’t think he’s the perfect fit-aha!”

She practically jumps out of her seat, grinning at you from behind the desk. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, prompting her to go on.

“Jisung. You would love him. Super shy but very sweet, like, adorably so. He’s one of our newer ones but he got an A in gen. chem, looks like. Plus, he’s got a lot of availability!”

“Jisung,” you say, rolling the name in your mouth, “Okay. I’ll give him a shot. What do you need from me?”

She slides a form across the desk, and waves vaguely towards a cup of pens. You thank her quietly and fill it out quickly. It’s the usual nonsense - your name, your email, your phone number, your consent to be messaged and how the university isn’t liable for any trouble you have with your tutor - and you’re sliding the paper back to her. She types something on the computer, and then gives you a double thumbs-up and a bright grin.

“He’s been notified! You should be hearing from him soon. You let me know if he isn’t treating you right, and I’ll come after him.”

You laugh good naturedly, and give her a small nod. “I will. Thank you, seriously.”

The next morning, your phone buzzes in your pocket, an unknown number, and you can already tell that honors society girl was right about him being kind of adorable. He’s tripled texted you, and it’s both extremely formal and like he’s never talked to a person ever.

From: Unknown

>Hey there! This is Jisung, from the learning commons?>And hopefully you’re the person looking for general chemistry 1 tutoring!

>If you’re not then please ignore this. Or tell me actually so that I can get the right phone number!! That would be cool and awesome

You snort, already picturing what this guy looks like in your head. You save his contact as “Gen Chem” and text him back with one hand, letting him know when you’re available this week to hopefully meet.

You’re in a little bookstore/cafe right outside of campus three days later, right after the dinner rush has died down. The sun is just starting to slip past the horizon, casting a golden light in through the big windows at the front of the store, as you slip into the building. Jisung had let you know that he had already set up camp at one of the booths on the right. You glance back down at your messages, searching for a guy in a “pink hoodie and glasses” (very descriptive, Jisung) who looked like he was waiting for someone.

Your eyes land on someone tucked in the last booth, and oh. You're embarrassed by the way that heat immediately crawls up your neck, because he’s cute. Dangerously so, the kind of cute that makes you want to make some very bad decisions. His glasses are slipping down his nose and a little crooked, and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he types something on his computer, and suddenly, you’re thinking about how it would feel to be biting into his lower lip.

Focus, you think, shaking your head a little bit and willing your feet to carry you over to where he’s sitting. You slip your headphones off, shove your phone in your pocket, and shape your mouth into your friendliest smile, praying the heat of your ears can be blamed on the cold nip of autumn air you caught on your way over.

“Jisung, right?”

His head snaps up, and he looks at you like you’re not real. His mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times, his eyes flickering up and down a few times before landing back on your face. Your smile stretches a little wider, a little more genuine, and you speak again.

“Unless I’ve got the wrong cute guy in a pink hoodie and glasses.”

“C-cute? Uhm, no, right guy! That’s me. Hi, I’m Jisung. Hi.” He stammers out, shifting his computer and notebooks to make room for you to place your stuff down on the table. He knocks a pen off the table in his haste, and you try not to giggle at the way he winces, leaning down to pick it up. You slide in across from him easily, unzipping your bag and sliding out your laptop, ignoring the way your heart somersaults when his eyes find yours again.

“Hi,” you say, introducing yourself warmly, “I’ve never done anything like this before. What do you need from me so that you can help?”

You watch his nervous energy morph into something more defined, more controlled, as he slips into his tutor role. “Well, do you know what you’re struggling with? Because we can start with what you already know, or if you want, we can start from ground zero and rebuild. Sometimes people have the fundamentals wrong, and that’s what’s holding them back from understanding what’s happening now, y’know? I want this to be about you, not about me. We’ll build all the instruction around what you need and how you learn.”

The first session flies by easily, Jisung surprisingly professional once he’s slipped into tutor mode. He knows when you need him to slow down without you telling him, and there’s something about the way he describes things that make some of the confusion turn into something that might actually make sense.

It helps, too, that whenever he sees your face start to morph into understanding, or whenever you get a question right, he gives you a blinding grin, like he’s genuinely so happy that you’re learning from him. It’s so cute that you stumble over your words the first few times it happens, your fingers twitching as you imagine reaching across the table and pinching his squishy cheeks. He doesn’t seem to get why you stammer though, instead encouraging you by leaning in closer, murmuring little words of praise about how you’re “so close” or “on the right track”. He’s so sweet that you almost feel gross finding him cute, but also, you’re human, and you don’t think anyone else would be fairing any better than you are when they’re sitting across from Han Jisung.

You start seeing him around campus more now that you’ve met him. You see him tucked into the same worn booth at the student union every morning when you’re going to get your coffee, computer already open and an absurd amount of open notebooks sprawled across the table. You see him in your psychology lecture as you walk down to your seat in the lecture hall, and when he catches your eye, you make sure to give him a little wave and a smile. His contact name changes from “Gen Chem” to “Han Jisung” to just “Jisung”, and he’s pinned at the top of your messages before you even really realize it. You see him walking with the same boy all of the time, who you later find out during one of your sessions is his roommate, Minho, the tutor that the desk girl told you was “mean”. You relay this information and he laughs, warm and open, eyes crinkling in a way that makes you want to kiss where the skin bends and folds.

“Sounds about right,” he had responded, snorting and shaking his head, “I love my hyung, but he actually is kind of mean sometimes. He means it in a good way, though!”

Now, with finals right around the corner and a cheer competition somehow every single weekend, you were running on empty. You looked forward to your sessions with Jisung, but you could tell by the worried crease between his eyes that he could tell you were running on fumes at this point. He had even insisted that you don’t even pay him your last session, voice genuine and earnest.

“I don’t think you can really be mean in a ‘good way’, Sung,” you had responded, skeptical, “Though if he’s your friend, then he’s my friend too, I suppose. I’m not sorry that I chose you over him.”

“You chose me?” he had said, cheeks dusting pink, and you had to try to hide your flush when you told him yes.

“You’re not even awake enough to remember anything we talked about today,” he had reprimanded gently, “No use charging you if you didn’t actually learn. You need to learn a better sleep schedule.”

“Says you.”

“Hey!”

Things always ended up like that with Jisung. It was just so easy to talk to him, to be around him. He’s not what people would think your “type” would be, not the athletic, jock type who you could be arm candy for. You don’t quite know when he became your favorite person, but you know for a fact that he is. Your friends had started to notice the way your eyes would drift when you’d be walking around campus, looking for the familiar shape of him hunched over his computer or the way his too-big hoodies draped over his frame.

“Looking for someone?” your friend had asked you the other day, voice teasing.

“No.” you had responded defensively, and she had just sent you a look.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

You had huffed and diverted the conversation, but it stuck with you. You had been sure when you had seen Han, that your attraction to him was surface level, and it would stay as such. But the more time you spent with him, the more it stuck with you that this might actually be something real this time.

And that scared you shitless.

That’s why you were at this shitty party in the first place. It’s a Saturday night, your cheer team had gotten back ripe at 5 o’clock this very morning after a Friday night showcase, and you were ready to get plastered, throw yourself at the nearest semi-attractive guy, and pray that you don’t accidentally moan out Jisung’s name instead of his when you drag him into one of the empty bedrooms in this giant house.

You weren’t even sure who’s house this was, but whoever owned this place was loaded. A spiral staircase, a ridiculous chandelier, a loud rug in the main dining room (apparently there’s a second one, but you’ve yet to find it), and so much alcohol that the smell of it mixed with sweat almost made you nauseous. Had this been your first rodeo, it probably would have.

You’re wrapped up in something tiny, and while the walk up the winding road from the Uber had been freezing, the warmth radiating off of the sea of bodies in this opulent house was making the little number you had on well worth the twenty seconds of cold you had to endure. You like the way this outfit made you feel, and by the way you'd had more than a few appreciative eyes dragging over your body, you weren’t the only one who liked it. You press yourself into the makeshift dancefloor (complete with a shitty disco ball and all) and everything blurs together for a while. There’s lots of hands and bodies everywhere, and it takes you a while before you can even manage to keep yourself near enough to just one person to even consider who your target would be tonight.

The guy you’re making eyes at now, as the beat of the bass pulses through your veins, isn’t bad looking. In all honesty, you think he’s quite attractive - sharp cheekbones, pretty lips, hair somehow still looking soft despite being mixed with sweat - but for some reason, your body isn’t reacting. His eyes haven’t really looked at you, not really, too focused on the way the fabric of your too-short shirt stretches across the skin of your hips. It creeps up every time you twist just right, and you let yourself sink into the way he can’t look away when it does. And then his hands are on you, and he’s pulling you back, and you can feel the weight of his hard-on through his jeans, pressing right into the seam of your ass, and-

And you’re wrangling yourself out of his grasp, feet carrying you away before you can stop yourself.

Turn back, turn back, turn back turn back turn back! you scream at yourself internally, but that nauseous feeling is back in your stomach, and it has nothing to do with the two very tiny sips of alcohol you had out of your friend’s cup earlier. You pass her now as you press your way to the bathroom, certain that you’re going to throw up for some god forsaken reason - well, you know the reason, but you’re not willing to admit that to yourself just yet. Because you would never be able to let yourself live down the fact that you were feeling sick to your stomach because the boy you were grinding against on the dance floor wasn’t in a stupid baggy hoodie and dumb glasses, and didn’t have the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen-

You kick whatever couple was making out in there out of the bathroom, and they have the decency to look at least a little embarrassed at being walked in on. The sight of them makes you feel sick all over again, and you think the one sees it on their face, because they send you a slightly concerned look as they drag their partner off into the crowd by the wrist. You realize vaguely that this is the friend of one of the girls on the cheer team with you, that she could alert your friend of your rightfully concerning state, that she could be the downfall of your facade to hold it together.

No matter. You were alone now, in this huge bathroom that had two sinks, a tub, and a walk-in shower that was almost the size of your entire room. You take a look at yourself in the mirror and inhale, a quiet sound. Your eyes are wild, your hands are shaking, and your lower lip is swollen from how much you’ve been biting it. 

“Fuck, okay,” you murmur, taking a few deep inhales as you stare at yourself, “Get it together. Get it together, won’t you?”

You slap your cheeks twice, shake your head violently, and turn on your heel to leave the too-big bathroom that made you feel like you were suffocating. It was a shoebox and a mansion all at once, and you had to be out of it.

You duck and weave through bodies, feeling the splash of alcohol on your skin as a particularly drunk girl from your team tips her cup on your arm as she tries to say hello. You give her a tight-lipped smile and keep moving, legs carrying you all the way to the beautiful barn doors that lead to the back door. Your fingers come to slide it open, to escape, when you hear it.

The unmistakable sound of Han Jisung’s laugh, bright and loud. Everything else becomes white noise, a blur of greyness and nothingness, as you spun around to search for the source of it. You think for a moment that you’re really just so pathetic that you’re hallucinating him right now, but then as you complete a second full spin, your eyes catch him.

You know why you didn’t see him the first time - he’s wearing something that you’ve never seen him in before. He has a tight black shirt on, the way it stretches and ripples across his chest and biceps making it look like a compression shirt. His usual black sweatpants that he admitted hadn’t seen a washing machine in nearly two weeks had been replaced with a nice pair of washed jeans, a boring black belt slipped through the loops. His fingers are dancing on a red solo cup, which is filled way too high for a guy who looks like he’s been here since the party started. You catch the peek of what looks to be a tattoo peeking out the dip of the neck of his shirt, and your head spins again, but from something else, this time.

And suddenly he’s moving, striding over to you in clumsy little steps. He bumps into someone and you watch his mouth form a million apologies at once, head bowing and bobbing frantically as the other person waves him off. 

Because damn, how did you not know that Jisung had a sleeper build? If you were actually drunk you would have been literally drooling all over the place at seeing him like this. Even now, he still has that familiar shape of anxiety and nerves, his glasses still perched on the slope of his nose, and it makes you even more endeared to him. The first rush of genuine attraction slips into your veins without your permission, and you think about going outside again, about avoiding the center of the problem standing right in front of you, but you’re not fast enough, because Han’s eyes have already peeled away from whoever he’s talking to and found yours.

It’s like you short-circuited. You feel like a stupid teenager, the blush crawling down your cheeks and spreading into your neck at an incredibly more embarrassing speed than it ever has before. He smiles at you, all toothy and sweet, waving at you enthusiastically. You can barely kickstart your brain enough to get your hand to move and wave back, every movement feeling like you’re dragging your body through molasses.

“Hey!! Didn’t think I would see you here,” he says, nose crinkling as he grins in a way that makes you want to sink your teeth into him and bite, “Didn’t you have a competition?”

You catch the way his eyes slip off your face for a second, dropping down to the swell of your chest and the skin of your thighs peeking out below your shorts, the way it makes his eyes get a little hazy and his cheeks get a little pink. You’re so focused on his face, on watching him watch you, that you almost jump when his eyes jump back to yours, concern swirling in his irises.

“You okay? Hello, this is Han Jisung, calling from Earth-”

You let out a snort before you can choke it back, the sound dissolving into a helpless (and embarrassed) giggle. He gives you that sheepish, warm smile he always does, that little edge of disbelief still sitting in the shape of his face, like he’s surprised you think he’s funny.

“‘m fine,” you hum, leaning closer to him to ‘talk’ so that you can smell the faint cologne clinging to the collar of his shirt, “It’s just loud in here. A little overwhelming, you know? And comp was last night, we got back this morning.”

“And the first place you wanted to be was a shitty house party, of course,” he teases, eyes crinkling at the corners when you roll your eyes at him, “Seriously, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

“Shouldn’t a nerd like you be studying?” you bite back, though there’s no real venom in your tone. “Finals are coming up, you know.”

“Minho-” he nods his head back to the conversation he ditched, who is staring at the two of you with a kind of burning intensity you can’t place “-insisted I get out tonight. Said something about one last hurrah, and also threatened to air fry my textbooks so…I had no choice, really.”

“Mean in a good way,” you hum, sticking your tongue out at this Minho character, “I see the vision now.”

“Did you just-” he laughs, real and genuine, the kind of laugh that always made your whole body feel like it was made of bugs.

“He’s never going to let that go.”

“Good,” you say, though the thump of the bass picks up, and you’re barely able to hear your own voice anymore, “Gotta start off on the right foot.”

You can see him laugh, but you can’t really hear it anymore, all of the sound in the room swirling into some sort of evil cacophony. Han must catch the way you wince, because he lights up, grabbing your wrist without a second thought and dragging you off towards the insane spiral staircase. He yells something back to you, drink sloshing in his hand, but you’re too distracted by the noise of the room (and the way that the punch is trickling over his long, thick fingers) to actually hear whatever he was trying to tell you.

The two of you trip up the stairs, bumping into couples pressed against the banister and people just trying to get away from some of the sound. You think you apologize, but everything is fuzzy, the only thing in focus is the stupid cute boy in front of you, whose fingers feel warm and nice against your wrist. He takes a sharp left at the top of the stairs, then a sharp right, and then he’s pulling open doors and guiding you up another set of stairs, and by the time you get to wherever he’s taking you, you’re lost.

“Ta-da!” he says triumphantly, pulling you into something that looks like a bedroom.

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and he pouts, letting you go to bolt off further into the room. You slip into the room fully, sliding the door closed behind you gently as you take in the room you’re in.

You peek your head out the window to find an expanse of strangely flat roof, and an extremely proud looking Jisung perched on it.

It’s yet another opulent room, the kind that looks like no one’s touched it in years but a maid, complete with a giant queen sized canopy bed and a bookshelf full of books that look like they might turn to dust if you touch them.

“C’mere!” you hear Jisung call out, and your eyes are drawn to the window in front of you, curtains now billowing, and you realize with startling clarity that Jisung must have climbed out the window, because he’s no longer in the room with you. His voice is a little muffled, but you’re drawn to it anyways. 

“Found such a cool spot earlier,” he says, starting to ramble, “And I thought of you right away-I mean-I thought you would like it! Yeah, because you talked about it once. Wanting to see the stars, I mean. You said you wanted to go stargazing? And I know this party isn’t ideal, but uh-well…I just thought maybe you’d still want to see? With me? If that’s okay??”

You’ve climbed your way out the window by the time he stops rambling, cheeks flushed and glasses slipping down his nose as he looks at you with those big boba eyes of his. Well, looks past you - he can’t seem to make eye contact with you right now, not after his little outburst. In a moment of boldness and perhaps stupidity, you reach out and press a finger to the bridge of his glasses, sliding them back up into place for him. He gawks at you, hand clenching and unclenching at his side, and you have to pretend like you don’t want to jump his bones right this instant as you slide to sit on the roof next to him.

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You’re lost in the way the moonlight makes him look like he’s glowing, in the way he can’t seem to stop himself from looking at you back. You’re close - too close, shoulders brushing and breath mixing together between you. You will yourself to say something, to say anything, but the words get caught in your throat, stuck and tangled there. You feel sick again, but not like you did before. You think the only cure to the swirling in your gut would be to feel Jisung’s lips against yours.

He makes a choked sound in his throat when you lean closer, your eyes dropping to his lips and then dragging up the flush of his cheeks and the curve of his nose to meet his eyes again. His lower lip catches between his teeth, and your tongue flicks out subconsciously, licking your lips as you watch him.

“Can I?” you hum, the way your voice breaks giving away your desperation.

He nods once, solemnly, shiny eyes pleading you to close the gap. His fingers tentatively dance across the cold roof below you, until they’re brushing against yours. You close the gap, sliding your hand on top of his, and lean in again, closer and closer. You stop just short of his lips, noses brushing. You can faintly smell the dull edge of alcohol on his breath and sweat on his skin, mixed with the hint of that dull cologne you caught earlier, but you don’t press in yet, revelling in the way his eyes slipped closed already.

“Words, Sungie.” You murmur, and he shivers when the breath of your words brushes his skin.

“Please.”

That’s all the confirmation you need to close the gap, and god, it’s everything you ever wanted. Out here, under the glow of the stars dotting the sky, there was nothing but the two of you. His lips are nervous against yours, his hand twitching under yours when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. He whimpers and it makes you press closer to him, knee brushing his. You only pull away from him to part for air, a quick inhale just to satiate your screaming lungs before you dive back in to kiss him senseless all over again.

He tastes like the shitty punch downstairs and the hint of something sweet, the lip balm on his lips tasting faintly of strawberries when you sweep your tongue across it. The longer you kiss, the more confident he seems to get against you, nerves melting into something needier as he presses back into you with just as much fervour as you’re giving him. When your tongue comes to swipe at his lips again he lets them part, lets your tongue explore the expanse of his mouth and tangle with his tongue. His tongue peeks into your mouth, experimental, and you let him guide the kiss. He’s not good, necessarily, movements clunky and nervous, but he’s so eager that it sends a spike of heat through you anyways, warmth pooling in your abdomen. You can feel the way your arousal is starting to seep out of you, the way your underwear starts to feel a little damp through your tiny shorts.

When the two of you pull away from each other you’re sure you’re a mess. Your lips feel swollen and raw, and your skin feels like it's on fire, despite the nip of cold air on the roof. 

“Wow.” He says, breathless, the word tumbling out of his mouth without his permission.

You just lean forward to press your forehead to his, equally breathless, a swirl of emotions you aren’t willing to name yet sitting heavy in your stomach. He leans in too, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, pressed against each other under the stars. Your fingers are still warm on top of his, and you squeeze, just once, and he presses a little harder into you. 

You pull away only to look at  him, studying his face quietly in the glow of the aftermath. He won’t really look at you, eyes searching the area around your face but never looking right at you. You bring your free hand up to grab at his chin gently, guiding his face to look at you.

“God, you’re perfect,” you say, words slipping out before your brain can stop them, “Thank you.”

“Thank-thank me?” He looks at you, incredulous. “You just-you-I can’t even form sentences right now! You’re so-” he motions wildly with his hands, eyes wide and glassy “-you know?”

“Right,” you say, a laughing edge to your tone, “And I’ll take being-” you let go of his face to mimic his motions “-if you keep being perfect.”

He flushes a pretty pink, mouth curling at the corners into a shy sort of smile. You lean forward to kiss it, a quick, chaste kiss to each corner before you press a longer, lingering kiss right to the center of his mouth. He leans in as you lean away, chasing your mouth, until he’s swallowed your lips in another kiss. He kisses you like he can’t believe you’re real, like you might just disappear if he lets you get away from him for even a second. The kisses twist into something hot again, desperation lingering in every swipe of the tongue and scrape of teeth, and you force yourself to pull away before you start pawing at his pants out here in the open.

“Not out here,” you pant out, lips red and glossy from a mix of his spit and yours, “Back inside?”

“You want-with me?” You send him a look, and he scrambles up, nodding. “Okay. Okay. Inside. Yeah, let’s-here, I’ll go in first, help you through! I’m a real gentleman, you know-”

“Yeah?” You cut him off before his cute rambling makes you leak through your shorts, too, “Do all the ladies call you that?”

“Hopefully uhm-hopefully just you!” He squeaks out, before practically catapulting himself back into the house through the window.

You hear a faint “ow!” followed by the shuffle of limbs, and Jisung is peeking back out the window at you, glasses skewed on his face and hair a little messier than before. You do your best not to laugh at him and accept the hand that he offers you, slipping back into the room with far more grace and ease than he did.

The air is thick with words unspoken, with what ifs and maybes that you don’t think you’re ready to address yet. Instead, you slip your top off, tossing it onto the thick armchair in the corner of the giant room (who needs an armchair in their bedroom??). Han visibly short circuits, mouth agape and opening and closing uselessly as he drinks you in. His eyes are greedy, dragging over every square inch of your exposed skin until you’re shifting in place, nervous.

“You too,” you say, sudden shyness clinging to the edges of your words, “I want to see you.”

“I-you-okay!” He squeaks, yanking the hem of his shirt out of where it’s tucked into his jeans.

He clumsily pulls the top over his head, the collar catching his glasses and leaving them dangling off one of his ears. He tosses his shirt to sit with yours on the armchair, and when he goes to take off his glasses, you glide over, grabbing his wrist and stopping him.

“Leave them on.”

You don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t need you to. The way his ears burn red and his mouth parts into a little ‘o’ tells you all you need to know. You let your fingers brush his cheek as you use both hands to fix the glasses on his face, letting out a content hum when they’re sitting on his nose just right again.

You watch his face as you let your hands drop from his face, fingers splaying across his broad shoulders. When he whimpers, high and needy and in the back of his throat, as your touch gets firmer, more explorative, you let yourself continue your path downwards. The muscles under his skin are solid, tensing and rippling when he shifts to press into your touch. The room is quiet, sans the sound of your breathing and his little noises when you brush a sensitive patch of skin. The junction where shoulder meets neck is particularly sensitive, and you make sure to run a light touch over that spot just to watch him jump and whine.

Of all the people you would have expected to have secret tattoos, Han Jisung was not one of them, but you’re damn grateful he has them. The piece that spreads out in dark ink across his upper right chest and shoulder is calling your name, and you first let your fingers drag across it before leaning forward and tracing the lettering with your tongue. His head falls back when your tongue makes contact with his skin, but his eyes stay open, laser-focused on your every move. His hands still hang uselessly by his side, digging into the fabric of his jeans when your teasing touch is just a bit too much.

“When did you get these?” you say against his skin, the hum of your voice in his body sending a jolt of heat through him.

He tries to answer, he really does, but when one of your hands drops and starts tracing the letters that run up his side, it’s like he’s forgotten how to. A mix between a moan and a choked word tumbles out of his mouth when you let your nails lightly drag over it, goosebumps raising on his skin everywhere you touch.

You pinch his side and bite right into the compass on his chest, faux glaring up at him. “C’mon, Ji, when’d you get these?”

“I don’t-hrk! Don’t remember,” he huffs out, head lolling, “Maybe, maybe five or-hah-five or s-six months-oooh, sh-shit-ago?”

“Y-yeah? You think so?” He says, heat dusting his neck and upper chest a light pink.

You hum appreciatively against his skin.

“Looks good on you,” you say, pressing a kind kiss to the place you bit, which now holds the indents of your teeth on it, “Makes you even hotter.”

You hum again, an affirmative sound, before your fingers teasing the tattoo on his side slide to his belt buckle. You don’t fiddle with it yet, just let your fingers rest there, sending him a questioning look.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, of course?? Duh?? Go ahead, do whatever you want, you’re so unreal-mmph!”

You cut him off with an amused kiss, a little disappointed in yourself that you’re somehow even more turned on by his rambling, but you let it slide. Your fingers focus on undoing his belt for now, the buckle clinking gently as you wrestle it open. You don’t even bother pulling it from the belt loops, instead undoing the button at the top of his jeans and unzipping his fly. His hips buck up into your touch, barely there enough to have brushed where he needs you the most but enough for him to long for it. He whines when you pull away from him, eyes searching your face as you take a step back.

“Take those off and meet me on the bed, won’t you?” You say, a cool dominance sinking into your tone.

It’s not usually your style to take control like this, but there’s something very intoxicating and tempting about the idea of guiding Jisung through it, bending him to your whims and wants. He’s just so pliable, following your every direction like it’s gospel.

He nods frantically, mumbling something quietly to himself that almost sounds a little like a motivational speech to himself. You turn and slide yourself out of your too-small shorts and your underwear in one swoop, wincing when a sticky trail of arousal smears down your leg as you do. You don’t look back at him, partially because you already know he’s going to follow you, but also because you know whatever control you’re holding right now is going to break the second you get a good look at him, flushed and naked and ready for you.

You climb up onto the canopy bed with ease, wincing when a thin layer of dust puffs into the air when your weight sinks into it. You suppose it’s for the best that no one uses this bed after what the two of you are going to do on it, but it still makes you cough a little as you breathe it in.

Ignoring the scratch of the dust in your airways, you slide up until you’re on your back near the headboard, head pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed. Your hair splays out across the silky pillowcases, and only now do you allow yourself a proper look at Jisung. And you’re very glad you waited until you were seated, because you’re quite certain that your knees would’ve given out if you’d seen him still standing. Another gush of arousal seeps out of you, and your thighs try to twitch closed on their own.

He looks so good in the moonlight, all sharp edges and muscle. You don’t know how he ever hid himself from you before, the tension of skin over firm muscle hard to miss as he stumbles over to the bed. Between his legs lies his straining erection, bobbing with every step he takes, red and flushed and leaking almost as much as you are. You would be embarrassed for him if it wasn’t so hot to see how desperate he was for you. He wasn’t particularly long or thick, sitting somewhere in that average range, but the way it curved just slightly upwards made you drool a bit, knowing that he’s going to hit that sweet spot inside of you perfectly. 

He hovers near the side of the bed hesitantly, fingers stretching through the air to reach towards you but stopping, hovering like he needed your permission to even touch. If you were less desperate yourself you might make him beg, but the idea of waiting any longer to have him on you wasn’t all that appealing, not when you’ve been picturing this moment in your head for the past few months.

“C’mere,” you motion, legs spreading wide to make room for him, “Need you, Sungie. Need you.”

You make sure to whine out the last word, dragging out the vowel in a way that had him biting his lip and dragging himself onto the mattress with you. He settles between your legs, fingers just brushing the skin of your hips, before he looks up at you again for permission. You huff, exasperated with his hesitance, linking your legs behind his back and dragging him forward until his arousal is pressed right against yours. The contact is so delicious that it has you throwing your head back and him falling forward, hands coming to catch himself on either side of your head. His glasses are getting foggy around the edges now, the humidity of sweat and sex in the air enough to blur the glass. He lets out what you could only describe as a wail, hips rutting against you uncontrollably as he seeks more of that delicious friction.

His precum smears and mixes with yours, a hot mess coating both your entrance and his dick with the mixture of your arousals. He thinks this might just be how he dies, pressed against you in some random guy’s house. He thanks the lucky stars that Minho dragged him out here tonight as his tip catches the ring of your entrance, making both of you moan. The sound echoes off the walls, and your mouth falls open again when he presses down with more force, the pressure too much and somehow not enough.

“Sungie. Kiss me?” You moan out, hips bucking up to glide the two of you together.

He kisses you so hard your teeth clack together, but neither of you can care, not when everything feels so good, the thrum of pleasure burning hot through both of your veins. He’s loud, louder than you, and you try and swallow his sounds as best as you can. Not that anyone would find you out here, in this secluded corner of the house, but a sick little part of you wants these sounds to be yours and yours alone. Whatever this is will happen again - you’re going to make sure of it - and while you’re not ready to say it just yet, you want to be his just as much as you want him to be yours.

“Please, please, jagiya, can I? Can-hic! Can I put it in, please?” Jisung whines against your mouth, pace getting inconsistent as he ruts against you like an animal. 

You nod against him, foreheads pressing together as he looks down, trying to guide the buck of his hips to slip his cock into your waiting entrance. But everything’s too wet, the mess of your arousals making everything too slippery, and Jisung whines, bucking more frantically now.

You let out a broken sound when his tip catches your entrance and shlicks back up, your tightness too much for his cock to slide in without some guidance. And you want to be patient, to let him try, but you can’t do it anymore. You need him so bad that every bit of your judgement is clouded, the only conscious drive left in your brain telling you that you needed his cock to stretch you open now.

Your legs lock around him once again, and before he can even open his mouth to question you, you’re using your body weight to throw him sideways, effectively flipping your positions. You land on top of him, arousal pressed directly on top of his aching cock in a way that has his hips arching off the bed into you.

You lift your own hips just enough to reach a hand down to grab at his member, guiding his tip to your entrance. You hold the base as you sink, slow and teasingly at first, entrance only swallowing the tip. You hover there for a moment, only the fat head of his cock inside of you, and let your walls flutter around him, revelling in the way it makes his head fall back and his mouth fall open.

“Jagiya.” He sobs, and then your name, and then useless babbles when you slam down, taking him all the way to the base.

It knocks the air out of you, the curve of him pressing directly into that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your vision spins for a second, fireworks exploding behind your eyes, and you have to press a hand to his chest to steady yourself. The muscle under your fingers twitch, and you can feel the rapid drum of his heartbeat against your fingertips, making you clench down around him.

“Ohmygod,” he sobs, eyes rolling back, cock twitching and swelling inside of you, “You feel-oh my god. I can’t-can’t, I’m gonna. Can I? Please please please, can I?”

“Already?” you tease, though the breathiness in your voice reveals just how close you already feel, too. “As long as you let me keep using you-ooooh, fuck-using you to get off, you can come whenever you want. Wanna feel you filling me up nice and full.”

He hiccups at that, glasses fully foggy on his face now, barely sitting on the tip of his nose. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and his fingers are digging into the sheets below you with so much strength you fear they might rip. While you sit for a moment and adjust to the way he stretches you open, you lift your hand off his chest and use both hands to guide his to sit on the meat of your hips. They don’t do anything at first, just rest, warm and hot against your skin, but when you clench again, they dig deep into your skin, hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

The idea of his mark on your skin makes you giddy, and it’s what gets you to start bouncing, slowly at first, letting him really feel the slide of your walls around him. He groans, the sound tearing out of him from somewhere deep and low in his chest, almost animalistic. You’re already feeling the coil inside of you starting to wind tight, so worked up already from all of the build-up that you’re not sure you’re going to last long enough to really use him after his orgasm.

That’s what you thought, but with a silent scream, Jisung is coming, warm spurts of cum filling you up. He comes so much, still twitching and leaking into you as you continue your pace, desperate to get yourself off now, too.

“It’s too much,” he sobs, hiccuping and digging his fingers into your hips to try and pry you off of his sensitive cock, “Too much! Can’t, I can’t, it hurts, please-”

“You told me-hngh-you told me you could take it,” you respond, hips picking up their pace, his arms too weak right now to get you off of him, “So you’re going to. I’m gonna come all around your cock, okay? So take it like a good boy, fuck, that’s it, that’s-hah-that’s the spot. Just-hrk! Jus’ sit still and look pretty, there you go jagi.”

You shut up before your words become totally incoherent, simply letting your pleasure morph into whimpers and moans as you roll your hips in a circle, dragging his cock, still hard inside of you (you’re not sure he ever went down), against that spot inside of you again and again and again. This is no longer about him, about the two of you, it’s about using him like a human dildo and getting yourself off.

There’s fat tears rolling down his cheeks now, drool slipping out the corner of his swollen lips, and you reach a thumb up to wipe away the tears, cooing when his head tilts to press into your touch. The way his whole body just gives in to you, his willingness to let you keep pushing him past overstimulation, is enough to make you tip over the edge.

“I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, Jisung!”

With a shout of his name on your tongue you let go, gushing around his length and soaking his dick and his thighs with your come. His eyes roll back as you do, and if you were any more present in the moment, you would feel the weak twitch of him inside of you as he comes a second time. You think you black out for a second, falling forward to press your face into the curve of his shoulder. You sink your teeth in as your high rolls through you, the shockwaves almost too much, as he grinds up into you to work you through it. You’re everywhere and nowhere all at once, until the sting of overstimulation starts to creep up your spine and you have to press his hips into the bed with your weight to keep him from continuing.

You slide off of him, both of you hissing as his soft cock slides out of you, along with a slick mixture of both of your cum. Your legs feel like jello, and it takes far more effort than you would like to admit to lie down next to him. He rolls over into you once you do, shifting so that his face presses into your chest. Your arms come to drape around him automatically, one hand reaching to run through his hair and the other running soothing circles into his back.

“Thank you.” He says, after a while of comfortable silence. “For this, I mean. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you huff, poking at the muscles in his back, “You’re not some charity case.”

“Well I’m me, and you’re, well…you’re you,” he says, like that explains everything, “I don’t-guys like me don’t get chances with people like you.”

“What, hot, sexy nerds who have a good dick game don’t want to sleep with people like me? I see how it is.” You tease, though there’s a sharp edge to your words. “Be so for real, Sungie. I should be thanking you.”

He buries his face into your chest, mumbling something about how “unfair” you are, and you just laugh, bending your head to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“We should probably get moving,” you say, trying to break the tension that’s building in your chest, “I’m not sleeping in this freak ass house. I can’t do it.”

“We can go back to mine!” Jisung offers, and then flushes when your head snaps to look at him, “I mean. If you want to? Minho and I have separate rooms, and oh my god, this was just a hook up, wasn’t it?? Sorry, you uh-I can just-”

He detangles himself from you, trying to slide off the mattress, avoiding eye contact with you as he continues to ramble, so quietly that you can’t actually hear what he’s saying.

“Jisung.” you say, firm and sharp, grabbing his wrist before he can get any further.

He glances back at you, the hint of something hopeful in his eyes.

“I’d love to.”

And if you stick your tongue out at Minho again as the two of you limp out of the party, well, no one would be the wiser.

I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡

[jistay]

➺ pairing: lee felix x childhood friend!reader

➺ summary: when eleven-year-old felix lee moves into the vacant house next door, he's painfully shy, terrified of his own shadow, and immediately targeted by your popular best friend. choosing to walk him home is just a small, guilt-driven act of rebellion. you weren't supposed to become his best friend. you definitely weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

➺ genre: childhood friends to lovers au, coming of age, fluff & angst, slow burn

➺ warnings: bullying/social exclusion, anxiety, realistic puberty (period/cramp talk), identity struggles, language barriers, mutual pining, extreme oblivious behaviour.

➺ author's note: this fic is my absolute baby. it's a massive slow burn following felix and the reader from childhood to adulthood in the sydney suburbs. thank you for all the love and the hits on ao3 so far! feel free to send asks or feedback, i love hearing from you guys.

chapters:

:̗̀➛ 1 2 3 more coming soon!

©jistay. Do not repost or translate my works without permission.

[mrsx-alberich]

Too much~

relationships: Lee Know x female!Reader

cws: smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), riding, whiny and sub Lee Know

word count: 2089

summary: Minho was always very eager to please you, no matter how long it would take - or how sensitive he was

a/n: next poll fic! Yaiii! first time writing sub Lee Know and I had a blast thehe

Friendly reminder, for future projects - please consider to hop on my Ateez taglist!

“Minho-“.

He shook his head, breathing heavily. The air pressed out of his lungs hit the skin on your chest as his head was falling forwards. Minho grunted, staying still, but his cock was stuffed deep inside of you.

He held himself up with his arms while your legs were wrapped around his hips.

“Just- just give me a minute, yeah?”.

Your hands came up to take his face into them, cradle him and push the sweaty hair out of his sight.

“It’s okay, Min, really. We can just-“.

“No, it’s not”, he groaned.

It wasn’t like you didn’t like sex with him, quite the opposite. You just struggled to reach your orgasm that quickly sometimes and he sometimes got frustrated because of it. He wasn’t mad at you, he never was. It was more like a blow to his ego.

He was so eager to please you, so desperate to see you come apart and you didn’t have the heart to fake it - he would know and that would make it worse.

You didn’t think that you needed to cum every time, because it felt good either way. But to Minho, it was quite important to make you feel as good as he did. In the beginning of your relationship, you had to convince him that he wasn’t the problem. It had been like this since you could remember, also with other partners.

He had been understanding in this matter, but it didn’t seem to reduce his eagerness. But he had already come twice this evening and was very sensitive now, the overwhelming feeling of your walls pulsating relentlessly around him made him moan out so broken.

“I just need a moment,”, he whispered.

He leaned down to connect his lips with yours, captivating you in a grounding and slow kiss. Your fingers slid down into his neck, pulling him closer immediately. You got lost in it, in his taste and the way his breath stuttered when you dug your nails into his scalp.

“Wait- fuck”, he gasped, eyes closing in frustration, “I’m sorry”.

You wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be sorry about, that you still enjoyed having sex with him, but he didn’t even let you think before he entirely separated himself from you. But he didn’t go, he pushed your legs up into a mating press, thighs squeezed against your chest before diving in and kissing your pussy instead.

The angle was diabolical, he bared your core like this so he could taste it without being hindered in any way.

“Min!”, you cried out, jolting at the sudden stimulation.

“Sorry, kitten, I need a break”, another long stroke of his tongue against your clit, “But I’ll keep that pussy occupied. I’ll make you feel good, I promise”.

His eyes fluttered shut again, but this time out of pure bliss. He loved the taste of you, he loved how it lingered onto his tongue and his lips even after he was done. He could get off just with this.

So he let out a low grunt, vibrating against your clit and pulling a whine out of you.

“Hahh, Minho-“, you gasped, your fingers combed through his hair.

Of course, his actions had a certain effect on you, no matter how out of reach your orgasm seemed to be. He restricted your movements with his tight grip, so you couldn’t grind your hips against his face like you desired to.

He lapped up your combined juices, using the increased wetness to roll his tongue more slowly against your clit.

“Fuck- your taste-“, his voice was low and raspy and it made you whine out in desire.

It frustrated you probably the same way as it was to him that you liked it this much, but it just took you a little longer to let yourself fall.

Minho growled into your throbbing pussy, shifting in his position and letting go of your legs. He was laying flat on his stomach now, one arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you open. Two of his fingers nudged against your entrance, sliding in in one go.

He curled them to find your g-spot which he expertly found. He had years of practice now and never failed since the beginning - striking it slowly with scissoring motions.

“Does it feel good, kitten?”, he asked, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You nodded hastily, letting your head fall back and relaxing your muscles to embrace the feeling. He rested his head on top of your leg, looking up to you in awe and watching you writhe. Minho always thought you looked so beautiful like this, completely naked and under his mercy.

The dark haired retracted his hands to insert another finger in a different angle, now fucking his fingers in with gentle and steady thrusts, hitting your g-spot every time.

You grunted, you could feel how your orgasm was there in arms length but it just wasn’t enough.

“Min- hahh-“, you bucked your hips, meeting him halfway through.

You chased your release, the desire in your blood almost hurt with the burning sensation. You needed to cum, you really did. But you still couldn’t manage it. You pulled Minhos head closer by his hair, urging him to give your clit more attention again.

And he did, a low rumble was deep in his chest while his mouth closed around the bundle of nerves. You rode his face, holding him in place by the back of his head and moved against him to apply more pressure where you needed it the most.

He probably didn’t even know he enjoyed being used like this, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he was so far gone.

“Fuck”, he sighed, moving, subconsciously humping the mattress underneath him, “Inside, wanna be inside so bad”.

Telling him to just do what he wanted wasn’t helping, you knew that. He gasped, ruining the sheets with pre cum as he was grinding against them. The tips of his fingers rubbed your wall in the same rhythm. It was torture, both for you and for him.

“Minho”, you cooed, gently prying his face off.

His eyes were dark and glassy, full blown pupils showing off how turned on he was - the tears threatening to form a shadow of the fact how the overstimulation was wrecking him.

“I have an idea”.

His breath was ragged, he never had looked so ruined and so pretty at the same time.

It led you to guiding him into a laying position on his back. Your heart clenched when he looked at you this way, so desperate, so exhausted. You straddled him, being very careful in your movements.

“You want me to take the lead, baby?”.

He nodded so quickly, parting his lips as if he wanted to say something, but everything that came out was a choked moan when you sank down on him. With just the tip in, he already arched his back off the mattress.

“Wait, wait, wait- fuck-“, he whimpered, “Too much”.

That sound out of his mouth was unfamiliar, your walls immediately pulsing around him.

“Don’t- ah- please”, his hands gripped your hips so tightly but instead of pushing you off he urged you to continue, “Don’t-“.

It was addicting, the way he was thrashing underneath you, trying to hold still but the sensation of being inside you just too much. Your hands were on his chest, slightly leaning forward to graze his flexed muscles. His whole body seemed so tense, as if he was holding himself back so hard to not combust on the spot.

When he bottomed out, both of you gasped, you rocked your hips back and forth to get more friction.

“Please, I’m- haahhh”.

Minhos eyes were squeezed shut, he didn’t really know where to put his hands. Constantly switching between squeezing different parts of your body in a bruising grip and letting them flop onto his face to hide it whenever whines would tumble out of his mouth.

“You’re doing so good, Min”, you sighed, “So good for me”.

“Fuck- fuck, fuck- I-“, another grunt, “I wanna be good”.

You grinned, fingers dipping lower to stroke his abs. You began to move properly, bouncing on his dick tentatively and slowly at first.

“You are”.

“Fuuuck-“, he was gone.

He reached in so deep in this position - this and his already fucked out face was such a delicious combination. It spurred you on, gave you more strength to move up and down. Minho bucked his hips just so slightly every now and then, too lost in his pleasure to listen to his body which was begging to stop the stimulation.

Your rhythm grew bolder, faster and harder with every passing second. While the dark haired was now switching from tensing and spasming to all his muscles being slack again - just letting himself being used in the most delicate way while you were riding him relentlessly.

“Please- please, I can’t take it”, he whimpered so loudly, it was almost a sob, “Fuck- please, I can’t”.

His mouth was just falling open, babbling incoherent nonsense in between countless sighs.

“You can, Minho. You’re doing so good”, you mused.

“Fuuuck- don’t say that”, his voice was broken, not coming out properly, “Just- Jagi- slow down”.

The next breath he took was a silent cry, tears now really forming at the corners of his eyes and rolling down the side of his face.

It made you stop in your tracks completely, you wanted to give him a break, but he shook his head and scrunched his face as if he was in agony.

“Nooo- please, I’m so close-“, Minho sobbed, more tears coming as he blinked them away.

He came closer to you, sitting upright to wrap his arms around your naked body and bury his face into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t stop-“, he sniffled, “Just- slow. Fuck me slowly, yeah?”.

You almost exploded, trembling hard out of desire when he said these words so submissively. There was a certain appeal to it you couldn’t resist nor describe. He’d let you use him for your own pleasure, to finally reach your orgasm, but he was just begging you to be careful with him.

Something stirred inside of you, the feeling of his weeping cock hitting the right spot sending jolts through your helpless body. He looked up at you, tears streaming down his cheeks.

While gyrating your hips, you kissed his face, tasting the salt before sealing your lips with his again. The kiss wasn’t as slow as your movements, your tongue quickly licking into his mouth, making him moan in a shuddered breath.

His whines were muffled like this, he desperately clawed at you, holding on for his dear life and his last slither of sanity at the same time. Endorphins flushed your body through your veins, the way your bodies were sticking together was only enhancing the rush.

“Fuck-“, he whined against your lips, “Fuck, Jagi- gonna cum”.

The stimulation was so much better all of the sudden, like every fiber in your body was focusing onto your desire and satisfaction now.

Your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone just right while his cock hit your cervix. This combined with him filling you up for the third time let you tumble over the edge.

He was wheezing with his breaths, his nails scraping at you as he moved, fucking his cum deeper into you while your walls clenched around him to milk him dry.

Minho let you ride out your orgasm, although he was tensing up again. He let you kiss him breathless, although his lips were swollen already.

You stopped eventually, halting completely and caressing his head against your chest.

You could feel his heartbeat hammering against you, like a hasty bird inside a cage.

“You okay?”, you asked, kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah- I’m-“, he sobbed again, pressing his face into your skin.

“You did so good”, you cooed.

He hummed, nuzzling against you, as if he was seeking the warmth of your body. Your hand stroked the back of his head like this, guiding him to lay down again with you.

He didn’t dare to let go of you though, holding you close and enjoying the treatment of forehead kisses and soft rubs against his sweaty back. It was endearing to witness him like that and you smiled, knowing you were probably the only one who knew how down bad he was for you.

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skz masterlist | you can yap with me in my ask box!

[quillhyunie]

Driving lessons

˙⋆✮ CW: established relationship, idol!minho, SMUT, explicit scenes description, car sex, unprotected sex (pls be careful), oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, dom!minho, brat tamer, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, baby, jagi), overstimulation, slight humiliation, squirting, rough sex, lot of cursing, MDNI

Summary: y/n needs to practice before her driver license's exam, so she asks her boyfriend Minho to help her. After a very particular situation, adrenaline rushes in and they end up in the backseat.

words count: 4304 MDNI, smut under the cut

«So.» «Don’t start with “so,” because it makes me anxious and I’ve barely even put my butt on the seat.» «You’re the one who asked me to give you driving lessons, didn’t you?» «You’re right, it’s my fault. I regret it, I regret it so much. Can we just end it here?»

His sadistic laugh fills the car and I can’t hold back yet another sigh. What mess have I gotten myself into?

«Jagi, breathe. You’re getting worked up over nothing. I managed to teach Jisung how to drive too, and trust me, he’s definitely more clueless than you.» «Is that supposed to reassure me?» «Obviously. So–»

I shoot him an icy glare and he immediately raises his hands in surrender. «Sorry, sorry. I was saying, why don’t we go over what to do before starting?»

After a moment of hesitation, I nod.

«Adjust the seat, put on the seatbelt, fix the mirrors.» «Good. Now what?» «Start the engine, making sure the gear is in neutral, and check the lights on the dashboard, including the handbrake.» «Perfect, you remembered everything. Now let’s move on to the part that worries you the most.» «Everything?»

Minho smiles and places a hand on my leg, covered only by a pair of stockings, which lets me feel the warmth of his skin and relax a little.

«Do you trust me?» «Of course.» «Then believe me when I tell you that you just need to relax. You’re extremely careful and that’s a good thing, but you need to calm down, baby, otherwise on the day of the exam you’ll have a heart attack.»

I nod. «I’ll try… it’s just that I’m scared. I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself.» «I assure you, you won’t. Now start the engine and let’s get out of the parking lot.»

I take a deep breath and do it.

I press the clutch and the brake, release the handbrake, shift into first and… I’m already panicking.

«You’re doing well, relax those shoulders. You only forgot to check the lights, but I can overlook it since it’s your first drive.» «Fuck, sorry.» «You don’t have to apologize, it’s all okay, I’m here to help you learn.»

I relax at his words. I really did the right thing asking Minho. Sure, maybe it’s common to ask your partner, but I didn’t do it just because we’re together. The fact is, Minho is always incredibly calm, even in the most stressful moments, he stays grounded, and that makes him reliable, as well as incredibly charming.

If there’s anyone who can help me face this exam, it’s him.

I merge into the lane and shortly after shift into second gear. My boyfriend thought driving at night might help my anxiety somehow, since there are far fewer cars on the road, and he was right. The lanes are clear and I feel a bit safer.

«You’re doing great, Jagi. I’d say we head to the mall we usually go to, the parking lot is pretty big, so we can also try parking the car.» «Are you sure? There might still be people, I don’t want to risk hitting other cars or worse, denting yours. Actually, you’re completely crazy for letting me drive a car that costs more than a house.» «I trust you, and besides, a car is just a car. Relax.»

I realize his hand is still on my thigh, so I shoot him a quick glance.

«Does it bother you?» The question makes me realize he’s picked up on my thoughts, as always. «No, actually. It makes me feel calm.»

His hand gently squeezes my leg, making me smile.

«Anyway, if you’re not comfortable, instead of the mall we can go to the gym parking lot, it’ll definitely be empty.» «Okay.» «Do you remember the way?» «I think so… isn’t there a roundabout at some point?» «Exactly. You can do it. Roundabouts aren’t as scary as they seem. You just have to watch the right-of-way signs and remember to use your turn signal.» «You make it sound so easy…» «It is, you just have to get used to it.» I see him relax into the seat out of the corner of my eye, his other hand hanging out the window.

I drive smoothly for half the route and that makes me pretty proud, considering my first lesson with the instructor ended with me getting out of the car in tears from frustration after messing up before even starting.

I take advantage of a red light to turn toward my boyfriend, only to find his eyes already on me.

«You’re beautiful when you’re focused.»

His comment completely catches me off guard, and as I try to process it, I notice a gray car right next to us. There’s a girl leaning out of the window, staring at Minho. Or rather, the back of his head, since he’s turned toward me.

His gaze follows mine, and the moment the girl meets his eyes, she starts crying and screaming. «Minho-oppa! Oppa! Oppa.»

Minho turns to me with a deeply embarrassed smile.

«I never know how to act when these things happen.» «I wouldn’t know either in your place. I imagine the excitement is intense for them, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a person and you have the right to your privacy, since we’re talking about your private life.» «You’re right, but for some people it’s not an easy concept to understand. Anyway, it’s green, jagi.»

I focus back on the road and head toward the parking lot we talked about, but after a few minutes, I realize the gray car is following us, very obviously.

«Yobo?» «Yes, baby?» «That girl is following us. She’s right on my ass.»

Hearing my worried tone, Minho glances at the rearview mirror.

«Is she also trying to film? I can’t believe this.» «Do you want to call the police?» «No, I have a better idea. We’re going to have a special lesson. You need to learn how to drive in all situations, even the most absurd ones.» «And so? What should I do?» I can’t help but keep my eyes on the car behind us. «You need to lose her.» «What?!» «You heard me. We’re not far from the parking lot, if we stopped there she’d stop too and could take pictures, not just of me, but of you. I bend over backwards to keep you away from paparazzi, I’m not going to let some random crazy girl ruin my plans. Lose her.»

It takes me a few seconds to process his words, but eventually I decide to listen. I shift into fourth and start accelerating.

«Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever gone this fast.» «And you’ll have to go even faster. In a kilometer there’s the highway junction.» «Where do you want to go?» «Where there are more cars, so she can lose sight of us. As soon as we’ve left her behind, we’ll take one of the exits.» «Randomly?» «Don’t worry, just drive. I’m here with you.»

His hand slides on my leg, slightly higher than before, gripping my thigh more firmly.

His touch gives me courage, so as soon as we reach the junction, I merge onto the highway. After passing the toll booth, we both glance at the rearview mirror and see the gray car still stopped at the booth.

«Good, let’s take advantage of it. The speed limit is 120 and the road is mostly straight, have fun.»

I feel adrenaline rising, so I press down on the accelerator until I shift into fifth.

I feel Minho’s eyes burning into me, but I stay focused on the road.

«Jagiya…» His hand moves higher, slipping under the hem of my skirt. «Minho, please.» «Please continue or please stop?» «I hate you…» «I don’t believe that for a second.»

His hand moves higher, the tips of his fingers brushing my inner thigh, making me shiver.

I accelerate again, moving into the left lane. I briefly check the cars behind us and no longer see the crazy stalker’s car, so I let out a sigh of relief and continue until the next exit.

«It would’ve been better to keep going,» Minho whispers, leaning close enough to brush my ear with his lips. «I don’t have enough patience.»

I follow the road and luckily, just a few meters ahead there’s the parking lot of a playground, obviously closed at this hour. I park the car without any difficulty and unbuckle my seatbelt.

«I thought you had trouble parking.» «Shut up and kiss me.»

I don’t even give him time to process my words before leaning over the console and pressing my lips against his.

Minho deepens our kiss, pulling me closer to him with no hesitation. His hands exploring my hips, sending chills all over my skin. I hate the way I fold so fast for him. He breaks the kiss just to press his forehead on mine. «You have no idea what seeing you drive my fucking car did to me.» He moves his lips to my neck, gently kissing and nibbling at the sensitive skin. He knows damn well that’s my biggest weakness. «You want me to beg?» «No jagi, I just want you to feel as desperate as I am now. Cause I swear to god, I just wanna throw you in the backseat and ruin you.»

«Then do it.» «Too easy.» His teeth dig onto the base of my neck, biting hard enough to make me whine. In the meantime his hands are under my shirt while I found myself unable to do anything. I can’t even move. «Please, Minho. I want you.» «I know, baby. I know. But you’re gonna wait and be a good kitten for me, will you?»

«Yes sir.» «So good for me, kitty.» I can feel him smirk on my skin as he bites my collarbone. I can feel my underwear getting wetter by the second. «Get in the backseat for me.» I immediately obey, not even getting out of the car, just sliding between the driver and the passenger seat. He climbs off the car just to join me seconds later. «Please?» I beg again and he caresses my cheek softly, his thumb brushing my pouting lip. «I know you want me, baby. But you need to learn some patience.» He leans closer, pressing me against the opposite car door. «But you like it, don’t you, kitty?» «What?» I play dumb.

Minho lets out a low, rough chuckle as I feign ignorance. His fingers trail up my thigh, slow and deliberate, just the way he knows makes me crazy.  

«Don’t play dumb with me, jagi.» He nips at my earlobe before murmuring against it: «You love when I make you wait… When I tease this sweet little body of yours until you’re begging for it.»  

His hand slips higher under the hem of my skirt, just enough to brush where he can already feel how wet I am for him. Shit. A smirk curls his lips as soon as he hears me gasp for air. «Still confused?» «No, sir. Please, please just touch me.» His smirk turns downright predatory. «Ah, there it is. You’re so pretty when you beg, kitten.»  

He drags a single fingertip along the damp fabric of my panties through the tights, maddeningly slow, watching me squirm beneath him with satisfaction in his eyes. «Such a good girl for me… so needy.» His voice drops to a rough whisper. «But what if I don’t? What if I just keep teasing you until you cry my name?»  

His free hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise as he leans in closer, lips ghosting over mine without giving me the kiss. «But I’ve been good, haven't I?» Tears are gathering in my eyes as I cry out. I’m desperate, I truly am, and he knows that. He knows my body so well. «I’ve been good, you know that.» I risk it all, sliding my hand between our bodies till it lands on his crotch. I begin to palm him, he’s so fucking hard he could rip his pants. Minho barely suppresses a moan, his eyes darkening with barely disguised desire. He lets his hand drift between my legs as he leans even closer, his lips hovering over my ear. «You have been a good kitten. But I want you to beg, baby. I want you to beg me to touch you like the impatient little brat you are.» He kisses a path down my jawline, pausing to suck a bruise onto my neck. «And for every time you try to touch me on your own, I’ll have to punish you. Are we clear?» «Yes, sir.» «Good kitten. To be honest, this driving stuff really got me hungry.» I look at him in disbelief. How can he think about food now? Fuck, I can’t even concentrate on breathing and he’s hungry! But I don’t wanna be punished further, so I nod. «Want me- Want me to drive somewhere to grab some take away?» He lifts the corner of his mouth for a half smile, making my stomach flip. «Oh, baby. I have my favourite meal right under me.» Without waiting, he pulls my skirt up and then he grabs the centre of the tights and he rips them apart, making me squirm under his hands. He leans down and tosses my panties aside with his teeth. The cool air of the car hits my exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat radiating off him. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and I can feel the faint tremor in my thighs as the tattered edges of my tights brush against my skin. He moved with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. His hands, large and calloused, slide upward to anchor my hips against the leather seat, his fingers digging in just enough to let me know I am not going anywhere. «Spread for me, kitten.» he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that makes me moan even if he’s still doing nothing. I obey instantly, my knees falling open as far as the cramped space of the back of the car would allow. The shame for how much I’m dripping for him I expect to feel, is drowned out by the sheer intensity of his gaze. He leans in, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, making my toes curl in anticipation.

«Please, Sir…» I whisper, though I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

«Hush,» he murmurs, his thumb grazing the soft skin of my inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. «I told you I was hungry.»

He leans down, and then I feel it, the hot, rough brush of his tongue. I gasp, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, my knuckles turning white. It’s not a gentle touch; it’s possessive and demanding. He eats me up like he’s starving, his nose grazing my sensitive skin and making my head tilt back against the seat. «Minho- Minho please.» I try to hook my leg over his shoulder, but I feel him groan right on my core. «Stay still or I’ll stop.» «N-no, no please don’t. I’ll be good, I promise.» I cry out only to hear him chuckle. «You’re so desperate, such a greedy kitten, aren’t you? Taste so fucking good. Only for me, right? This pussy drips just for me, right?» Then he dives in again. His tongue begins to swirl around my clit, fast enough to make me scream. The speed of his tongue increases, a relentless pressure that sends electrical shocks straight to my core. I’m a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with every flick. My hips jerk upward involuntarily, seeking more, seeking the release that feels just out of reach, but his hands are like iron clamps on my thighs, holding me open and exposed. «Look at me,» he growls, his voice muffled against my skin but vibrating through my entire nervous system. I force my eyes open, my breath coming in short, pathetic hitches. He looks up, his face flushed, eyes dark with a hunger that looks almost painful. Seeing him like that, seeing the control he’s exerting while I’m falling apart, makes my stomach do a slow, heavy roll.

«Tell me who you belong to while I eat my fill.» he demands, his thumb hooking into the waistband of my skirt to pull me even closer to his mouth. I let my fingers run through his hair enough to grip them and pull him closer to my core. «To you. I’m yours Minho, only yours. Just don’t stop please.» He seems satisfied enough to let me keep pulling his hair. «That’s right, kitten. Should I make you cum?» «As you prefer sir.» I know better than to answer honestly. The more I please him, the more he gives me. So… «You’re being so good to me.» He begins to suck on my clit and without any warning, he slides two fingers inside me, pumping them fast. I feel the familiar warmth growing in my tummy and when I feel myself clench around his fingers, I know I’m on the edge. «That’s it, kitten.» he murmurs, his teeth grazing the soft skin of my inner thigh, a final, sharp reminder of his dominance. «Come for me. Let me taste every drop.» «Minho- gonna- gonna make a mess. Stop- stop before I-» «I don’t fucking care, if you ruin the seats I’ll buy another car. Just cum for me, make me drink from you.» That’s more than enough to make me cum and squirt all over his face. He does his best to drink it all and when he lifts his face, both his lips and chin are glistering. «Thanks for the meal, kitten.» His words are rough enough for me to choke on it. The car is heavy with the scent of my own arousal and the sharp, masculine musk of his cologne that just like every time, goes straight to my head. Minho doesn't wait much to spread my legs wider. His fingers dig into my thighs, making me whimper. His body follows quickly, leaning in for a filthy kiss, spit dripping out our mouths, allowing me to taste myself on his tongue. He pulls away, to stand between my sprawled legs, his fingers working the button of his trousers with a clinical, terrifying speed. I’m a mess, can’t even speak properly, my breath hitching in my chest as I watch him. When he finally frees himself, the sight of his hard cock, thick, and pulsing  with a need that matches my own, makes my mouth go dry. He looks like a god of some dark, forgotten religion, and I am the only thing he’s interested in consuming.

«Look at what you’ve done» he rasps, his voice low, almost a grow. He grabs himself, pumping his length a few times. He doesn't wait for an answer. He grabs my knees, shoving them back toward my shoulders until I’m completely open, completely at his mercy and he enters me in one slow, punishing thrust that makes my vision white out. I scream, the sound muffled by the back of my hand as I bite down on my knuckles. He is too big, too much, stretching me until I feel like I might break, but I like that kind of pain and he knows it. He bottoms out with a heavy thud of hips against hips, and for a heartbeat, we both just freeze, locked together in the quiet of the car.

«So fucking tight.» he groans, his forehead dropping to mine, his sweat dripping onto my cheeks. «Even if I fuck you night and day, you’re always this fucking tight.»

He begins to move, and it’s not the gentle rhythm; it’s the relentless. Every time he lunges forward, my body slides back against the leather, the friction of skin on skin adding to the sensory overload. I’m a chaos of sensations, the rough grain of the seat, the heat of his palms as they pin my wrists above my head, and the deep, rhythmic ache of him filling me over and over again. «M-Minho please, it hurts.» «Shut up, I know you love it.» I moan loudly and he smirks. «See? You love when I stretch you open, yeah?» «Yes, sir!» «There you go, louder. Tell me who owns this tight cunt, kitten.» I can’t find my breath. Every thrust forces a shallow, broken sob from my lungs. «To you! Only you sir!» «Such a good girl, letting me fuck you like that.» My legs are hooked over his arms now, my toes curling as the tension begins to coil in my lower belly again. It’s too soon, too intense, but he isn't slowing down. He watches me through heavy, dark-lidded eyes, savoring the way my face contorts with the overwhelming pleasure he’s inflicting on me. «You gonna cum again for me, baby?» «Can’t– too much.» «Oh baby, of course you can. I’m not gonna stop if you don’t, I’ll fuck you dumb.» «Min-Minho please!» I beg him, but I’m already clenching around his member like a vice. «Yes, just like that kitten. Come around my cock like the slut you are.» That’s enough to make me explode for a second time. My vision blurs as I remove my legs from his shoulders. «Oh no baby, stay with me, I’m not done yet.» «Give me a minute-» «Oh no, you were so impatient earlier. I’m about to teach you a lesson. You remember our safe word?» «Crimson.» «Good girl.» At that point, he spreads my legs once more, one hand on my thigh, the other on my belly, pressing right where the bulge of his cock appears, making me cry out. «Gonna fill every inch of this pussy, you hear me?» «Yes sir, I’m yours to do whatever you like.» «Yeah? I like the sound of that.» His thrusts turn brutal, the sound of the wet slaps turns me on even more. «You’re getting wetter- fuck, such a slut for my cock.» «Please- Please Minho!» «Please what? You gotta use your words kitten.» «Come closer- please.» He leans down, till his chest presses against mine. In this position, he brushes my clit anytime he pushes in. «Oh fuck! Minho!» «Yeah baby? What is it? I’m rubbing you just right?» «Yes! Fuck, yes don’t stop!» «Oh trust me kitten, I don’t intend to.» Minho wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me slightly, enough to press himself against me with more force. «I’m gonna squirt again if you don’t stop.» I murmur between his hair as his face dives into my neck. «Yeah, squirt all over my cock, give that to me baby. Let me know how good I’m fucking this pussy.» «Minho- Minho!» «Tell me you need it.» he demands, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming shallow and frantic as he nears his own limit. «Tell me you want me to ruin you.»

«Yes yes, Minho! Please, wreck me.» I cry out, my voice cracking. I’m lost to the friction, the way the car rocks rhythmically on its suspension, the way his name feels like a prayer and a sin all at once. He lets out a low, animalistic growl and reaches down, his thumb finding the spot where we’re joined, adding a sharp, electric pressure that sends me over the edge. I shatter, my folds clenching around him in violent waves of release as I wet us both. «So good for me kitten, you did so good.» «Want you to cum to, please.» «Yeah? Where do you want me baby?» He slows down enough to hold back. I know he’s close, I can feel him twitch. «Inside, please, wanna feel you.» «Want me to fill this pretty cunt?» «Yes, yes!» «Fuck- you’re perfect.» He slams harder a few more times and he comes with a groan, his body stiffening as he buried himself as deep as possible, his head falling into the crook of my neck as he pours himself into me, claiming every hidden, secret part of me as his own. I hold him tight, trying to calm down as my body keeps shaking violently. He lifts his head enough to look at me with his big eyes. «Shh, it’s okay baby, you did so good for me. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?» «I’m fine, more than fine.» «That’s good.» He smiles as he caresses my hair softly. «I love you so much, you know?» I nod weakly. «I know. I love you too.» He holds me against him as he shifts enough to make me rest on his chest. «But maybe you should ask someone else for driving lessons or you won’t learn much.»

[hwanghhjinie]

CURSED TO BE YOURS 🐾

LEE MINHO x READER

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ requested!

Cursed by an old man, Minho turns into a puppy. He needs an owner—but breaking the curse means falling in love with you.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪🐰❫･━━━━━━ ❜

The man smelled weird.

That was the first thing Minho noticed.

Not the glowing eyes. Not the way his fingers curled like he was about to grab something that didn’t belong to him. Not even the fact that he had stepped directly into Minho’s path like some badly written plot device.

No.

It was the smell.

Minho paused mid-step, nose scrunching slightly as he tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“You’re in my way.”

The man didn’t move.

Of course he didn’t.

People never did when they were about to be annoying.

Minho sighed, already exhausted, shifting his weight as he glanced around the street. It wasn’t crowded—just dim streetlights, the quiet hum of passing cars, the distant chatter of strangers who had nothing to do with him.

Perfect.

Or it was supposed to be.

“Do you believe in curses?”

Minho blinked. Slowly.

Then he gave the man a once-over—head to toe, unimpressed, unbothered, already deciding this interaction was a waste of his time.

“No.”

He stepped to the side to walk past him.

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

Minho froze. Not because he was scared.

The air shifted.

The city noise dulled, like someone had pressed pause on the world. The streetlights flickered once, twice—and then steadied into something colder. Sharper.

Minho’s gaze dropped to the man’s hand gripping him.

“Let go.”

The man smiled.

It was wrong. Too wide. Too knowing.

“Find an owner,” he murmured.

Minho frowned. “What—”

“Let them love you. Feed you. Give you a home.”

Something tightened around his wrist.

Like invisible threads wrapping, sinking into his skin.

Minho’s expression darkened, “You have five seconds to—”

“And when you fall in love with them…”

The man leaned closer.

“…you’ll be free.”

Minho yanked his hand back. Or he tried to.

Because suddenly the world tilted.

It started in his bones.

A sharp, twisting crack that made his breath hitch—except it didn’t come out right. His knees buckled, but the ground felt… too far? Too close?

Everything was wrong.

His vision blurred—then sharpened too much. Colors bled into each other before snapping into painful clarity. Sounds grew louder—too loud—like the scrape of a shoe against pavement echoed in his skull.

Everything grew huge. His clothes collapsed around him in a messy pile.

His hands… paws. Tiny, fluffy, cream-colored paws.

A soft tail curled behind him.

“What the—”

The words didn’t come out.

Instead, a bark.

Minho froze. “…No.”

Another bark.

His breathing hitched—quick, uneven—as he tried again, jaw opening, throat tightening.

Nothing but another pathetic sound.

Minho stood there on the cold pavement, surrounded by the legs of rushing pedestrians, heart pounding with fury and panic.

His body dropped lower, balance completely off.

Minho looked down.

Paws. Small. Fluffy.

Absolutely unacceptable.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then violently shook his head, as if that would fix it.

It didn’t.

His ears—ears—twitched at the movement.

Minho went very still. “…This is a joke.”

A bark.

His eye twitched.

He turned—slowly, mechanically—looking around for the man.

Of course he was gone.

Minho’s chest rose and fell, panic threatening to claw its way up his throat—but he shoved it down, forcing himself to think.

Okay. Fine. This was… temporary. It had to be. People don’t just turn into—

He glanced down again.

They do now.

His gaze snapped back up, jaw tightening—well, as much as it could in this ridiculous form.

“Find an owner.”

“Let them love you.”

“Fall in love.”

Minho’s expression twisted into something sharp, offended, borderline murderous.

Absolutely not.

He would rather stay like this forever than—

A cold breeze swept through the street.

Minho shivered.

He froze.

He curled slightly into himself, instinctively seeking warmth before immediately stiffening again, horrified.

“I refuse.”

A small, traitorous whine slipped out.

Minho shut his eyes.

This was humiliating. Worse than humiliating. This was degrading.

He took a step forward.

His legs wobbled. He stumbled. Caught himself.

Barely.

“…Get it together.”

Another step. Better.

Still awful.

Somewhere in the distance, another dog barked.

Minho’s ears twitched. He went rigid.

“Don’t.”

Another bark—closer this time.

Minho turned his head slowly, dread creeping up his spine.

From the end of the street, a larger dog trotted into view. It paused. Sniffed the air. Then locked eyes with him.

Minho stared back.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The dog started running toward him.

Minho’s eyes widened.

“Oh, absolutely not—”

He turned and bolted.

Tiny paws hitting pavement too fast, too frantic, heart pounding as the sound of claws scraped behind him.

This was it. This was how he died.

Chased down by a dog. Turned into a dog.

In the middle of the street.

Because of some man.

“This is insane—!”

Another bark. Louder. Closer.

Minho swerved around a corner, slipping slightly before catching himself, darting between trash bins and narrow alleyways, lungs burning as he pushed himself faster.

Until—

He collided with something. Soft. Warm.

And very much not pavement.

“Oof—!”

Minho tumbled backward, landing on his back as the world spun for a second.

Above him…

You.

Looking down, surprised, eyes wide.

“…Oh my god—are you okay?”

Minho blinked up at you.

Processing.

Out of everything that had happened tonight—

This might be the worst part.

You crouched down slowly, careful, hesitant.

Your hand hovered.

“…You’re… kind of cute.”

Minho stared at you. Utterly appalled.

Behind him, the other dog skidded to a stop at the alley entrance, watching.

Waiting.

Minho glanced at it. Then back at you. Then at it again.

A pause.

A long, heavy, pride-shattering pause.

He turned back to you.

And very, very slowly stepped closer.

Like this was his choice.

Like he wasn’t being forced into it by circumstance.

Like this wasn’t the beginning of his downfall.

Your expression softened instantly.

“Oh…”

Your hand lowered, gentle as it brushed against his head.

Minho flinched. Stiffened. Endured it.

“…Hi, baby.”

His soul left his body but he didn’t move.

Because behind you he can sense safety, warmth, food.

And, apparently, his only way out.

Minho shut his eyes.

Just for a second. Just long enough to accept it.

Temporary, he told himself.

This was temporary.

You smiled, scooping him up before he could protest.

“Come on… you look like you need a home.”

Minho went rigid in your arms.

Already regretting everything but he didn’t jump.

Didn’t bite.

Didn’t run.

Instead, he let you hold him. As the curse settled deeper into his bones.

And somewhere, far away a voice whispered.

“Good.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Your place was… small.

Neat, but lived-in. A blanket tossed over the couch, a pair of shoes by the door, soft lighting that made everything feel warmer than it should.

Minho took it all in the moment you stepped inside, eyes scanning like he was evaluating property.

Acceptable, he decided.

For now.

You gently set him down on the floor.

“There you go…”

Minho landed stiffly, immediately regaining his composure—well, as much as one could when cursed into this.

He sat.

Not like a dog.

Like a person who had dignity and bills to pay.

You blinked.

“Why are you sitting like that?”

Minho stared at you. Judging.

You tilted your head, slowly crouching in front of him. “You’re… kind of weird.”

You reached out again.

Minho’s body tensed instantly—but this time, he didn’t flinch away. He endured it, your fingers brushing over his head, softer now, more certain.

“You’re not scared at all, huh?”

He wasn’t.

He was offended, irritated, humiliated, but not scared.

Your hand lingered a second longer before pulling away. “Okay… wait here.”

Minho watched you walk off.

Then glanced around again. Quiet. Safe.

No other dogs.

No threats.

No… man.

His ears flicked at the memory.

Find an owner.

His jaw tightened.

“…Temporary.”

A beat.

“This is temporary.”

You came back with a bowl.

Minho eyed it suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you eat,” you admitted, placing it down carefully. “But this is what I have.”

He stepped closer.

Sniffed.

Paused.

Then, he recoiled slightly.

“….”

Absolutely not.

You noticed immediately. “What? You don’t like it?”

Minho looked at you. Then at the food. Then back at you in disbelief.

“You’re picky?” you asked, incredulous.

Yes.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay… okay, wait.”

You stood again, disappearing into the kitchen.

Minho exhaled slowly.

At least you were trainable.

Five minutes later.

You returned with something else.

“Try this?”

Minho sniffed again.

Paused.

Then—reluctantly—took a bite.

Then another. He froze.

Then quickly looked away like it meant nothing.

You gasped.

“Oh! You like that one!”

Minho continued eating. Calm. Controlled.

Like he hadn’t just accepted defeat.

You beamed.

“Okay, got it. Noted. You’re high maintenance.”

Correct.

That night, you didn’t question it when he followed you.

Didn’t question it when he refused to settle anywhere except right next to you on the couch.

Didn’t question it when he stared at you like he was analyzing your entire existence.

“You’re really clingy for a stray,” you murmured.

Minho stiffened.

Clingy? He was not—

You shifted slightly, making space beside you.

“Come here.”

Minho stared.

Then, with great reluctance and even greater dignity, he climbed up. Slowly.

Like this was a decision he was making of his own free will.

He settled beside you. Not touching.

Just… close.

You smiled softly, reaching out to adjust the blanket around him.

“You can stay for tonight, okay?”

Minho didn’t react. Didn’t move.

But his eyes flicked toward you.

Tonight, he repeated internally.

That was fine.

One night.

That was all he needed.

The next morning came too quickly.

Minho woke first, of course. The sun was barely up, but his internal clock—sharpened by years of early practices—had him alert. He was still on the couch, curled in the exact spot he’d claimed last night, body stiff and proper even in sleep. No sprawling. No relaxed puppy loaf. Just neat, contained dignity.

You were still asleep on the other end, breathing soft and even, one arm dangling off the cushion.

He watched you for a long moment. The way your hair fell across your face. The faint crease between your brows like you were already worrying about the day ahead even in dreams.

You look exhausted. Did you even eat properly last night?

Minho shook the thought off like an annoying fly. He wasn’t supposed to care. This was temporary. A means to an end. He would find that old man, break the curse, and return to his real life.

Right?

He hopped down from the couch with careful grace and padded over to the kitchen area, nose twitching. The leftover chicken from last night was still in its container on the counter. He sat beneath it and stared upward, willing it to fall into his mouth through sheer force of disdain.

It didn’t.

You stirred behind him, groaning softly as you sat up. “Morning already…? Ugh.”

Your eyes found him immediately. That same small, surprised smile tugged at your lips. “You’re up early. And still sitting like you’re waiting for a business meeting.”

Minho turned his head slowly, giving you the most unimpressed look possible.

Business meeting? This is survival.

You laughed under your breath—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Okay, Mr. Serious. Let me get you breakfast before I head out.”

You moved around the small space with practiced efficiency, warming up more of the chicken and adding a tiny bit of rice you’d cooked the night before. When you set the bowl down, Minho approached it with the same suspicious sniff as before but this time he ate without complaint.

You watched him, chin resting on your hand. “You really are the weirdest dog. Most strays would be scarfing it down. You eat like you’re at a five-star restaurant and judging the plating.”

Because your plating is questionable, he thought, but kept eating neatly, not a crumb out of place.

After he finished, you crouched again, gently wiping a stray bit from his whiskers with your thumb.

“I have to go to work. I’ll be back by evening. There’s water in the bowl, and… I guess you can wander around. Just don’t chew on anything important, okay?”

Minho sat taller, ears forward.

As if I would lower myself to chewing.

You hesitated at the door, looking back at him one more time. “You can stay another night if you want. I don’t mind.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t wag. Didn’t make a sound.

But as the door clicked shut behind you, Minho let out the tiniest, most reluctant sigh.

Another night. Fine.

By the time you returned that evening, soaked from an unexpected drizzle and looking even more drained than yesterday, Minho was waiting by the door.

Not pacing.

Just sitting. Posture perfect. Eyes sharp.

You blinked down at him, surprised. “You waited?”

He turned his head away, as if the idea was beneath him.

You smiled anyway, kicking off your wet shoes. “Okay, high-maintenance boy. Let’s get you dinner. And maybe I’ll talk your ear off about my terrible day while I eat mine.”

Minho followed you to the kitchen, jumping onto the stool beside the counter so he could watch you prepare food.

He didn’t lean in. Didn’t beg.

But he listened.

Every word.

When you finally collapsed onto the couch after dinner, exhausted, he climbed up without being asked and settled beside you again—close, but not touching. His small body radiated quiet warmth.

You reached over and scratched lightly behind his ears. “Thanks for being here. It’s stupid, but… it feels nice having someone wait for me.”

Minho’s eyes softened, just barely. The disgust at the whole situation was still there, simmering low. The humiliation of being small and dependent lingered.

But something else was growing underneath it. Something warmer. More dangerous.

He leaned the tiniest fraction into your touch.

One more night, he told himself firmly.

Just one more.

But deep down, in the part of him that was already starting to crack, he knew the truth.

This wasn’t temporary anymore.

Not really.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Days passed.

Then more.

And somehow, Minho never left.

Not because he couldn’t. Because… he didn’t.

The apartment had started to feel smaller in the best way possible, every corner quietly marked by his presence even though he was barely bigger than a loaf of bread.

He had claimed the left side of the couch as his unofficial throne, the exact spot where the sunlight hit in the late afternoon. He had learned the rhythm of your footsteps on the stairs, the particular jingle of your keys, the way you always sighed the second the door clicked shut behind you.

“You’re still here,” you said one morning, voice laced with mild surprise as you shuffled into the living room, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep.

Minho was already awake.

Of course he was.

Sitting in the same spot. Watching.

Waiting.

Perfectly upright, front paws aligned like he was attending an important meeting, ears alert but expression utterly unimpressed with the world at large.

He blinked at you.

Slow.

Measured.

Obviously.

You huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing at your eyes. “You act like you own the place.”

Minho held your gaze.

Unapologetic.

His tiny body radiated quiet confidence, as if daring you to challenge the fact that yes, in his mind, he did own the place now.

At least temporarily.

At least until he figured out how to hunt down that old man and reverse this entire humiliating ordeal.

You started talking to him.

At first, it was small things tossed out while you made coffee or changed out of your work clothes.

“Work was annoying today.”

The words came while you were stirring sugar into your mug, shoulders a little slumped.

“I think my boss hates me.”

This one slipped out during dinner, spoken around a mouthful of rice as you scrolled through your phone with a frown.

“I forgot to eat lunch again…”

That one was softer, almost embarrassed, said while you were already halfway through reheating leftovers at nine in the evening.

Minho would sit there on the floor or on the arm of the couch, posture impeccable, head slightly tilted.

Listening.

Always listening.

He never made a sound, never interrupted with a bark or a whine. He simply absorbed every word like it mattered, storing away the details—the names of difficult coworkers, the deadlines that kept piling up, the way your voice grew quieter when you admitted you felt invisible some days.

You never expected a response. You just… talked.

The words flowed easier after that, turning into long, rambling monologues while you folded laundry or washed dishes. Minho would follow you from room to room, a silent shadow with sharp, intelligent eyes that made you feel strangely seen.

One evening, you came home later than usual.

Your steps were slower.

Heavier.

The door opened with a tired creak, and the usual burst of energy you carried was missing entirely.

Minho noticed immediately.

He was already by the door before you even turned the key, small body tense with anticipation, ears pricked forward.

The moment you stepped in, he stilled.

Something was off.

You didn’t greet him with your usual soft “Hey, little guy” or that tired but genuine smile.

Didn’t smile.

Just kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag a little too carelessly onto the floor, the thud echoing louder than it should have.

“…Hey,” you mumbled, like an afterthought, voice flat and distant as you shrugged off your damp coat.

Minho followed you.

Silent.

Watching.

Every movement catalogued: the way your shoulders curved inward, the slight drag in your steps, the absence of the usual light in your eyes.

You sank onto the couch.

And just… stayed there.

Still.

Too still.

Like the weight of the entire day had finally crushed whatever strength you had left.

Minho hesitated for only a second, tail perfectly motionless as always.

Then he jumped up beside you, landing with careful grace so he wouldn’t startle you.

You didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him.

Minutes passed. Too many.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

A quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat.

Minho froze.

Your shoulders trembled.

Your hands came up to your face.

And suddenly you were crying. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… quiet.

Like you didn’t want anyone to hear, like you were trying to fold the pain back inside yourself before it could escape.

Something twisted in his chest.

Unfamiliar.

Unwelcome.

A tight, aching pull that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way you looked so small on your own couch.

Minho stood there, stiff, unsure.

He didn’t do this. He didn’t… comfort.

He didn’t know how to fix tears or quiet sobs or the kind of exhaustion that sank into bones.

He was Lee Minho—sharp-tongued and independent, not the one who offered softness.

You curled in on yourself.

Small.

Alone.

And something in him snapped.

Before he could think, before pride could stop him, he moved.

Clumsy, awkward, completely out of his depth.

He climbed onto your lap, paws slipping once on the fabric of your pants before he found balance.

You startled slightly, breath hitching as you looked down at him through blurred eyes.

Minho froze.

For a second, he almost backed away.

Almost pretended it didn’t happen, almost let his usual judgmental stare take over to hide how exposed he felt.

But then, you let out a shaky breath.

“…Hi.”

Your voice cracked on the single syllable, raw and fragile.

Your hand came up, resting gently against his back.

Warm.

Careful.

Like he might disappear if you pressed too hard.

Minho didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t even complain when you pulled him closer, burying your face into his soft fur with a trembling sigh.

Your tears soaked into him, warm and quiet against his neck.

He hated it.

He hated how helpless you looked.

How broken you sounded.

How his chest ached in a way that made no sense, like something inside him was cracking open against his will.

Slowly, he leaned into you.

Just a little.

Just enough to let you feel his steady warmth, his small body a solid anchor in the middle of whatever storm you were weathering.

Your grip tightened around him, fingers curling gently into his fur.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words muffled and wet.

Minho’s eyes flickered.

Something in him shifted.

Deep. Quiet. Irreversible.

A quiet surrender he wasn’t ready to name.

That night, he didn’t sleep beside you.

He slept against you.

Pressed close.

Listening to your breathing even out into something calmer, steadier.

Making sure you were okay.

His tiny heart kept time with yours, the earlier panic slowly easing into something warmer, more protective.

Across the room.

The shadows stretched long and thin under the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

And something unseen stirred.

A low, familiar voice echoed faintly in the back of his mind, cold and amused,

“You’re getting closer.”

Minho’s eyes snapped open.

Terrified.

For the first time.

Not of the curse.

But of what it meant.

Because this feeling in his chest, this quiet pull toward you, this need to stay…

No.

He shut his eyes again.

Tense.

Unwilling to name it.

Temporary, he told himself firmly, repeating the word like a shield.

It was still temporary. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, then the curse wasn’t the problem anymore.

He was.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Minho started noticing it before he admitted it.

The way his ears would perk at the faintest sound outside the door. The way his body would automatically move—paws padding quickly across the floor, positioning himself right by the entrance like it was instinct. Like he was waiting.

He hated that.

He hated how predictable it was becoming, how his tiny frame betrayed him every single day without fail.

He was Lee Minho, not some lovesick stray.

Yet here he was, ears twitching at every footstep in the hallway, heart doing something annoyingly complicated whenever the clock ticked closer to your usual return time.

The click of your keys.

His head snapped up.

Before he could stop himself—before he could even pretend he didn’t care—he was already there.

His body froze mid-step.

His tail was wagging.

Minho stared at it like it had personally betrayed him, eyes wide with pure horror at the uncontrollable little motion.

“Stop.”

It did not stop.

The door opened.

And the moment you stepped in,

“Hi, baby—oh!”

You barely had time to react before he was at your feet, circling, pressing against your legs, small sounds slipping out of him that he definitely did not approve of—soft whines and eager little huffs that made his own ears burn with embarrassment.

You laughed, surprised, balancing your bag as you looked down at the sudden whirlwind of cream-colored fluff. “Whoa—okay, what’s gotten into you?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You bent down, hands instantly finding him, scratching behind his ears with that familiar gentle pressure.

Minho melted.

Immediately.

Shamelessly.

Disgustingly.

His eyes half-closed despite himself, body leaning hard into your palms like he had no control left.

“You missed me?” you teased softly, voice warm and amused as you continued the scratches.

He did not.

He refused to acknowledge that.

But he leaned into your touch anyway.

Your smile softened, the tired lines around your eyes easing just a little.

“I missed you too.”

Minho stilled.

Just for a second.

Then—without thinking—he climbed up your leg, paws pressing insistently until you sighed and lifted him into your arms with a fond huff.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re clingy today.”

He settled in your arms like he belonged there.

Like that was where he was supposed to be.

And when you pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, Minho’s brain short-circuited.

He went completely still. Eyes wide.

Heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with running.

The soft press of your lips against his fur sent a spark straight through him, warm and electric and entirely unfair.

“….”

You didn’t notice.

Just walked further inside, still holding him close to your chest.

Talking.

Rambling about your day—the annoying meeting, the coffee that spilled on your notes, the way the train was delayed again.

And Minho, for once, didn’t mind the sound.

He let it wash over him, eyes half-lidded, secretly cataloguing every detail like it mattered more than anything else in his cursed little world.

It became a routine.

A pattern.

Something dangerously close to comfort.

He would wait.

You would come home.

And no matter how much he tried to act indifferent, the moment you walked in,

He was yours.

Until the day you didn’t come home alone.

The moment the door opened, Minho was already there.

Ready.

Waiting.

Expecting you.

Only you.

But then another scent hit him.

Wrong. Unfamiliar. Too close.

Minho’s body went rigid, every muscle tensing under his soft fur.

You stepped in, laughing lightly at something behind you, the sound bright but casual.

“I’m telling you, it’s not that serious—oh, wait, hold on—”

You turned slightly.

And a man followed you in.

Minho froze.

Everything in him sharpened instantly—senses heightened, instincts flaring like wildfire.

Who. Was. That.

The man stepped inside comfortably, like he belonged there.

Like he had the right to be in your space, smiling easily as he glanced around your small apartment.

Minho’s gaze darkened.

Low. Dangerous. His ears flattened against his head.

His body lowered slightly.

And then, he barked.

Aggressive.

The sound echoed off the walls, far fiercer than his small size should have allowed.

You startled. “Oh!”

The man paused mid-step. “Whoa—”

Minho moved in front of you immediately.

Blocking.

Positioning himself between you and him without hesitation, tiny frame planted like a living shield.

Another bark.

Then a growl.

Don’t come closer.

You blinked, confused, setting your bag down slowly. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Minho didn’t look at you.

Eyes locked on the man like he was a threat that needed to be eliminated right then and there.

The man raised his hands slightly in surrender, chuckling awkwardly. “Uh… I don’t think he likes me.”

Correct.

Minho bared his teeth, a low rumble still vibrating in his chest.

You frowned, stepping forward. “No, he’s not usually like this—”

Minho panicked the moment you moved.

He turned, pressing himself against your leg, practically climbing you, small whines mixing with his earlier aggression, paws scrabbling for purchase.

Stay back.

Stay with me.

Don’t go near him.

You looked down at him, surprised, voice softening despite the confusion. “Hey…”

He clung tighter.

Possessive.

Desperate in a way he didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.

The man shifted awkwardly by the door. “Do you… want me to wait outside?”

“Yes,” Minho thought immediately, the word burning in his mind like a command.

“No, it’s fine,” you said at the same time, waving a hand.

Minho’s head snapped up.

No, it’s not.

You sighed softly, crouching down to his level, one hand reaching out. “Hey… what’s gotten into you, huh?”

Your hand came up, cupping his face gently.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

Minho leaned into it instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment despite the storm still raging inside him.

But his eyes flicked back to the man.

Still there.

Still too close.

Still wrong.

A quiet growl slipped out again, involuntary and sharp.

You frowned. “That’s not nice…”

I don’t care.

You glanced back at your friend, apologetic. “Sorry, he’s usually really calm.”

The man chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s okay… I think he’s just protective.”

Protective.

The word echoed in the quiet space.

Minho stilled.

“…Protective?” you repeated softly, almost to yourself, a strange note in your voice.

Minho didn’t react. But something about the way you looked at him shifted — subtle and curious.

Like you were seeing him a little differently now, eyes lingering on his tense little body with newfound wonder.

And he didn’t like that.

Didn’t like how aware he suddenly felt under your gaze.

Didn’t like how his chest tightened when you looked away from him.

Back at the man.

“Anyway,” you said, standing up again with a small smile, “come in. I’ll make some tea or something.”

Minho’s heart dropped.

You stepped away.

Just a step.

But it felt too far.

He barked again. Sharper this time. More desperate.

You turned. “Hey!”

Minho moved immediately, following, pressing against your leg again, refusing to let any space exist between you, weaving between your feet like a living barrier.

Mine.

The thought hit him so suddenly he froze.

…What?

He swallowed.

Confused.

Frustrated.

But when the man laughed at something you said, or when you smiled at him, easy and familiar, Minho felt it again.

That sharp, ugly twist in his chest.

Worse than before.

Stronger.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel in control of it.

That night, the man left. Eventually.

Too late for Minho’s liking, the goodbye at the door dragging on with polite laughter and promises to hang out again soon.

The moment the door closed behind him, silence.

Minho didn’t move from where he sat in the middle of the floor.

Watching.

Waiting.

You sighed, leaning back against the door for a second, rubbing your temples.

“What was that about?”

Minho looked at you. Still. Unreadable.

You crouched down slowly, studying him with that same curious tilt to your head. “You didn’t like him?”

No. Not even a little.

You studied him for a moment longer, fingers brushing lightly over his head.

Then, softly,

“Were you jealous?”

Minho froze.

His entire body went still, every muscle locking up as the word landed like a direct hit.

Your lips twitched slightly, like you weren’t fully serious—but not entirely joking either, a playful glint in your tired eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, reaching out to pet him again, voice warm and fond.

But this time, Minho didn’t just lean in. He climbed into your lap without hesitation. Without dignity.

Pressing himself close like he needed to erase any space that had existed earlier, burying his face against your stomach with a quiet huff.

You blinked, surprised.

Then laughed quietly, the sound gentle in the quiet apartment. “Okay… okay, I get it.”

Your arms wrapped around him naturally.

Easily.

Like it was second nature now.

Minho closed his eyes.

Relief washing over him in a way that made no sense.

That felt too big.

Too real.

Your fingers traced softly along his back in slow, soothing strokes.

“You’re really attached to me, huh?”

Minho didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

Because if he did—if he even tried to think about it—he’d have to admit something he wasn’t ready to face.

Something the curse had already begun to whisper in the back of his mind.

Something that was becoming harder to deny with every passing day.

Across the room, that same voice lingered.

Teasing.

“Say it.”

Minho’s eyes snapped open.

Heart pounding.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Because the moment he did—

Everything would change.

But deep down, he knew better.

Because the curse had never made his heart race when you hummed while cooking.

It had never made him feel warm all over when you apologized for being late and immediately checked if he had enough water.

It had never made him want to bite anyone who made you smile the way that man had.

No.

This was something else. Something worse. Something real.

And then it hit him.

All at once.

He had fallen.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

Not because the curse demanded it.

Not because he needed an owner to survive.

But because you were you.

The truth was already there, loud and clear in every beat of his small, stubborn heart.

He loved you.

And for the first time since the curse began, he didn't know if he wanted it to end.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It started with a dream.

At least—that’s what it felt like.

Minho could feel warmth.

Not just the usual kind—the kind from blankets or your hands or the quiet comfort of being near you.

No.

This was… different.

Heavier.

Deeper.

Like something was pulling at him.

A strange pressure built under his skin, tugging at every cell, every bone, every inch of the small fluffy body he had grown far too used to.

His body jerked. A sharp inhale tore through his chest.

And suddenly, everything hurt. Not unbearable.

Just… too much.

Limbs too long. Breathing too big. Heartbeat too loud.

Minho’s eyes snapped open in your room.

The bed felt impossibly large beneath him, the mattress dipping under a weight that no longer belonged to a tiny puppy.

The air against his skin was cooler than it should have been, and the faint scent of your laundry detergent clung to the sheets in a way that made his head spin.

He shifted. And froze. Because that wasn’t right.

His hand pressed against the mattress.

Fingers. Long. Human.

Minho stared at it.

Unmoving.

The fingers flexed slowly, joints cracking faintly, nails blunt and clean instead of tiny claws. He turned the hand over, watching the way the veins shifted under the skin, the subtle play of muscle.

“….”

Slowly, he pushed himself up.

The blanket slid slightly off his shoulder. Cold air hit his skin.

Skin. Not fur.

Minho’s breath caught in his throat, a rough sound that felt foreign in his own ears.

His other hand came up—touching his arm, his chest, his face like he didn’t trust it was real. He traced the sharp line of his jaw, the familiar slope of his nose, the soft strands of dark hair falling over his forehead.

“…No way.”

His voice. His actual voice.

For a moment, he just sat there.

Processing.

Trying to catch up with what had just happened.

The room spun slightly as memories rushed back. The curse had finally answered.

Reality hit.

He looked down.

And immediately grabbed the blanket.

“…This is worse.”

He was completely naked, the thin fabric barely covering anything important. His long legs were tangled in the sheets, bare chest exposed to the cool night air, and the realization sent a flush of pure mortification up his neck.

You stirred.

His head snapped towards you, heart slamming against his ribs.

“No, no—wait—”

Too late. You shifted and slightly turned your body to the side.

You lay there, half-awake, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, hair messy from sleep and wearing an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder.

“…Did I hear—”

You stopped.

Your eyes landed on the figure sitting there.

A man.

In your room. In your bed.

Wrapped in your blanket. Bare shoulders exposed. Hair messy. Eyes wide.

Staring right back at you with that same sharp, feline intensity you had seen every day for weeks—only now they belonged to a very human, very real face.

Your brain tried to process it.

Failed.

The pillow you had been clutching slipped from your fingers.

“What...”

Minho didn’t move.

His grip on the blanket tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“I can explain.”

Your scream tore through the apartment.

Scrambling and falling off the bed.

“WHAT THE HELL—?!”

You stumbled back, nearly tripping over your own feet as you grabbed the nearest thing you could find—a pillow—and held it up like a weapon, arms shaking.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” you demanded, voice shaking with pure terror. “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!”

Minho flinched.

The sharp sound cut through him worse than any curse ever had.

“Can you not scream—”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO?!”

Fair.

You pointed at him, horrified, eyes wide and glistening with panic. “WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!”

Minho looked down at himself, then immediately looked away, ears burning red.

“That’s not the main issue right now.”

“THAT IS VERY MUCH THE MAIN ISSUE?!”

You backed up another step, panic rising, eyes darting around the room like you were calculating escape routes, weapons, anything that could help.

Minho tightened the blanket around himself, jaw clenching as he tried to keep his voice steady and calm.

“This is going to sound insane,” he said, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment, “but you need to calm down.”

“I AM NOT CALMING DOWN—THERE IS A STRANGE NAKED MAN IN MY BED?!”

This was worse than he thought.

You shook your head rapidly, hair flying. “No—no, I’m calling someone—this is—this is insane—”

You turned slightly, reaching for your phone on the nightstand with trembling fingers.

“Wait.”

Something in his voice made you pause. Not fully. But enough.

You hesitated. Just for a second. Minho saw it and took the chance.

“I didn’t break in.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, sharp and edged with fear. “Oh, really? So you just spawned there?!”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“You’re insane.”

“I was a dog.”

“WHAT?!”

Minho squeezed his eyes shut for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“Not just any dog,” he muttered, voice low and careful. “Your dog.”

You stared at him.

Blank.

“I’m actually going to call the police now.”

“Wait—!”

He leaned forward slightly. The blanket slipped dangerously low.

You gasped, eyes widening in fresh horror.

“OH MY GOD—STOP MOVING?!”

He yanked it back up instantly, equally horrified, cheeks flushed. “I’m not doing it on purpose—!”

“DON’T EXPLAIN—JUST—STAY THERE?!”

“I am!”

“STAY MORE!”

You made a strangled sound, half-sob, half-laugh of pure disbelief.

This was a nightmare.

This had to be a nightmare.

You pointed at him again, hand shaking so badly the pillow trembled in your grip. “If you say one more insane thing—”

“You named me ‘baby.’”

You froze.

Minho watched your expression carefully.

“You talk to me when you’re tired,” he continued, voice quieter now, almost gentle. “You complain about your boss. You forget to eat unless someone reminds you.”

Your grip on the pillow tightened until your knuckles went white.

“You cry quietly,” he added, softer now, like he was handling something fragile. “Like you don’t want anyone to hear.”

Your breathing hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“And you always,” he said, even softer, “leave a small light on. Even when you say you don’t need it.”

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Your eyes searched his face. Really looked this time.

Not just panic. Not just fear.

But something else. Recognition. Faint.

Impossible.

The same quiet intensity you had seen in those tiny judgmental eyes every single day.

“…That’s not…” your voice faltered, barely above a whisper, “…that’s not possible.”

Minho swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

A beat.

“You’re really weird,” you whispered, the words shaky but no longer screaming.

He huffed weakly, a tiny, self-deprecating sound that somehow sounded exactly like the little huff the puppy used to make.

“You have no idea.”

Your gaze dropped briefly—to the blanket, to the way he clutched it like it was the only thing keeping his dignity intact.

Then back to his face.

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not.”

“If this is some kind of joke—”

“It’s not.”

You hesitated. Still unsure. Still scared.

But not screaming anymore.

The pillow lowered just a fraction.

“Where is my dog?” you asked quietly, voice cracking on the last word.

Minho met your eyes.

“Right here.”

Your breath caught.

And for the first time, you didn’t step back.

You just stared at him.

Like you were trying to find something familiar in someone completely unknown.

And Minho, for the first time since waking up, didn’t feel like running.

Because even like this, even human again, the only place he wanted to stay was still right in front of you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

@cheribloss @viisstrayy @hanjinology @phoebemebe @kaydxncx @dudettrin101 @doodlebob2005 @vegemitedonut @daphnnie @thatgirlangelb @lee-does-not-know @pvppymin @a2dkive @whitejuliana1204 @skzmatcha @hehebeanis @sunymoon18 @tearsofgenshin @mallowsweethl16 @rianzysworld @goquokkaaa @genders-waterfall @lonleyswing @xallyouneedislovexx @hyuneskkami @lexlikesbts @aghostatheart @savebangchan1997 @angelchannieeee @written-by-music @asesinas @cb97nini9694 @chandlxa @niku0704

[binniebb]

chrysanthemums ⋆ hwang hyunjin

⤷ part of the weight of love: eight ways to STAY series

chrysanthemums are flowers of patience and enduring love, often tied to devotion that deepens over time rather than demanding to be seen all at once

loving you is easy; being trusted by your twins is the part hyunjin handles with careful hands and a patient heart. as haein pulls him closer and seorin keeps him at arm’s length, they both learn that trust is not given all at once, but built slowly, until it feels like it was always there

pairing hwang hyunjin x single mom!reader genre slow burn, angst, step-dad core? rating mature, 18+ word count 16.4k warnings themes of divorce ; mentions of medical emergency / injuries (no detailed descriptions) ; scenes of children in distress ; graphic & detailed smut ; p in v sex

𓄲 third installation of this mega series. guys i don't even question why or how i get to over 10k anymore. just know, i try my hardest to immerse y'all <3 step-daddy hyunjin has my heart fr. i love him with my whole entire being. tell me if you clock the daddy skz code episode reference with hyun! as always enjoy, hunnies!

m a s t e r l i s t ⋆ i n b o x

You marry Jiho in a pressed white shirt that never quite fits him right and a rented suit jacket that smells faintly of starch and someone else’s cologne.

He is nineteen. You are nineteen. Haein and Seorin are only a few months old, bundled in your mother’s arms and your mother-in-law’s arms, passed between relatives with careful hands and damp eyes and too many comments about blessings arriving early. Everyone tells you how beautiful this is. How lucky. How full your life is already. There is a pastor speaking softly at the front of the chapel and a row of folding chairs filled with people who have already decided the shape your future should take.

For a while, it stays tender enough to survive on routine.

There are midnight feedings and laundry baskets and cheap takeout balanced on the coffee table in the first apartment you can afford. Jiho picks up extra shifts. You learn how to quiet two crying babies with one pair of arms and a prayer so exhausted it sounds like a threat. Some nights you fall asleep sitting up. Some mornings he leaves before sunrise and kisses your forehead on the way out, gentle enough that you almost believe this is still romance and not just muscle memory dressed in devotion.

Haein is the easier one from the beginning. He arrives in the world red-faced and furious, then turns into a boy made entirely of sunlight. He laughs with his whole body. He reaches for people without hesitation. He trusts first and asks questions later. Even as a toddler, he would run toward life with both hands open.

Seorin watches.

That is who she is before she can even speak in full sentences. She watches. She notices the scrape in your voice when you tell Jiho dinner is in the fridge. She notices the nights he comes home and goes straight to the shower without asking how your day went. She notices the way you stand side by side in the kitchen without touching, two people sharing a room instead of a life.

One night, the twins are asleep in their room and Jiho is sitting at the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the television without seeing any of it. The living room light is off. The only glow comes from the muted screen, washing him in pale colors that make him look ghosted around the edges.

“I don’t think we can keep doing this,” he says.

You sit across from him, fingers curled around a mug of hot tea. The words land softly. That is what hurts. They do not crash, but settle.

“No,” you answer. “I don’t think so either.”

That’s all. No shouting. No shattered plates. No storm worth naming. Just two people standing at the end of something they have already spent years mourning.

Haein takes the news with a wobbling mouth and wet eyes, but when you tell him that Mommy and Daddy love him and Seorin more than anything, that this only means living in two homes instead of one, he believes you with the easy faith he offers the world. His sadness moves through him fast. He asks if his game console can come to your apartment on weekdays and Jiho’s place on weekends. He asks if Uncle Chan can still take them for tteokbokki after school sometimes. He asks whether this means he gets two birthday cakes.

Seorin says nothing at all.

She sits at the dining table with her hands folded in her lap, still wearing her school uniform, hair a little crooked from the day. Her face is blank in that careful way that makes your stomach turn. She is only ten. She already has the expression of someone bracing for impact.

Two years pass.

Twelve is a strange age. Old enough for sharper edges. Young enough to still fall asleep on the couch with a textbook open on your chest.

Haein grows taller without warning, all elbows and long legs and endless noise, his school backpack always half-unzipped, a trail of snack wrappers and excited stories following him through the apartment. He has become even brighter with time, his grief filed down into something manageable, something that never had the chance to root too deep. He still loves his father. He still loves you.

Seorin has grown beautiful in the quiet way of night-blooming things. Her hair falls longer now. Her gaze has only sharpened. She carries herself with a kind of careful self-possession that catches adults off guard. Teachers call her mature. Other parents call her polite. You know the truth is less flattering and far sadder. She has simply learned too early that softness should be protected.

You stand and smooth your hands down the skirt of the blue dress Haein chose for you. It is simple, soft around the waist, a little more elegant than what your ordinary life requires. You had to dig it out from the back of the closet, still sleeping inside its dry-cleaning bag, still carrying the shape of a woman who once thought she might need pretty things more often.

“You don’t seem like you want to go,” Seorin says from your doorway.

“I’m nervous.”

“Then maybe that means something.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

The doorbell rings and Haein nearly vaults out of the room. “Uncle Chan!”

He tears down the hallway with the kind of speed that makes every parent picture the emergency room on instinct. You follow more slowly, Seorin behind you, your pulse suddenly too loud.

You slip your shoes on at the door.

Haein beams at you with enough enthusiasm to embarrass an entire bloodline. “Have fun, Mom.”

Seorin’s voice follows, softer. “Please text when you get there.”

“I will.”

Chan opens the door, then pauses and leans in close enough that only you can hear him.

“You don’t have to fall in love tonight,” he says. “Just let someone be good to you for a couple of hours.”

It is such a simple thing. It nearly takes the breath from your lungs. You nod once and step into the hallway.

The elevator ride down feels strange, your reflection in the mirrored wall almost unfamiliar. Your hair is curled. Your lipstick is a shade warmer than usual. You look like someone on the edge of a life she has not met yet.

Outside, the city hums around you, neon beginning to wake in the deepening blue of evening. Cars move in streams and the air holds the lingering warmth of the day.

The drive to the restaurant is short. You park your car, take a deep breath, and climb out. You glance toward the restaurant, all gold light and clean windows. Through the glass, you can see the edge of the hostess stand, a row of small tables, the soft sweep of people moving through candlelit air.

And then, near the back, seated with his hands folded once before he seems to catch himself and uncurl them, is Hyunjin.

Even from here, he carries a kind of carefulness that reaches past the glass. He is dressed simply, but there is something precise about him, something almost quietly luminous. Dark hair falling near his eyes. A cream button-down and dark blue blazer encompass his lean form. Long fingers resting beside a glass of water he has not touched. He looks toward the door every few seconds, then away, then back again, trying and failing to disguise his nerves.

He does not look smooth. He looks sincere.

Your heart gives one startled, treacherous beat. Then you walk in, letting the hostess guide you to his table. Your eyes remain locked on him, watching in both nervous and curious anticipation for him to spot you.

As if he feels it, as if some hidden thread has already stretched between where he sits and your approaching figure, he lifts his head.

His eyes find yours instantly.

Something in his expression shifts. Relief, first. Then wonder, quick and unguarded, there and gone in less than a breath but long enough to catch at every loose corner inside you. He stands too fast, nearly clipping the table with his knee, and you watch the apology bloom on his face before it is even required.

A laugh rises in your throat, soft and unexpected.

Hyunjin has never cared much for dates.

Not because he dislikes romance. Romance, in his mind, is its own living thing. It lingers in the margins of books and in half-finished paintings, in train rides home under a bruised evening sky, in the hush that settles over a room when someone you love is near enough to touch. He believes in tenderness with the same conviction some people reserve for religion.

He just has very little patience for the performance of it. The polished introductions. The stale questions. The strange pressure of sitting across from someone who is already deciding how they might tell the story of you later. It has always felt too much like being observed under bad lighting.

At work, he is easier to understand.

The publishing company occupies four floors of a glass building, all bright conference rooms and stacks of mock covers spread across desks, walls pinned with color drafts and campaign calendars and page proofs marked in red. Hyunjin works as the art director, which means half his life is spent coaxing beauty into something marketable and the other half is spent defending that beauty from people who think beige sells better.

Chan sits on the other side of that battle as marketing director, though by now the two of them work together with the ease of habit. Chan brings strategy. Hyunjin brings instinct. Chan talks with his hands, and Hyunjin sits curled over a sketchpad or leaning back in his chair with a pen between his fingers, quiet until he suddenly says the exact thing that makes the whole room fall into place.

They should, by all logic, be exhausting to each other. Instead, they fit.

Chan learns early that Hyunjin needs softness after long meetings, that he goes quiet when he’s overwhelmed and mean only when the concept board is truly ugly. Hyunjin learns that Chan hides his worry inside humor, that he will take on twice the work if no one stops him, that he trusts hard and fully when he decides someone is worth it.

Which is how Hyunjin ends up cornered at lunch one Thursday with a sandwich in one hand and Chan staring at him over a carton of banana milk.

“I know you hate where this is going,” Chan says.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “Then why continue.”

“Because I’m right.”

“That has never once been a comforting sentence.”

Chan ignores him. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard me out.”

“I know the genre already.”

“She’s lovely.”

“Subjective.”

“She’s funny.”

“Still subjective.”

“She’s smart.”

“That one is measurable, at least.”

Chan points at him with the straw of his drink. “You’re being close-minded.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You are so stubborn.”

Hyunjin takes one deeply unnecessary bite of his sandwich just to avoid answering. Chan waits. He is very good at waiting when he wants something. It is one of the many reasons he is good at what he does.

When Hyunjin finally swallows, he says, “You know I don’t like blind dates.”

Chan’s expression softens, the pushiness draining out of him all at once. “I know.”

That is the trouble with him. He says it in a way that makes it impossible to pretend he does not mean it.

“I’m not trying to trick you into anything,” Chan continues. “I just think you’d like her. More than that, I think she’d like you. And before you make that face, I’m not matchmaking for sport. I’m doing it because you’ve both had enough years of pretending you don’t need anything.”

Hyunjin looks down at the table.

There are some things Chan can say only because he has earned the right to say them.

He knows enough to understand that Hyunjin lives carefully. That he has spent most of his adult life pouring himself into work, into art, into friendships that ask for nothing dramatic and offer steadiness in return. He knows Hyunjin is not lonely in any loud or tragic way. He is simply alone in the quiet, respectable shape people stop questioning after a certain age.

There are evenings when that shape suits him. Evenings when he takes himself to a museum or buys flowers for his apartment just because he likes waking to them on the table. Evenings when solitude feels elegant.

There are other evenings when he reheats soup for one and stands in a kitchen washed in refrigerator light and silence, and it all feels a little too polished. A little too untouched.

“She has kids,” Chan says then, carefully, watching him.

Most men would flinch. Chan knows this. That is why he says it now instead of springing it on him later.

Hyunjin only lifts his gaze.

Chan studies his face, then keeps going. “Twins. They’re twelve. She’s had a lot on her shoulders for a long time. I’m not telling you that to scare you off. I’m telling you because if you go, I want you to go honestly.”

Hyunjin leans back in his chair.

Children.

The word does not send panic through him. It does not make him feel cornered. It does something far stranger. It settles in him with a kind of reverence.

He has always thought children can tell when an adult is performing. They know who enters a room carrying impatience under their smile. They know who sees them as an obstacle, who sees them as luggage, who sees them only as proof of someone else’s past. He has never wanted to be that kind of man.

He has also never let himself picture being any other kind.

Chan, perhaps reading something in his silence, says, “You can say no.”

Hyunjin folds the sandwich wrapper with too much care. “Do you trust her?”

Chan’s answer comes easily. “With my life.”

A beat passes. Then Hyunjin says, “Do you trust me with hers?”

Something flickers across Chan’s face. Surprise first. Then something softer. “Yes,” he says.

That is what does it. Not pressure. Not curiosity. Trust.

So he goes. And then, somehow, he keeps going.

The first date leaves him a little dazed.

You are not what he expects, which becomes a pattern quickly enough that he stops expecting anything and starts simply paying attention. You are beautiful, yes, in the immediate way that caught in his chest when he first saw you walking towards him, but beauty is the least interesting thing about you after ten minutes in your company. You are nervous in a way you do not disguise well. You wrap both hands around your water glass when you are thinking. Your laugh arrives unexpectedly, as though you do not always know it is coming. You are careful with yourself and still somehow open. He can feel the years in you, not as damage, but as architecture.

At some point over dinner, when he apologizes for making the silverware clatter, you smile and say, “Thank you. I was worried I’d be the only one embarrassing myself tonight.”

The line is small. Dry. Perfectly timed. It should not undo him, but it does.

After that, dates begin to gather with the quiet persistence of rain.

A coffee shop near your office where the foam on his drink leaves a pale crescent on his upper lip and you laugh so hard he nearly forgets to wipe it away.

An evening walk along the Han where the wind keeps lifting strands of your hair across your mouth and he has to tuck his hands into his coat pockets so he does not reach out too soon.

A bookstore date that ends with both of you sitting cross-legged on the floor in the poetry aisle because you disagree over a cover design and neither of you cares that you are in the way.

Dinner in a tiny restaurant tucked down an alley, where you steal a piece of fish from his plate without asking and then look startled by your own instinct, as if intimacy has slipped out ahead of permission. He does not mention it. He only turns the plate a little closer to you.

There are text messages in between.

He begins to look for your name on his screen with embarrassing regularity.

You send him photos of a sunset from your sliding glass door captioned with things that make him smile on trains full of strangers. He sends back a snapshot of a rough cover sketch and asks which shade of blue feels more mysterious. You answer with a five-minute voice note. He listens to it twice.

Once, he is working late on a rushed redesign for an essay collection and his eyes have gone blurry from staring at typography for too long when your message arrives.

You: Did you eat?

Nothing else. The simplicity of it softens something in him at once.

Hyunjin: Not yet

Three dots appear. Disappear. Return.

You: That simply won’t do. Go eat.

He leaves the office ten minutes later with a smile he cannot quite hide.

Falling in love with you does not happen in one moment. Hyunjin is almost grateful for that. One moment would feel too dramatic, too neat. This is quieter. More real.

It happens in fragments.

In the way you listen with your full attention.

In the way you say his name when you are tired, making it sound intimate without trying.

In the way you do not flirt carelessly, every bit of warmth offered with intention, as though you have learned what it costs to be careless with someone’s heart.

It happens when you tell him stories about your children without realizing how you change while speaking about them.

The first time, it is over tea.

You are in a small café with yellow walls and rain tapping at the windows. He has noticed by then that you mention them often enough to make them real in the spaces between your dates. Haein said this. Seorin likes that. The twins are with their father this weekend. Haein failed a math quiz and somehow had the teacher apologizing. Seorin has developed a fondness for detective novels and now dissects every person’s words.

Hyunjin listens to it all.

He learns Haein is bright in every sense of it, a boy with quick laughter and boundless energy, the kind of child who enters a room already radiating joy. He learns Seorin is quieter, sharp-eyed, difficult to fool, tender in guarded ways. Sunshine and moonlight, he thinks one night after you have gone home, though he never says it aloud because the words feel too precious to expose.

What he notices most is the love in your voice when you talk about them. He has seen people mention children with apology tucked beneath it, as if trying to soften the blow of their existence. You never do. They are not baggage being disclosed. They are your life. Your center. Your heart walking around outside your body in duplicate.

It makes him admire you with a force that borders on helplessness.

Still, he is careful.

He never asks in a way that would make you feel cornered. Never tries to peer too far into the rooms you have not opened. He knows enough to understand that dating a mother is not just dating with one added detail. It is entering a life with sacred ground already marked. He will not step carelessly.

So when you tell him, one evening over dinner, that you are sorry you keep talking about your kids so much, he sets his chopsticks down and looks at you with genuine confusion.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Your fingers curl around your glass. “I don’t know. Habit, maybe.”

“You love them.” The answer is so obvious to him he almost laughs.

You blink. “Of course I love them.”

“Then why would I want you to speak about them less.”

Something changes in your face then. You don’t cry. You don’t gasp. But he can see the shift all the same, the tiny loosening of an old defense. The kind people wear so long they forget it is there until someone touches the clasp.

A week later, you tell him more, and not just the easy stories.

You tell him about getting married too young because everyone around you called it the right thing. About a love that had once been real and then dimmed under responsibility until there was hardly enough left to warm your hands over. About Haein’s resilience, his easy joy, the way he accepted the divorce with heartbreaking flexibility. About Seorin, who saw too much too early and still keeps a careful watch over you, as if love is a thing that needs guarding.

Hyunjin listens without interruption.

You are sitting in his car afterward, parked beneath your building, city light scattered across the windshield in dull gold. The heater hums softly. He can hear the end of your story in the quiet that follows it.

“I know it’s a lot,” you say.

There is no self-pity in it. Only honesty that nearly hurts more.

He turns to face you fully.

No one has ever accused Hyunjin of moving carelessly through beautiful things. He knows when to reach for the delicate stem and when to leave the flower untouched. He knows that some moments ask for charm and others ask for truth.

This one asks for truth.

“It’s not a lot,” he says gently. “It’s your life.”

Your gaze catches on his for a second, then falters, as if you are still not used to being met there.

He waits until you look back. “When you’re ready,” he says, “I’d like to meet them.”

You go very still. He can almost see the thought moving through you, checking his tone for strain, for obligation, for that faint note of polite tolerance you have probably heard before and learned to hate.

There is none. He means it. Not because meeting them is a hurdle on the way to you. Not because patience is a tactic and this is the right line to say. He means it because those children belong to the map of your heart. To know you fully would be to know the names you carry there.

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“Are you sure? I’m not forcing you.”

His mouth curves slightly. “I want to meet the most important people in your life.”

That gets you. Your face softens in a way he will remember for a very long time, as if something in you has been handled too roughly before and cannot quite believe the gentleness now.

“I wouldn’t want to rush it,” he adds. “I’m not asking for tomorrow. Or next week. Whenever it feels right to you. If it ever does.”

The quiet in the car turns warm. Inside that small parked car, something steady is being built.

You reach for his hand first.

It is such a simple thing. Fingers slipping into his across the console, tentative only in the first second. He looks down at your joined hands and feels that strange, unmistakable pull again, the one that has been gathering piece by piece across coffee dates and late-night texts and every time you smile at him as if he is offering something rare when really he is only trying to give you what should have been ordinary all along.

He turns his hand and holds yours properly.

From then on, loving you becomes less of a question and more of a daily practice.

He learns the bakery near your apartment that makes the sweet potato bread you like. He keeps an extra umbrella in his car because you are forever leaving yours at work. He memorizes the cadence of your tired voice and the one you use when you are pretending not to be disappointed. He buys chrysanthemums on a whim because they remind him of the softness you hide beneath all that resilience. He leaves them on your doorstep with a note tucked under the ribbon because you once mentioned offhand that flowers feel even more romantic when they arrive without an audience.

He never makes you feel borrowed from your own life.

That is what matters most.

He understands, instinctively, that mothers are too often asked to split themselves into pleasing portions. Be present there. Be desirable here. Be everything and make it look effortless. He refuses that script entirely. If you have to answer a call from Haein in the middle of dinner because he cannot find his science workbook, Hyunjin waits with a smile and steals one of your fries while you talk him through it. If Seorin texts you a photo of a practice exam score and you beam so brightly he has to blink, he asks to see it immediately and celebrates with all the sincerity the moment deserves.

You are never too much mother for him, and are never less woman because you are one.

And slowly, under the patient weather of that kind of care, you begin to bloom toward him without flinching.

By the time spring leans into summer, Chan stops pretending to be subtle about it.

He catches Hyunjin grinning down at his phone in the break room and says, “You look whipped.”

Hyunjin does not even bother denying it. Because he is. He is unbearable in the way only happy people are. Softer around the edges. More easily distracted. Permanently one message away from smiling in public.

One evening, after you have fallen asleep on his shoulder during a movie, your head tucked against him and your breathing gone slow and even, Hyunjin sits very still on the couch and realizes with quiet certainty that this is no longer the beginning of something.

It is something already underway.

Love has been arriving for weeks, maybe months, in its unannounced and unfussy way, settling into the seams of ordinary moments until ordinary itself begins to glow.

He looks at you then, the rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hand has loosened in your lap, trusting, and feels his heart answer with a devotion so complete it startles him.

And when he thinks of the future now, he does not imagine only you. He imagines a boy named Haein laughing too hard at his own joke. A girl named Seorin watching him with those sharp, careful eyes. A doorway he has not yet stepped through. A home he will enter gently, if invited.

He imagines earning it. And to him, it feels holy.

Hyunjin stands outside your apartment door with a bouquet he has already considered getting rid of three separate times.

They are beautiful, gathered in soft whites and pale pinks, the paper wrapped neatly around the stems, ribbon tied by hands more confident than his own. But, he thinks they are simply too much for a first meeting with children. Too formal. Too obvious. Too much evidence of the fact that he has been thinking about this all day with the sort of concentration people usually reserve for final exams.

He shifts them to his other hand and checks the time on his phone even though he already knows he is ten minutes early.

He had changed his shirt twice before leaving home. Settled on a dark knit that feels clean and simple and less likely to suggest he is trying too hard. Brought chocolate from the bookstore café you like, then left it in the car because sugar before dinner seems reckless. Stood in his bathroom mirror and told himself, very calmly, that he is a grown man about to meet two twelve-year-olds, not petition for sainthood.

None of it helps.

He hears movement on the other side of the door. Quick footsteps. Then your voice, lower, trying to stop someone from swinging it open before you are ready.

The door opens a fraction. You slip through, pulling it shut behind you.

For one suspended second, it’s only you two.

Your hair is pinned back in a loose half-up style that leaves a few strands near your face. Nothing dramatic, nothing overdone, but enough to let him know you have cared. Your blouse is soft blue today, tucked into dark jeans, the kind of outfit that makes him think of river water and evening light and all the quiet things he has come to associate with you. You look beautiful–catching him off guard even after months of learning that it will.

Your eyes move over him quickly, searching. “You look handsome. You’re also early.” The words come out in a whisper, but your mouth is already curving.

“I know.” He lifts the bouquet slightly. “I panicked.”

That gets you. A soft laugh, quick and warm. “I can tell.”

He glances down at the flowers with mock severity. “I can take them back to the car if this reads too much like I’m trying to bribe a family.”

“You absolutely cannot take them back to the car.” You reach for them, fingers brushing his, and that tiny contact is enough to settle some of the noise in his chest. “They’re beautiful,” you murmur. “Chrysanthemums. My favorites.” Your thumb traces one of the petals, thoughtful. “They last a long time.”

He watches your expression change as you look down at them. Something softer comes in, private and touched, and he thinks, not for the first time, that he would hand you every lovely thing he ever comes across if only to see that look appear again.

Before he can say anything else, your gaze flicks over your shoulder and then back to his face. “Haein has been asking every two minutes if you’re here yet.”

His stomach flips. “And Seorin?”

Your smile fades into something gentler. More careful. “She’s pretending she hasn’t been listening for the door.”

A beat passes. Then you step closer.

It happens without discussion, natural as breath by now. You tip your face up and he bends instinctively, meeting you in the narrow space between hallway light and home. The kiss is quick because it has to be, but it lands with the softness he has come to crave from you, your mouth warm and familiar, your free hand brushing once over his wrist before you step back.

Not your first kiss. Not even close. Still enough to leave him slightly dazed.

“You look nervous,” you say.

“I am nervous.”

“That’s fair.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” You shift the bouquet into one hand and touch his sleeve with the other. “I’m nervous too.”

He exhales, some small locked part of him loosening. “Good,” he says quietly.

You blink. “Good?”

“I’d hate to be humiliated alone.”

Your laugh flares again, brighter this time, and he gets the reward of seeing the nervousness ease out of your shoulders just a little.

Behind the door, a voice calls, “Mom, is he here or..?”

Haein. Even through wood and distance, the boy sounds exactly as Hyunjin imagined from your stories. Open-hearted. Loud in the way only sunlight can be.

You close your eyes for one second, smile caught somewhere between fondness and surrender. “That’s our cue.”

When you open the door fully, the apartment unfolds around him in warm light and familiar traces of you.

Books stacked beside the couch. A pair of sneakers kicked half under the shoe cabinet. A framed drawing pinned to the wall near the kitchen, vivid with color and the kind of confidence only children and geniuses possess. It feels lived in immediately. A place with weight in it. 

Haein is on the couch, springing to his feet the second Hyunjin steps inside. He is all long limbs and restless energy now, his face bright and open, features animated before he even speaks. Seorin stands near the dining table with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, posture straight, expression calm enough to pass for neutral if Hyunjin did not already know better.

Your children.

Something in him quiets at the sight.

“Hi,” Haein says immediately, before anyone else can do anything at all. “You’re taller than I thought.”

Hyunjin almost laughs from sheer surprise. “That’s the first thing?”

“Yes.” Haein walks closer, peering up with no attempt at discretion. “Uncle Chan said you were handsome, but he says that about everyone he likes, so I needed to fact-check.”

“Haein,” you say, scandalized.

“What? It’s true.”

Hyunjin has exactly one second to decide whether to be flustered or useful. He chooses useful. “And?” he asks solemnly.

Haein studies him with theatrical seriousness, then nods. “He was right.”

You let out a small laugh. Seorin looks down very quickly, but not before Hyunjin catches the corner of her mouth twitching.

Then Haein does something that nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. He throws his arms around him.

It is not hesitant. Just immediate, full-body acceptance from a boy who has apparently never met caution in his life. Hyunjin freezes for one startled beat, bouquetless hands hovering uselessly in the air, and then very carefully lowers them around Haein’s shoulders.

The child is warm. Real. Trusting in a way that feels too precious to mishandle.

When Haein pulls back, he does it only to launch into his next sentence. “Mom said you work with Uncle Chan. Do you draw all the book covers yourself? Is that your real job? Do you know famous authors? Are you rich? You look like you might be rich.”

“Haein.”

“I’m just asking questions.”

“They are not normal questions, though.”

Hyunjin smiles before he can stop himself. “For the record, no, not all by myself. Sometimes. A few. No. And definitely no.”

“Okay, good,” Haein says.

He blinks. “Good?”

“If you were rich, Mom would probably feel weird.”

You stare at your son. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It’s true.”

From beside the table, Seorin finally steps forward.

She is quieter than her brother in every visible way, but there is nothing faded about her. Presence gathers around her differently. Haein enters a room by brightening it. Seorin enters a room by observing it and its occupants. Her gaze lifts to Hyunjin’s face and stays there, direct but not rude, thoughtful enough that he can almost hear the work of her mind.

“Hello,” she says.

Her tone is polite. Careful. Beautifully restrained.

“Hi, Seorin.”

He had promised himself he would not overdo this. No trying too hard. No reaching too quickly. Children, especially observant ones, can smell performance from a mile away. So he does not crouch dramatically or widen his eyes or talk down to her. He only inclines his head slightly, the same way he would greet anyone he genuinely wants to respect.

“It’s really nice to meet you.”

There is a small pause. Then she says, “You too.” It is not warm, exactly. It is not cold either. It is an offering measured in teaspoons.

Hyunjin takes it for exactly what it is.

You move toward the kitchen to put the flowers in water, and Haein follows Hyunjin almost immediately, still mid-question by the time he gets his shoes off.

“What books have you worked on? Can you draw dragons? Mom says I can’t get a pet lizard but I feel like if you drew one really well it might help my case.”

“I have no idea why you think that would help.”

“Art changes hearts.”

“That sounds suspiciously manipulative.”

“It’s called strategy,” Haein says.

Hyunjin glances toward you. “He sounds like Chan.”

“That’s because Uncle Chan is a bad influence,” Seorin replies from the hallway.

“He’s our favorite bad influence,” Haein corrects.

“Speak for yourself.”

By the time everyone is ready to leave, Hyunjin has learned three things.

Haein talks with his whole body. Seorin misses nothing. You become softer around both of them in ways that make something deep in him ache with admiration.

Dinner is at a family restaurant a few neighborhoods over. The kind with warm wood tables and laminated menus and enough background noise to make everyone relax. Haein chooses the seat beside Hyungin before anyone has the chance to negotiate otherwise. Seorin sits across, beside you, where she can see everything at once.

He orders calmly, listens more than he speaks, lets Haein tell him an impressively detailed story about a school field trip derailed by one disastrous bus karaoke session. He learns that Seorin prefers cold noodles to anything fried, that Haein hates mushrooms with a passion, that you cut both of their meat into smaller pieces without even noticing you are doing it.

Somewhere between the appetizers and the main dishes, Haein asks, “So how much do you like our mom?”

You close your eyes. “Please bury me under this table.”

“Mom,” Haein says, offended, “I’m helping.”

“You are doing the opposite of helping.”

Across from him, Seorin’s chopsticks pause. She does not look up, but he can feel her attention sharpen.

This, too, matters.

Hyunjin sets down his glass.

There are answers that would be easy. Cute ones. Deflecting ones. He does not choose any of them.

“I like her very much,” he says.

Haein beams as if personally responsible. “I knew it.”

Seorin lifts her gaze then, meeting Hyunjin’s eyes for a brief, searching second.

He lets her. No smile to soften it. No attempt to sell himself. Only the truth, held steadily in place.

She looks away first, but not with discomfort. More with thought.

The meal stretches comfortably after that. Haein asks if Hyunjin has ever embarrassed himself in public. You answer before he can, bringing up the story of his sleeve catching a paint jar in his studio and turning one entire afternoon into a small but memorable disaster. Hyunjin accuses you of betrayal. You accuse him of giving you the story himself. Haein nearly chokes laughing. Even Seorin smiles into her drink.

It is not a wide smile. It is not surrender. It is still enough to stay with him.

The arcade is Haein’s idea, offered the moment dinner ends and somehow impossible to refuse once it is out in the world.

It is bright inside. Full of noise, flashing lights, ticket machines shrieking triumph in the background, children running from one game to the next with the feverish focus of tiny gamblers. The place smells faintly of soda syrup and french fries.

Haein looks ready to ascend from joy. “This,” he says reverently, “was a genius idea.”

“It was your idea,” Seorin reminds him.

“That’s why it was genius.”

You fold your arms. “One hour.”

“An hour and fifteen minutes,” Haein bargains instantly.

“One hour.”

“An hour and ten.”

“One.”

Hyunjin leans slightly toward Haein. “You’re losing ground.”

Haein gasps. “Whose side are you on?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

The token machine glows at the entrance, card slots blinking. Hyunjin is already reaching for his wallet before he gives himself the chance to overthink it.

You catch the motion immediately. “Hyunjin, no,” you say, reaching for your own bag.

He glances at you. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Dinner was already enough.”

Beside him, Haein looks between the two of you with the alert stillness of someone sensing an important adult negotiation and preparing to exploit it.

“It’s really okay,” Hyunjin says quietly. “I want to.”

“You do not need to buy their affection.”

Something in your voice makes him look at you more carefully.

Not anger. Embarrassment, maybe. The instinct to keep the scales balanced. To owe no one too much.

His chest tightens with understanding. Before he can answer, Haein joins the cause with breathtaking speed.

“Please,” he says to you, clasping his hands dramatically. “Please let him. If this is about pride, I think we should all take a break from pride for the evening.”

You stare at your son. “Who taught you to speak like that?”

“You and television.”

Hyunjin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Haein turns to him. “Help me.”

“I’m not sure involving me is wise.”

“It’s already too late,” Seorin says dryly.

Then, to your visible horror, Haein links his hands together beneath his chin and widens his eyes so extravagantly Hyunjin is almost offended on your behalf. “Mom. Be cool.”

You look at Hyunjin. He looks back with what he hopes is a reasonable amount of sympathy and not nearly as much amusement as he feels.

“It would make me happy,” he says gently. “That’s all.”

For a second, your expression softens. Something in it yielding not because you have been cornered but because you have heard him. You exhale through your nose. “You two are impossible.”

Haein throws both fists in the air. “Yes.”

Hyunjin loads the game card while Haein practically vibrates beside him. Seorin hangs back with you, but when he turns and holds the card out, he offers it to both of them equally.

“Shared custody,” he says.

Haein accepts this as if handed the keys to a kingdom. Seorin takes the other side of the card with a glance up at him that says she noticed the gesture.

Then they are off.

For the next hour, Hyunjin walks through a carnival of noise and color with your hand in his and a smile he stops trying to hide after the first fifteen minutes.

Haein throws himself into every game with ruinous confidence. Basketball. Racing simulators. One dance game that ends in public humiliation so total it loops back around to greatness. He loses spectacularly at claw machines and insists each failed attempt is part of a larger strategy the rest of you are too simple to understand.

Seorin is more selective. She likes the shooting games best, the ones requiring patience and precision. The first time she wins a prize, she only glances at it before offering it to Haein because his machine had betrayed him twice in a row. He accepts it with a sincerity so immediate it makes Hyunjin look away for one second, just to absorb the shape of them together.

Twins, yes. Entirely different weather systems. Still orbiting each other with instinctive pull.

You stay close to Hyunjin as the four of you move through the arcade. Sometimes your fingers thread with his. Sometimes you let go to clap for Haein or lean over Seorin’s shoulder to watch her line up another impossible shot. Sometimes you come back to him with laughter still in your face, and he feels his whole body orient toward it before his mind has a chance to catch up.

At one machine, Haein is busy trying to win a grotesque green dinosaur while Seorin stands nearby pretending not to care whether he succeeds.

You drift closer to Hyunjin, shoulder brushing his arm. “He’s not going to get that,” you murmur.

“No.”

“He’s spent half the card trying.”

“I know.”

“Why aren’t you stopping him?”

Hyunjin turns just enough to look at you fully. “Because hope is important.”

A startled laugh escapes you, head tilting back, eyes bright. He thinks, with complete seriousness, that he could live on that sound.

When Haein loses again and throws both hands over his face in theatrical despair, Seorin says, “It’s fine. It was ugly anyway.”

“It had character.”

“Still ugly.”

Later, near the photo booth tucked against the far wall, you stop him by the sleeve and pull him into a small corner shadowed from the busiest path of foot traffic.

“What?” he asks, still smiling.

“You.”

“That narrows nothing.”

Your fingers smooth the line of his collar. “Thank you.”

The arcade noise swells and breaks around you, bright and chaotic, but the small square of space between your bodies feels hushed anyway.

“For what?”

“For tonight. For being so good with them.” Your voice lowers. “For not making this weird.”

He does not know what expression crosses his face then, only that your hand comes up to touch his cheek as if the answer is written there.

“It was never going to be weird,” he says.

Your eyes search him. Something in them turns molten.

You kiss him before he can think too hard about it. Quick, soft, hidden in the spill of colored light from a pinball machine two steps away. He catches your waist on instinct, thumb resting just above the seam of your blouse, and when you pull back there is laughter in your mouth and something else too. Something fuller. Rounder. A happiness that seems almost shy to show itself.

He is about to lean in again when a voice behind him says, “I saw that.”

You spring apart.

Haein stands ten feet away, not scandalized at all, just deeply entertained. Seorin is next to him, expression composed enough that only the faint pink in her cheeks gives anything away.

“Oh my god,” you murmur into your hand.

“What?” Haein says. “You’re dating. That’s literally the concept.”

Hyunjin fails entirely at looking solemn. “Your timing is remarkable.”

“Thank you. I inherited it.”

“From who,” Seorin asks flatly. “Certainly not Mom.”

You cover your face. Hyunjin takes your hand again before you can dissolve into the arcade carpet from embarrassment, and this time you do not let go quickly. You lace your fingers with his and stay there.

He notices Seorin noticing that. Not with disapproval exactly. Not anymore. More with careful attention, her guardedness still in place but shifting shape around the edges. Watching her mother laugh. Watching the softness that comes over your face when you look at him. Watching him look back with all the steadiness he can manage under fluorescent lights and the threat of a basketball machine blaring triumph nearby.

At one point, Haein runs ahead toward another game, shouting something about vengeance and racing simulators. You and Hyunjin follow at a slower pace, hand in hand, your shoulder knocking lightly into his.

Seorin walks a step behind on your other side.

He can feel her presence there. Quiet. Evaluating.

Then you laugh at something he says, a real laugh, one that opens your whole face and spills into the air without restraint, and he sees it happen.

Seorin looks at you. Not him. You.

She watches your happiness settle around you, bright and alive and unforced. Watches the way your fingers remain woven with his as though they belong there. Watches the ease in your expression, the absence of strain, the simple undeniable truth that you are not enduring this evening. You are inside it fully.

Her mouth softens. The smile is small. Barely there. Still, it comes. Hyunjin sees it from the corner of his eye and says nothing. To call attention to it would be to frighten it back into hiding. So he keeps walking. Keeps pace with you. Lets Haein’s running commentary fill the space ahead of him and your hand warm his own.

But something inside him shifts all the same. Not victory. He would never call it that. Just the first hairline crack in a locked door.

By the time the four of you leave the arcade, Haein is carrying too many prize tickets and Seorin is holding a plush keychain she insists she only accepted because it would have been wasteful not to redeem the points. The night air greets you cool and fresh after all that neon and noise. The city feels softer now, as if the evening itself has mellowed with you.

Haein walks ahead, already retelling his greatest gaming triumphs in excruciating detail.

You lean into Hyunjin’s side as you walk. “You survived.”

“I did.”

“Barely.”

“I think your son interviewed me.”

“He interviews everyone.”

“And your daughter...”

You glance over at Seorin, who is listening while pretending she is not. “What about her?”

Hyunjin looks ahead for a moment, choosing his words with care. “She loves you very much.”

Your steps falter just enough for him to feel it. Then you squeeze his hand. “Yes,” you say quietly. “She does.”

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple before he can overthink whether the moment can hold it. Your answering smile arrives slow and luminous, the kind he knows he will think about later when he is home and alone and trying not to be wrecked by memory.

Ahead of you, Haein shouts, “No more kissing unless I get snacks.”

Seorin, to Hyunjin’s astonishment, lets out a soft, helpless sound that is almost a laugh herself.

The city glows around all four of you. Storefronts lit gold. Traffic moving steady. Summer beginning to gather in the air.

Hyunjin walks through it with your hand in his and the sound of your children just ahead, and for one quiet, dangerous moment, the future opens in his mind with startling clarity. As something he wants with a sincerity so deep it feels almost prayerful.

Beside him, you are smiling. Ahead of him, Haein is still talking. Seorin has not dropped her guard completely, but he has seen the edges of it soften, seen the moonlight shift.

For now, that is enough–more than enough. It is the beginning of being let in.

It’s a few months later and Hyunjin finds himself getting to the school twenty minutes early.

He tells himself it is because the school auditorium seating fills fast, because talent show nights are apparently treated with the severity of national events by parents who know the front rows disappear first. The truth sits elsewhere.

He has spent the entire week half-amused and half-ruined by how seriously Haein and Seorin have taken tonight. Haein has described the order of performances to him three separate times over text. Seorin, far more selective with her enthusiasm, had only looked at him over dinner two nights ago and said, with studied casualness, “It starts at six-thirty. The doors open at six.”

He had nodded, just as carefully. “I know.”

“I’m reminding you.”

“I’m feeling very guided.”

She had tried not to smile. Tried, and failed just enough for him to carry it around for the next day and a half.

So yes, he arrives early.

The school is already alive with evening noise. Parents moving through the front gate in tidy little currents, some still in office clothes, some with camera straps around their necks, some carrying bouquets wrapped in cellophane. Children dart in and out of the entrance with the last scraps of pre-show energy clinging to them, half-costumed and flushed with nerves.

Hyunjin stands for a moment outside the auditorium doors with one hand in his coat pocket and the other curled around a paper cup of coffee that has gone warm. The building glows under the early evening sky, windows bright, the air still holding the day’s leftover heat. Somewhere inside, a microphone squeals and is immediately followed by the embarrassed laughter of a teacher trying to fix it.

He checks his phone. No new message from you.

The last one is from twenty-one minutes ago.

You: Leaving work now. Traffic looks terrible but I'll get there. Save me a seat if the auditorium parents turn feral.

His mouth had curved when he read it the first time. It still does, a little, now.

He types back before slipping the phone into his pocket.

Hyunjin: Already on guard. I'm prepared to defend your honor and your throne.

He steps inside. The auditorium is exactly the kind of chaos he expected. Low stage, red curtains, rows of folding seats already filling. Mothers waving frantically from the center section. Fathers pretending they do not care where they sit while clearly caring very much. A line of teachers near the front wearing the tired expressions of people who have been handling children in sequins for the past two hours.

Hyunjin spots the twins immediately.

They are waiting near the side of the stage with the rest of the participants, grouped with classmates and teachers and enough nervous energy to power the building. Haein sees him first. The boy practically has internal radar for people he likes.

His whole face lights up. He throws one arm high into the air and waves so enthusiastically Hyunjin has to lift his hand in return before Haein dislocates something. Even from across the room, he can see him saying something to whoever is standing beside him, probably informing the entire lineup that Hyunjin has arrived and therefore civilization may proceed as scheduled.

Seorin turns at the movement. For a moment, she simply looks at him. Then she smiles. Briefly, shyly, the expression turning her face softer for only a second before she lowers her eyes and fixes the cuff of her sleeve like she did no such thing.

He smiles back anyway. By now, the smiles she gives him are no longer rare. But they still never feel ordinary.

He finds four seats near the middle and slides into one, saving the others with his coat and bag. One for you. One for Jiho, presumably. One extra because family nights never seem to obey clean arithmetic.

The thought of meeting Jiho alone crosses his mind then, and for the first time all evening, his calm wavers.

You had spoken about your ex-husband honestly, which somehow made the prospect both easier and harder. No villain. No grand betrayal. Just a man you once loved who became someone you could no longer build a life with. A father who loves his children. A person whose existence still sits inside the foundation of your history, no matter how gently or completely you have moved on.

Hyunjin has never been foolish enough to think that entering your life means stepping into empty ground. Love is never built on empty ground. It grows through what was already there. Around it. Sometimes because of it.

Still, knowing that in theory and preparing to meet the man in real life are two very different kinds of grace.

He checks his phone again. Nothing.

The house lights dim slightly, then come back up as someone announces a ten-minute delay due to “technical adjustments,” which sounds ominous enough that half the parents groan in unison. Hyunjin exhales through a smile and settles back in his seat.

That is when someone stops at the end of the row.

He looks up.

Jiho is taller than he expected. Broader too, shoulders still carrying traces of the boy he must have once been only in the softness at the edges of his face, the places life has not fully hardened yet. He has Haein’s smile hidden somewhere in his mouth and Seorin’s eyes made older by exhaustion. He is dressed simply, office slacks and a dark jacket, tie loosened at the throat.

For one suspended second, they only look at each other.

Then Jiho nods once. “Hyunjin.” His tone is level. Not sharp. Not warm. A man acknowledging another man that now sits where he once did.

Hyunjin rises out of instinct. “Jiho.”

They bow their heads in respect and shake hands.

Jiho’s grip is firm and brief, the kind that says more through restraint than pressure. Hyunjin feels the reserve in it immediately. Not hostility. That would have an easier shape. This is something quieter and more difficult to argue with. Caution. Distance. The kind of cold politeness built from a father’s instinct and a former husband’s unavoidable discomfort.

He steps aside to let Jiho in first. Jiho takes the seat on the other side of the empty one meant for you, glancing once at the coat Hyunjin has draped there.

“She’s not here yet?”

“No,” Hyunjin says, sitting back down. “She said traffic was bad.”

Jiho nods. Nothing more.

On stage, a teacher fumbles with a microphone stand while children in glittering costumes whisper furiously to one another near the curtain. The room is loud enough to cover the silence between them, but Hyunjin feels it all the same. A wall neither of them has yet decided whether to climb.

A blur of motion appears at the end of the aisle.

Haein has escaped whatever backstage holding pattern was supposed to contain him and is half-jogging toward them before any adult can stop him. “Dad!”

Jiho’s face changes instantly. The reserve falls away. Whatever else he is carrying tonight, whatever he may think about Hyunjin sitting here with your coat across a seat, none of it survives the sound of his son barreling down the aisle.

He stands in time to catch Haein with one arm. Haein grins up at him, bright and breathless and all joy. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

“I thought maybe the meeting would run late.”

“It ended.”

“That’s good, because if you missed my part I was going to hold a grudge forever.”

Jiho huffs a laugh and ruffles his hair. “That sounds healthy.”

Then Haein turns, as if the happiness in him simply refuses to move in one direction at a time. “Hyunjin, you came too.”

The whole sentence is ridiculous. Hyunjin had been in his line of sight from the start. It is not information. It is delight made verbal. Still, hearing it does something to him.

He looks up at the boy. “I did.”

Haein beams. “Good. You have to watch the second group dance too. There’s this part where Minjun almost falls off the riser but then he doesn’t, and it’s honestly one of the strongest moments artistically.”

Jiho glances sideways then, not fully at Hyunjin but enough to register the easy familiarity in the exchange. Hyunjin can feel the look pass over him. Measuring. Taking stock.

Another small movement catches his attention. Seorin is standing a few feet back in the aisle now, hands folded around the ends of her sleeves, waiting for the first burst of Haein to finish before entering the orbit herself.

Jiho sees her and opens his arms slightly. She goes to him at once.

The hug is quieter than Haein’s, more contained, but no less deep for it. She folds against her father’s chest with that shy, tucked-in tenderness Hyunjin has only seen pieces of before, and Jiho’s hand settles at the back of her head for a brief moment. Something in Hyunjin aches at the sight. There is love here. Complicated, imperfect, but still entirely real.

When Seorin pulls back, she says something too soft for Hyunjin to hear. Jiho answers, and she nods.

Then she turns toward Hyunjin. Her expression shifts the way moonlight does when a cloud passes. She steps closer, stopping beside Haein, who is now bouncing gently on the balls of his feet because stillness would apparently kill him.

“Hi,” she says to Hyunjin.

“Hi.”

A small pause. Her eyes drop, then lift again. And then there it is. That shy smile, the one she offers only when she has forgotten to keep the fortress gates fully shut. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Simple words. Nothing more. The kind of thing another child might throw carelessly into the air. Coming from Seorin, it lands with the full weight of trust still in progress.

Hyunjin smiles before he can help it. “Me too.”

Haein makes a noise of impatience. “Can I tell them about the stage fog machine or do I have to go back now?”

“You have to go back now,” Seorin says.

“It’s oppressive how little freedom artists have in this country.”

Jiho actually laughs at that, brief and unwilling, as if the sound escaped before he had time to inspect it. Haein hears it and looks unbearably pleased with himself.

A teacher appears at the side door and waves sharply for the participants to return. Haein groans his way backward down the aisle. Seorin gives Jiho one last quick squeeze around the middle before stepping away. When she passes Hyunjin, she glances at him once more, all careful softness and held breath.

Then the two of them disappear backstage again.

Jiho remains standing for a second longer than necessary, watching the curtain where they vanished. When he sits, the distance between him and Hyunjin feels altered by something small and undeniable. Only complicated further by seeing his children happy in both directions at once.

“They’ve talked about you,” Jiho says after a while.

The sentence arrives without preamble. Hyunjin turns his head.

Jiho keeps his gaze on the stage. “Haein more than Seorin. But Seorin too.”

He doesn’t know what answer fits in the space he’s been given, so he chooses honesty. “I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

Jiho’s jaw shifts once, the muscle there tightening and easing. “They don’t get attached lightly,” he says. “At least not Seorin.”

There is no accusation in it. The meaning still lands cleanly enough.

Hyunjin folds his hands in his lap. “I know.”

That earns him the first direct look of the evening. Jiho studies him for a moment, not aggressively. Just with the hard attention of a father who has earned the right to be difficult when it comes to his children. “She’s had to grow up too fast.”

“I know,” Hyunjin says again, more quietly this time.

Jiho looks away first. “Then you know why I’m not interested in anyone being careless.”

The lights dim before Hyunjin can answer. The talent show begins in a burst of applause and static from the speakers, mercifully postponing the rest of the conversation. Children pour onto the stage in improbable costumes. A recorder ensemble goes tragically off-key and survives on spirit alone. Two boys in matching vests perform a rap with enough confidence to make up for whatever talent they lack. Parents clap too hard. Teachers smile with the worn devotion of saints.

Hyunjin watches, but the empty seat beside him keeps tugging at his focus. He checks his phone during the transitions between acts. Nothing.

He sends you one message.

Hyunjin: We saved your seat. The recorder group may never recover but morale is high.

No response.

By the time the twins’ performance begins, unease has started to gather low in his stomach.

Haein is impossible to miss in the dance group. He throws himself into the choreography with the exact amount of joy and dramatic sincerity Hyunjin expected, smiling too wide and missing one turn by half a beat before recovering with the confidence of someone too beloved to fail in any meaningful way.

Seorin stands farther back in the vocal ensemble that follows, hands curled around the microphone, shoulders straight, expression composed until the music starts. Then something in her settles. Her voice is not the loudest in the group, but Hyunjin finds it anyway. Clear. Steady. Silver-bright.

He feels Jiho straighten beside him during her part.

When the applause rises, Hyunjin claps until his palms sting.

Still no message from you.

The second half of the show passes in fragments. More children. More lights. More performances stitched together with nervous announcements and parents trying not to trip in the aisles. The seat beside them stays empty, your coat now folded over the back rather than draped across the cushion, the outline of your absence becoming harder to ignore with every minute.

Jiho notices it too. Hyunjin can feel him notice it. Neither says anything.

By the time the finale ends and the room bursts into motion, relief and pride and too many camera flashes all at once, the unease in Hyunjin has turned sharp enough to hurt.

He stands as families crowd the aisle. Jiho is already scanning the room toward the side doors where the participants will emerge. Hyunjin pulls out his phone again and calls you.

Straight to voicemail.

His chest goes cold.

The twins appear a few minutes later in a wave of children and noise. Haein reaches them first, flushed and triumphant, hair damp at the temples. “Did you see the turn in the second chorus,” he says, not even bothering with hello. “I almost ate the floor but I recovered so well that I actually think it improved the performance.”

“You were amazing,” Jiho says.

“You were really good,” Hyunjin adds, meaning it.

Haein glows under the praise. “Where’s Mom?”

The question hangs there.

Seorin has just arrived at Jiho’s side, cheeks still pink from the stage lights, the clip in her hair slipping a little loose. She looks from him to the empty space behind them and stills.

Jiho pulls out his phone. “She’s probably parking.”

Hyunjin wants to believe him. He does, with a kind of desperate sincerity. He wants you sweeping in breathless and apologetic, cursing traffic and kissing Seorin’s forehead and asking Haein to reenact his favorite part of the dance before you even leave the building.

He watches Jiho dial, but the call does not connect.

He tries again. This time his face changes before the ringtone can cycle twice.

A beat later, he steps away from the children. “Hello?” His voice is clipped now. Alert.

Hyunjin feels the air around them tighten.

Haein is still talking at first, asking whether they can stop somewhere for late dessert because surviving a talent show should legally qualify a person for ice cream. Then he notices the silence where his father’s easy answer should be.

Seorin notices faster. She turns toward Jiho fully, every line of her small body going sharp.

Jiho listens without speaking. His face empties in a frightening way, the kind that means bad news has arrived and is being held in place by force. One hand comes to his hip. The other grips the phone hard enough his knuckles pale.

When he finally speaks, his voice has dropped. “Which hospital?”

The floor seems to tilt. Hyunjin goes very still.

Jiho listens again, says yes, says thank you, says we’re on our way. Then he hangs up and stands there for half a second with his eyes closed.

When he turns back, Haein is already looking frightened. “Dad?”

Jiho’s gaze flicks to the twins first, then to Hyunjin, as if recalculating how to share something grave to his children standing in front of him.

“It’s Mom, isn’t it,” Seorin says. She doesn’t ask it like a question. 

Jiho exhales once. “There was an accident.”

The words leave a vacuum behind them.

Haein’s face falls open. “What?”

Jiho steps closer, leans forward slightly so he is level with them even though his own composure is visibly strained. “A car hit her. But the doctors have her now and she’s gonna be okay.”

Hyunjin feels his body react before his thoughts can catch up, a violent cold racing through him from throat to fingertips. The corridor noise around them becomes distorted, applause and laughter and parents gathering flowers into their arms while the world inside this one narrow square has split apart.

“Is she okay?” Haein asks, and the sound of his voice is wrong now, too high, all the sunlight gone out of it in one terrified second. “Dad, is she okay?”

“They said she’s alive,” Jiho says quickly.

Alive. The word should help. It doesn’t. Not enough.

“We’re going now.”

Seorin’s hands are shaking. She has gone frighteningly quiet, face blank. Haein looks like he might either cry or throw up or both. And Hyunjin, standing a step away, can think only one thought with the full, sickening clarity of disaster.

You were on your way here. To them. To him.

He hears his own voice before he fully feels it.

“I can drive.”

All three of them look at him.

“I can drive” he repeats, already reaching for his keys. “My car’s close.”

Jiho studies him for one split second, every instinct in him likely screaming in different directions. Then practical need wins the battle. “Fine.”

Haein is crying now, silent tears spilling as if his body has outrun his mind. Seorin still hasn’t moved. Hyunjin steps toward her without thinking too hard about whether he has the right. There are moments that strip the world down to function. This is one of them.

“Seorin.”

Her eyes lift to his.

He keeps his voice steady by sheer force. “We’re going to her now.”

The words seem to reach her from far away. She swallows once and nods.

Jiho takes Haein’s shoulder, guiding him toward the exit. Hyunjin falls into step beside Seorin, close enough to catch her if her knees give out. Around them the school continues breathing in ordinary rhythms, families congratulating children, teachers laughing with relief, the whole bright harmless evening still glowing stupidly on as if it has not just been split open.

Outside, the night air hits cold against the sweat at the back of Hyunjin’s neck as he unlocks the car with shaking hands.

For one brutal second before anyone gets in, before the doors slam and the drive begins and the hospital rises ahead in fluorescent inevitability, he stands in the parking lot under the thin wash of streetlight and looks up at the dark sky with his heart pounding so hard it feels injurious.

The hospital is too bright.

That is Hyunjin’s first coherent thought once the automatic doors open and all four of them are swallowed by fluorescent light and antiseptic air and the kind of quiet that only exists in places built to hold fear.

The emergency desk staff move quickly once they hear your name. Efficient and professional. Calm in that practiced way that makes Hyunjin feel both grateful and briefly murderous.

He understands the necessity of it. Still hates it.

The twins stay close without needing to be told. Haein keeps wiping his face with the heel of his hand as if he can erase the panic by force. Seorin has gone inward completely, all of her energy pulled tight beneath the surface. Her lips are pale. Her hands are empty only because she is holding them too still to count.

A nurse leads them to a family waiting area just outside the trauma center. It has rows of plastic chairs and a water cooler in the corner and a television mounted high on the wall playing some daytime program with the volume off, bright smiling hosts moving their mouths in a world that has nothing to do with this one.

Jiho speaks for all of them at first because someone has to.

Name. Age. Any allergies they know of. Any medications. Emergency contact confirmation. Divorce papers have made him good at forms and signatures and keeping his voice level while his life rearranges itself around him. Hyunjin watches him do it with a kind of raw respect.

Then comes the waiting. Time changes shape in hospitals. Minutes stop behaving correctly. The clock on the far wall moves, but nothing inside Hyunjin believes it.

A doctor comes out after what feels like an hour and what might only be twenty minutes. He looks insultingly composed, his badge swinging slightly as he approaches, and Hyunjin hates him for one full second on principle before the man even opens his mouth.

“Family of—”

Jiho is already on his feet. “Yes.”

Hyunjin rises a second later, Haein following

The doctor’s eyes move between them, taking in the configuration with one quick professional glance, then settle. “She’s stable.”

The word hits the room so hard it nearly leaves an echo. Haein makes a sound that is half sob and half gasp. Jiho puts a hand out without looking and catches the back of his neck, steadying him. Hyunjin feels the breath he has been holding tear out of him so suddenly it hurts.

“She came in unconscious,” the doctor continues. “The paramedics brought her straight to trauma because of the mechanism of the accident. Right now, her vitals are stable. We don’t see anything immediately life-threatening, which is good.”

Good. The word feels too small. Too careful. Still, Hyunjin clutches at it instinctively.

“But,” the doctor says, because of course there is a but, “we need more imaging and observation before we can say more. We’re especially concerned about head trauma since she was unconscious when she arrived. We need to make sure there isn’t a brain injury that isn’t obvious yet.”

Jiho nods once, jaw flexing. “Okay. Does she have any internal bleeding?”

“Nothing significant that we can see at this moment.”

“At this moment.” Jiho repeats the phrase the way people do when they are trying to decide whether to trust it.

The doctor understands the look on his face. “I know that’s not the kind of certainty you want. We’ll know more once the scans come back.”

“Can we see her?”

“Not yet. She’s still being evaluated. Someone will come get you as soon as we can.”

Jiho nods again. Thanks him with the kind of clipped civility that belongs to people too frightened to be rude and too exhausted to be kind. The doctor leaves. The corridor swallows him.

For a second nobody moves. Then Haein breaks. Just one choked inhale that seems to catch wrong in his chest, and then another, and then he is crying in earnest, shoulders shaking under the half-buttoned costume shirt he never got the chance to change out of.

Jiho turns to him immediately. “Hey. Hey, Haein.”

“She was coming,” Haein says, words wrecked and uneven. “She was coming to see us.”

“I know.”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because she was trying to get here fast because of us and I kept texting her and asking when she’d be here and—”

“No.” Jiho’s voice goes hard in the middle, not harsh, but firm enough to cut through the spiral. “No. Don’t do that.”

Haein is crying too hard to hear reason. Jiho pulls him in against his chest, one hand pressing the back of his head down, the other bracing him across the shoulders. Haein clutches at the front of his jacket like he’s drowning and Jiho is the nearest solid thing.

Hyunjin looks away. Not out of discomfort. Out of mercy. There are griefs intimate enough that witnessing them head-on feels like trespassing.

That is when he realizes Seorin has not made a sound. She is sitting three chairs down from where she was before, as if she drifted there without him noticing. Her hands are folded in her lap. Her face is blank. Too blank. The overhead lights bleach the color from her skin, turn the shadows beneath her eyes into bruises.

Hyunjin crosses the room and sits beside her.

For a while, neither of them says anything.

The waiting area hums around them. Nurses pass the doorway. A man somewhere down the hall is speaking into his phone in a voice pitched low with the strain of trying not to frighten whoever is on the other end. The television continues flashing silent smiles. Haein’s crying softens in waves under Jiho’s quiet voice.

Seorin stares at the floor.

Hyunjin lets the silence stay. He knows better than to reach into her grief with clumsy hands. She is not Haein. She will not be coaxed into feeling safer by volume or forced brightness. She has always been all edges and depth, the kind of child who holds everything in so carefully that even pain comes out with manners.

He waits until he feels the slightest shift beside him.

Seorin’s hand moves first–small and cold.

She lays it on the seat between them for one second, hovering there, almost as if she means to take it back. Then her fingers curl, timid only in the first inch of motion, and close around his hand.

Hyunjin looks down. Her grip is tighter than he expects. Tight enough to hurt a little.

When he looks back at her face, she is still staring at the floor. Her chin trembles once.

“Seorin.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds scraped raw. “Can you…” 

Hyunjin shifts closer without thinking, turning his hand under hers so he is holding it properly now. “Can I what, sweetheart?”

She makes a broken sound at that, something so tiny he might have missed it if he had not already been listening for every fracture in her. Then she turns toward him all at once, eyes shining, composure cracking faster than he can brace for. “Can you tell me everything’s going to be okay?”

The question tears straight through him.

Her face crumples as she keeps going, words coming faster now, fragile and desperate and horribly young. “Tell me she’s going to be okay. Tell me we can all go home later. Tell me this isn’t…” She sucks in a breath that shudders on the way out. “Please.”

Hyunjin’s throat closes around every answer he cannot honestly give. He can promise presence. He can promise love. He can promise that he will sit here until morning and longer if morning comes and you still have not opened your eyes. What he cannot promise is the one thing she wants most.

Still, he tries.

“She’s alive,” he says, keeping his voice gentle enough that it does not splinter against her panic. “The doctor said she’s alive, Seorin. That matters.”

Tears spill over anyway. She shakes her head once, violently, as if the reassurance is too thin to wrap around what she is feeling. “Please,” she whispers, and then again, louder, “Please.”

The second plea turns heads. Jiho looks over from where he is holding Haein, alarm already gathering, but Hyunjin lifts his free hand just slightly. Not to wave him off. Just enough to say he’s here, he’s got her for this moment, stay with your son.

Jiho hesitates. Then nods.

Seorin is crying fully now. Silent no longer. The kind of crying that seems to come from a place below language entirely. She lets go of Hyunjin’s hand only to catch at his sleeve with both of hers, twisting the fabric tight.

“I’ll change,” she says suddenly, words tumbling over each other in a panic that has outpaced thought. “If it means she’s okay, I’ll change. I’ll be easier. I’ll be better. I’ll be…” She drags in air like she’s choking on it. “I’ll be like Haein. I’ll be nice and bright and I won’t make anything hard anymore, I swear, I’ll just—”

“Seorin.” He says her name sharply enough to stop the sentence, softly enough not to wound.

She looks at him then. Really looks. Terrified. Open in a way he has never seen before and hopes he never has to again.

The sight nearly undoes him. He turns fully toward her, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face. Her skin is damp and freezing under his palm. “No.” His voice drops lower. Steadier. “No, don’t say that.”

Her mouth trembles. “But what if—”

“You do not have to become anyone else.” The words come from somewhere deeper than thought. They arrive already true. “You do not have to be brighter. Or easier. Or anything other than exactly who you are.”

She is still crying, but quieter now, stunned into listening.

Hyunjin brushes a tear from beneath her eye with his thumb. “Your mother doesn’t love you because you make things easy,” he says. “She loves you because you are Seorin.”

Another tear follows the first. He catches that one too. “And I…” His voice falters for the first time that night. He lets it. “I love who you are too.”

Her eyes go wider.

He has never said it like this before. Not cleanly. Not out loud where it can stand on its own without implication or the soft disguise of actions. But the truth is already here, huge and undeniable and far too urgent for caution now.

“I love your mom,” he says. “You know that.”

A tiny, trembling nod.

“But I love you and Haein very much too.”

Her breath catches.

“Not just because you belong to her,” he continues, each word chosen and given with the full weight of his heart behind it. “Not just because I met you through her. I love you because you are you. Because Haein walks into a room and makes it brighter. Because you see everything and still feel everything. Because somewhere along the way, you both became part of my life in a way I can’t separate anymore.” His own eyes sting then, sudden and helpless. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Seorin breaks completely. She makes one wounded little sound and throws herself at him so fast his chair nearly shifts under the force of it. Hyunjin catches her immediately, arms closing around her with no room for hesitation, one hand at the back of her head, the other spread wide between her shoulder blades.

She clings. Her fingers knot in the back of his shirt and stay there as if letting go would be her demise. She cries into his shoulder with the terrible trust of someone who has finally stopped trying to hold herself upright for one minute too long.

Hyunjin holds her tighter. He presses his cheek to her hair first, then his forehead to hers when she lifts her face in wet, uneven breaths, both of them close enough now that his voice barely needs to rise above a whisper.

“She is perfect too, you know.” Seorin sobs once, eyes squeezed shut.

“She is,” he says again. “And so are you.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?”

The question lands between them like broken glass. Hyunjin closes his eyes for one second before opening them again. “Then I will still be here.”

Her brows pinch, tears clinging to her lashes.

“For you,” he says. “For Haein. For whatever happens. I’m here.”

She stares at him with all the shattered intensity of a child trying to measure whether a promise will hold.

Hyunjin does not look away. No matter what happens, he had said. He means it. Not as comfort thrown over a wound because he cannot bear her pain. As commitment. As fact. Something already built and standing there between them.

Slowly, shakily, Seorin nods. Then she leans forward again until their foreheads meet once more, both of them breathing the same thin hospital air, both pretending for each other in the gentlest possible way.

“She’s okay,” Seorin whispers, the sentence fragile in her mouth.

Hyunjin swallows around the ache in his throat. “She’s okay,” he echoes.

They say it again. And again. Not because repetition makes it true, but because hope sometimes needs the rhythm of prayer to survive the waiting.

Across the room, Jiho is still holding Haein, though Haein has quieted enough now to listen, tear-streaked and hollow-eyed. Hyunjin can feel Jiho watching them from a distance, something unreadable moving across his face as he takes in the sight of Seorin folded against Hyunjin’s chest, Hyunjin holding her as if he has done it all his life.

For once, Hyunjin cannot find it in himself to care what the man makes of him. The only thing in the world that matters is the child in his arms and the woman beyond the trauma doors and the thread stretched between all of them, pulled thin but not broken, not yet.

Seorin shifts after a while, not far, just enough to breathe easier. “Promise?” she asks. Her voice is raw from crying.

Hyunjin smooths a hand over her hair, careful where it has come loose from its clip. “What?”

“That you won’t go.”

He feels something inside him cave in quietly. “I promise.”

Even now, even here, he does not make promises he cannot keep. This one he gives without hesitation.

Seorin nods against him, accepting it with the solemn seriousness of someone who will remember every syllable later.

A nurse appears in the doorway then, looking around the room with that specific expression hospital staff wear when they are about to alter someone’s life in one direction or another.

“Family of Y/N?”

Everything inside the room stills. But Hyunjin feels Seorin’s hand lock around his again before either of them stand.

Three years later.

The air in the room feels charged, thick with sweat and the raw, honest scent of what you’ve been doing for the past hour. The deep, rhythmic slap of his hips against yours is a sound that has become the world’s only music, a steady beat beneath your own ragged breaths. Hyunjin’s hands, large and possessive, are planted firmly on your hips, his fingers digging in, not to hurt but to hold, to claim. The bed dips beneath your knees, the sheets a tangled mess beneath your braced palms.

He drives into you, a slow, retreating withdrawal that makes you gasp at the loss, followed by a sharp, perfect return that fills you so completely your vision momentarily swims. He isn’t gentle, but there’s a precision to his roughness, a care in every thrust that tells you he’s listening to your body, reading every twitch and shudder.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he grunts, the words rough and textured, vibrating through his chest and into the room. His voice is lower now, worn from use.

You can’t form a coherent sentence. A broken sound escapes you, half-moan, half-word. “You… the way you move…”

His pace shifts, not faster but deeper, angling himself so that each entry seems to touch a different, brighter nerve. Your back arches involuntarily, a silent plea for more of that specific, devastating pressure. He sees it, feels it, and adjusts. A low, satisfied hum comes from him. “There?”

You nod, frantic, your hair a wild curtain over your flushed face. “Yes. Right there. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He finds that spot and works it, a relentless, focused rhythm that begins to unravel you from the inside out. The stretch of him, the glorious, aching fullness, becomes a focal point of pure pleasure. It’s not just the physical sensation; it’s the knowledge of him, of his desire, of the freedom in this empty house that lets you be this loud, this unapologetically hungry.

One of his hands leaves your hip, slides up your spine, a warm, smoothing path over the sweat-slicked skin. It comes to rest between your shoulder blades, a heavy, comforting weight. The other hand stays anchored, guiding the force of his movements. The dual sensation—the grounding hold and the tender touch—makes your throat tighten with something more than lust.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmurs, his voice closer now, his breath hot near your ear. “Every part of you. Taking me like this, fuck.”

The praise, raw and sincere, coils around the physical act, amplifying it. You want to give it back. “You feel…you feel so good, Hyunjin. I love your cock. I love how you fuck me.”

The words, dirty and direct, trigger a sharp, sudden increase in his intensity. His grip tightens, his thrusts become shorter, harder, a rapid-fire assault on that perfect, bright spot inside you. The building pressure in your core shifts from a steady climb to a steep, urgent ascent.

Your own hands clutch at the sheets, twisting fabric. Your thighs tremble. The sounds you’re making now are unrecognizable, guttural and open, completely unfiltered. The world narrows to the junction of your bodies, to the slick, hot friction, to the expanding universe of sensation he’s creating within you.

He feels you approaching the edge. His movements become even more deliberate, each thrust a controlled, deep plunge aimed with devastating accuracy. “Come for me,” he commands, his tone not harsh but inviting, a shared destination. “Let me feel it. I want to watch you fall apart around me.”

It’s the permission, the shared intent, that finally breaks you. The tension that had been coiling, winding tighter and tighter, suddenly snaps.

It doesn’t flood; it detonates.

A sharp, white-hot burst of pleasure erupts from that deep, focused point, radiating outward in violent, sparkling waves. Your body locks, a rigid arc of pure release, every muscle contracting in a symphony of ecstasy. A choked, high sound is ripped from your lungs. Your inner muscles convulse around him, a rapid, rhythmic pulsing that grips his length with involuntary, desperate strength.

He groans, a deep, ragged sound of pure satisfaction. “Yes…fuck, yes, just like that…” He doesn’t stop moving. He rides your climax, his thrusts becoming shallower, faster, leveraging the frantic contractions of your body to push himself toward his own peak.

The overwhelming sensations of your own orgasm begin to soften, melting into a heavy, glowing haze of aftermath. But he’s still there, still moving, still driving. You’re hyper-sensitive now, every movement a magnified echo of pleasure. You feel him swelling inside you, growing even harder, more present.

His rhythm fractures, losing its precision, becoming instinctual, urgent. His hands are both on your hips now, pulling you back onto him with each forward surge. His breaths are sharp, panting gusts against your back.

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he warns, the words fragmented, barely coherent.

You press back against him, an eager, answering push. “Please. Do it. Fill me.”

It’s the last push he needs. With a final, deep, grinding thrust that seats him as fully as possible, he lets go. A hot, startling rush floods into you, a liquid heat that marks the culmination of every previous movement. He shudders, a full-body tremor that you feel through every point of contact. His forehead drops between your shoulder blades, his body slumping over yours, weighty and spent.

For a long moment, there is only silence, filled by the rapid hammering of two hearts and the slow, settling calm of shared exhaustion.

He stays there, inside you, for a minute longer, both of you relishing the final, intimate connection. Then, with a soft, careful withdrawal, he pulls out. The loss is profound, a hollow feeling followed by the warm, spreading evidence of his finish.

You collapse forward onto the mattress, your limbs feeling liquid, boneless. He moves off the bed, his footsteps quiet on the floor. You hear the gentle run of water in the bathroom sink. A minute later, he returns, a warm, wet cloth in his hand.

He doesn’t speak. He simply tends to you. The cloth is soft, the water soothing as he cleans the sweat from your back, the evidence from between your thighs. His touch is methodical, tender, a silent continuation of the reverence he showed during the act itself. Each pass of the cloth is a gentle stroke, an act of care that soothes the vibrant, buzzing aftermath in your skin.

Finished, he drops the cloth aside and climbs onto the bed beside you. He doesn’t pull you into an embrace immediately. He lies on his back, one arm outstretched, an invitation. You roll into the space he’s made, curling against his side, your head finding the familiar hollow of his shoulder. His skin is warm, slightly damp. His arm encircles you, his hand resting on your waist.

The room is quiet now. The only sounds are the faint hum of the house and your syncing breaths.

“You’re incredible,” he says softly, his voice restored to its normal, smoother tone.

You nuzzle closer, your lips brushing his skin. “You make me feel that way.”

A smile touches his lips; you feel it more than see it. His hand strokes your side, a slow, idle caress. The passion has banked, but the embers glow, warm and close.

The bedroom is washed in late afternoon light, soft gold spilling through the curtains and settling across the sheets in warm, lazy bands.

His touch drifts across the pale lines left behind by the accident, the scars that once made you look away from your own reflection for too long, the ones he has never treated as something tragic or inconvenient or lesser.

To him, they have always felt holy.

He loves them because they are part of you, because they are proof of the night that almost stole you and failed, because your body carries its history openly and still remains the most beautiful thing he has ever known. There is no pity in the way he touches you. Only reverence. A kind of quiet awe that has only deepened with time.

His thumb brushes one scar near your waist, then lingers there.

“You know,” he says, voice still low with sleep and softness, “I think you get more beautiful everyday.”

You look at him with the half-amused suspicion that still makes him smile, even now, after vows and rings and a hundred ordinary mornings turned precious by habit. “You may be biased.”

“Maybe.” His fingers slide up, smoothing over the curve of your hip beneath the blanket. “It’s also true.”

You laugh under your breath, and he feels it more than hears it, your body shifting closer on instinct until your forehead touches his shoulder.

The ring on your hand catches the light when you reach up to brush his hair from his face. It still does something strange to him, seeing it there.

He had never wanted the symbol for its own sake. What moves him now is the life attached to it. The way this marriage was chosen instead of expected. Built instead of inherited. The way loving you has never once felt like stepping into a role and always felt like walking into a home with the lights already on.

“I love you,” he says, because he has long since stopped hoarding the sentence for rare occasions.

Your mouth softens. “I love you too.”

He traces the line of your wrist, watches your ring flash once more. “You changed everything for me.”

You smile a little at that, but he can see the protest forming already. You’ve always had a habit of trying to spread credit around too evenly, as though love should never be allowed to rest too fully in your hands.

So he keeps going before you can interrupt him. “You did.” His hand moves back to your waist, settling there. “You and the kids.”

At that, your expression changes. The shape it always takes when Haein and Seorin are brought into the room, even when they’re miles away.

“They changed me,” he says quietly. “All of you.”

He means it with the kind of sincerity that asks for nothing in return. Before you, his life had been beautiful in fragments. Careful. Lonely in ways he had learned to make peaceful. Then there was you, and Haein with his unstoppable brightness, and Seorin with all that moonlight hidden beneath her stern little silences, and suddenly his world had roots where it used to have only rooms.

Now there are sketchbooks left open on the dining table because Seorin likes watching him layer color. Haein bursting through the door at impossible volumes with stories that begin in the middle and somehow still make perfect sense. Family calendars. Grocery lists. Vacation plans. Arguments over whose turn it is to pick dinner. A life that no longer belongs to one pair of hands.

His phone buzzes against the nightstand. You glance toward it first. “That’s probably one of your children.”

He smiles. “One of mine?”

“All of you are obsessed with texting me pictures while I’m trying to enjoy peace.”

He reaches over and picks up the phone.

Seorin.

The message opens to a photo first.

Haein and Seorin stand side by side on Jeju’s black volcanic rock, the sea stretching wide and blue behind them, wind whipping Haein’s hair into total disaster while Seorin pretends to roll her eyes at him. Jiho is in the background, slightly out of focus, wearing sunglasses and holding a camera, caught mid-turn as if he has only just noticed the picture being taken.

Hyunjin stares at it for a moment longer than necessary.

Three years has done its work in strange, quiet ways. There is still history where Jiho is concerned. There always will be. But the roughest parts have softened into something workable, something respectful. A shared language built around the twins and what they need. What they have all needed, in different ways, to survive.

Below the photo, Seorin’s message waits.

Seorin: Haein has decided he’s now a local

A second message follows immediately.

Seorin: We should all come together sometime. You can be a poser and paint the landscape and pretend to be serious while Haein ruins it by being himself.

And then, after a beat long enough that he can almost see her hesitating over the screen:

Seorin: Miss you. Love you. Tell Mom too.

Something warm and helpless opens in his chest.

Beside him, you prop yourself up on one elbow. “What did she say?”

Hyunjin turns the phone so you can see the photo, and your face lights in that quiet maternal way he fell in love with before he ever knew what to call it.

You laugh softly at Haein’s pose. Then you read the messages. Your expression changes when you reach the last one.

Hyunjin looks down at the words again.

There was a time when Seorin’s trust came in fragments. A shy smile. A hand reaching for his. A tearful promise made in the fluorescent ache of a hospital waiting room. Now her love arrives in Jeju photos and dry observations and invitations folded into practical suggestions, still carrying her own shape, and still unmistakably hers.

He types back with a smile tugging at his mouth.

Hyunjin: I miss you too. Tell Hae the landscape deserves respect. But yes, we’ll all go soon.

He pauses, then adds—

Hyunjin: Love you more, kiddo.

“She hates when you do that,” you murmur, peeking at the screen.

“She’s my daughter. She can handle it.”

Your laugh folds into his shoulder when you settle back down, and Hyunjin draws you closer without effort, phone set aside again, afternoon light slipping lower over the bed.

Three years later, love no longer feels like a door Hyunjin is hoping will open. It feels chosen, every day and in every direction. And when he kisses the top of your shoulder, just above the place where your skin still remembers what you survived, it is with the quiet certainty of a man whose life has been remade by the people sleeping in hotel rooms on Jeju and the woman breathing softly beside him now.

And tomorrow he will replace the chrysanthemums just starting to wilt in the vase by the kitchen window with fresh ones like he always does. Like he always will continue to do until his dying days.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I know.” It is not arrogance that makes him say it. Only peace.

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[leeknowlore]

ᝰ.ᐟ love potion - MDNI!!

synopsis: in which your not-so-secret friends with benefits situation with lee minho is the worst kept secret in the slytherin common room.

pairing: friends with benefits, slytherin!leeknow x slytherin!femreader, hogwarts au

warnings: 3.4k words, minho & reader are depicted as being 17-18, there are many mentions of sex but it doesn't happen, drinking, making out, dry humping, use of an aphrodisiac, swearing, explicit language

author’s note: thank you so so much for 3k!! 💚 i genuinely can’t believe it. i’ve never reached this kind of following count on any social media platform before. i’m so incredibly grateful for all of you. thank you thank you thank you!! as a celebration, i really wanted to go back to what started it all for me. which was harry potter back in 2021 😭 it’s what got me into writing in the first place and it holds such a special place in my heart.

i actually started this at the beginning of this year and it's been so fun to write! i could say this is one of my favourites and im rly rly excited to share it!

thank you again, from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support. enjoy!

amortentia - the most powerful love potion in the world. it smells different to each person, according to what attracts them

“what does your amortentia smell like, minho?”

changbin dropped onto the couch beside him, a green tie knotted around his head. minho thought he looked stupider than ever, which was impressive considering the competition. the younger boys had a habit of mimicking whatever he did, and minho could spot more than five in the room wearing their ties the same way purely because of seo changbin’s influence.

the slytherin common room was vibrating with triumph after their merciless quidditch win over gryffindor this evening. the celebration had already dissolved into rounds of illicit firewhisky and music loud enough to rattle the stone. they didn’t usually bother with this level of noise. but how could they not celebrate when the griffindorks lost against them?

minho slouched back on the couch, one arm draped over the velvet spine. he gave his glass a slow swirl, watching the shadows fracture through the amber liquid.

“burnt caramel. catnip. and something like a girl’s perfume,” he said at last, voice flat. “makes my fucking head spin.”

changbin whistled. “you’ve got it bad. don’t even know who for?”

“didn’t say that.” the corner of minho’s mouth lifted.

changbin leaned back beside minho with a smug smile, tugging his tie further down over one brow like a bandana, as if that somehow made him look less ridiculous. it didn’t.

“it’s y/n, innit?”

minho scoffed. “as if.”

changbin laughed. “please. everyone knows you two aren’t sneaking alone just to duel.”

minho rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of firewhisky, letting the burn settle under his tongue. he didn’t deny it. what would be the point?

and then, as if right on cue:

“speak of the devil.” changbin sat up straighter, snickering. 

minho’s head snapped toward where changbin was looking, like a compass needle finding north.

you were across the room, walking away from whoever you’d been talking to, still facing them as you chattered on. your backwards steps were carrying you straight toward the couch where minho and changbin sat. minho was already bracing for whatever stupid, trivial thing you were about to bother him with. he was also looking forward to it.

you laughed brightly, tossing a quick goodbye over your shoulder without really looking where you were going. your shoulders turned first, your head following a second later. your gaze finally landed on minho.

you smiled. minho watched it happen, how it started in your eyes and curled around your pink lips. 

he didn’t mean to look lower. truly. but his eyes snagged on the green-striped tie dangling loose and crooked around your neck. the top buttons of your blouse were undone—two, exactly—which made it worse than if you were fully exposed. you weren’t even showing cleavage and he was starting to feel himself sweating. what the fuck was wrong with him?

“hi,” you said, voice sweet as honey but clearly laced with mischief. 

minho’s eyes narrowed. 

he didn’t trust that smile. but he did want to see what it was about. “what’s going on in that scheming little head of yours?”

your gaze dropped meaningfully to minho’s lap, then lifted back to his face like you hadn't just sent a spark up his spine with one look.

without breaking eye contact, you stepped forward and held out your hand.

“come see,” you said.

minho stared at you for another second. he tilted his head, as a show of resistance. he only did it to keep up appearances and pretend he wasn’t that easy when it came to you. because changbin, smug little bastard that he was, would never let him live it down. 

but really, what was the point?

changbin had been teasing him into oblivion for weeks already. so he didn’t bother fighting it now. especially not when you were looking at him like that. 

he reached out and took your hand.

changbin gave a low, obnoxious whistle. you gave changbin a little pout over your shoulder, before turning and tugging minho with you. minho let out a soft, helpless chuckle, not even trying to mask how amused he was by your theatrics.

he stumbled a bit as he stood, his balance just off from the alcohol buzzing through his veins, but your grip kept him steady. his laughter followed as you pulled him toward the stairs. he turned around and mouthed help to changbin, who just shook his head.

the noise dulled behind you both as the winding stairs took you higher into the boys’ dorm tower, torches flickering emerald flames in brackets along the wall. 

“where are we going?” he asked, breathless more from you than the climb. his voice dropped half an octave. 

you didn’t answer him. 

still, minho followed without resisting, boots thudding behind yours, his other hand brushing the worn stone railing with each step.

you reached the top and without hesitation, shouldered open the heavy wooden door to the boys’ dormitory.

to your luck, it was empty. the four other boys in minho’s dorm were still all down there, drunk on victory. minho stepped inside behind you, scanning the shadows of his bed’s green velvet hangings, the cracked window open just a little to let in the frigid night air.

“sit,” you ordered, and shoved him.

he fell back onto the bed with a rustle of green and silver sheets, his elbows catching him halfway. his green slytherin tie hung limp around his neck, the collar buttoned neatly.

minho’s heart pounded in his ears. this is it, he thought. you were losing your virginities to each other today.

“you know,” he said, trying to lace his nerves in nonchalance, “if you were ready, you could’ve just said so. we could have a mature, adult conversation about it, instead of—” he gestured at himself, “forcing me into bed like a hostage.”

you gave him a drunk smile. “are you really dense enough to think i brought you up here to shag?”

before he could say anything, you started to climb on top of him, knees bracketing his thighs, your skirt pooling over his lap. 

“excuse me if the situation’s a bit confusing,” he hissed, hands planted behind him on the bed. “but you throw me on a bed and you’re climbing on top of me. i don’t know what the hell you expect me to think.”

“oh, i don’t know,” you said, rolling your eyes. “maybe think with your brain instead of your dick for once?”

minho scoffed sharply. his fingers twitched behind him, visibly debating whether to touch you or keep pretending he had a shred of self-control left.

“so,” he murmured. “why’d you drag me here? did you just want to kiss me or what?”

you then slowly reached into the inner pocket of your robe that was laying at the foot of the bed and pulled out two small vials. the pink liquid inside shimmered under the moonlight coming from the window.

the second he saw them, minho stilled under you completely.

“what is that?” his eyes narrowed at the vials.

“come on, minho. use your head.” you watched him, waiting for the penny to drop.

“…love potion?”

you grinned. “from the storeroom. i stole a couple this morning.”

“fucking hell.” he dropped his head back with a groan.

“it’s only temporary,” you said quickly. “i mean, what better way to spend a night than getting high on each other?”

minho stared at the vial, eyes flicking between the slow swirl of pink liquid and the smile playing on your lips like this was the best idea you’d ever had.

“this is fucking stupid,” he said flatly. “absolutely mental.”

he sat all the way up now, forcing you to shift with him, your knees tightening around his hips for balance. he glared at you, jaw clenched, that familiar venom in his stare—but it never really landed when it was aimed at you. 

“we will fuck if we drink that.”

“we won’t,” you said smoothly. “we might just see how bad we want to.”

“and that’ll have the exact same outcome,” he snapped. “you have any idea what you do to me already?”

you tilted your head. “then i guess i’m the only one with self-control, here.”

he scoffed, eyes flashing. “you want to talk about self-control? you nearly came just from me kissing your neck in the closet last week.”

“you were moaning and biting my neck,” you snapped back immediately. “who wouldn’t feel turned on?”

“you were the one humping me like a dog. any guy would moan.” he narrowed his eyes. “and i was biting you to shut you up,”

“i was only grinding on you to shut you up!”

“you always grind on me!” he snapped.

you blinked at him, then let out a long sigh, now confused by both of your lines of reasoning. arguing with him always took an unnecessarily large amount of energy. ultimately, you held out the vial.

minho didn’t take it right away. you saw the gears turn in his head. slowly, he reached out and took the glass from your hand.

“fine, i’ll do it. but i have to remind you one last time that this is a horrible idea,” he said, eyes narrowed, voice flat. “monumentally, astronomically stupid. if i wake up in azkaban, it’s on you.”

you grinned so wide your nose crinkled. “i’ll send you letters.” 

you uncorked your vial with a soft pop, the shimmer inside glowing faintly. you held your arm out. he shook his head with a huff, uncorking his, and looped his arm through yours.

“bottoms up.”

“cheers,” he mumbled, and you both tipped the vial back.

the potion slid warm and syrupy over your tongue. it was shockingly sweet at first, then spicy underneath which must have been from the peppermint. it burned just a little as you swallowed, fizzing down your throat.

you set the empty vial gently on the bedside table, glass clinking softly against the other. 

you both sat there in silence after. nothing happened. no sudden rush of heat or collapsing into each other in a frenzy like people always warned about.

you glanced down at him. his eyes flickered up to yours, one eyebrow raised under his messy bangs. 

“i don’t feel anything,” you said finally, frowning.

minho shook his head. “not sure i do either.”

you squinted at him. “do you feel like kissing me until your mouth hurts?”

“always.” his expression didn’t shift. “that’s not the potion,”

you frowned deeper, brows tugging together as you slumped a little. “it didn’t work,” you muttered, lower lip jutting out.

“shame,” he said blandly. “oh well.”

you stared at him, aghast. “oh well?”

minho just blinked at you.

you shoved his shoulder. “you’re unbelievable.”

he barely rocked from the push. “i mean, what did you expect?”

“i expected you to lose your goddamn mind, minho!” you snapped, flinging your arms out in exasperation. “i expected panting, grabbing, throwing me down like some lust-crazed—something.”

“you act like i wouldn’t just do that,” he said.

“i-i expected you to look like you wanted me instead of blinking like the dead-eyed minister!”

minho tilted his head at you, utterly dry. “well, maybe try a bit harder convincing yourself i don’t want you because my cock’s not exactly subtle about it.”

you froze for a beat. your eyes dropped before you could stop them, dragging down his front. at his crotch, the fabric of his trousers was dark and creased. 

minho was still propped on his elbows, watching you with infuriating neutrality. he made no move to help or hide anything.

you blinked up at him. “could just be a wrinkle,” you muttered.

he smirked. “could be. wanna check?”

you glared. as if the potion failing wasn’t irritating enough, minho’s smug little remarks were the last thing you needed.

“what a pathetic waste of time,” you huffed, glaring at the empty vials on the bedside table. “excuse for a love potion, honestly. we could have been making out this entire time instead of sitting around.”

minho’s mouth curled, equal parts amused and relieved. “i second that,” he said.

before you could respond, he grabbed you by the collar and pulled you into a heated kiss. 

you let out a startled gasp but the shock melted instantly. you could’ve sworn you felt your pulse in places it had no business being. it was stupid, how fast your body went from annoyed and bickering to suddenly grinding down without even thinking, chasing friction because your brain had long since checked out.

minho pulled back. “bloody hell,” he rasped as you rolled your hips again. “i think i’m gonna die.”

you couldn’t help but giggle quietly. “i should hope not. you’re far too useful to have around, especially when you kiss me like that,” you teased.

he grinned, the expression soft. “that’s all i am to you, y/n? something useful?” his fingers brushed your cheek, trailing down your jaw, thumb catching on your bottom lip.

“well, you’re more than a little fit. and apparently good at snogging.”

minho had never felt so at ease flirting with you. it felt as if his natural defences melted into nothing. he should have been wondering if it was the love potion starting to take effect, but honestly, he’d forgotten about that already. it was hard to care about enchanted syrup when you were giggling against his lips. he had tunnel vision. his world was reduced to you and the little creases beside your eyes when you smiled at him. 

he leaned in, letting his nose brush yours, voice pitched just for you. “i’ll have you know, i’m exceptional at a few things besides snogging. if you’re lucky, i might demonstrate.”

you grinned. “well, i am the luckiest girl in the world, aren’t i?”

minho let out a chuckle as your noses nudged together. then he kissed you softly. you sighed against his mouth, melting into the kiss, your arms hugging his neck.

his hand drifted up the bare skin of your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles higher, slipping beneath your skirt. his fingers splayed to cup your ass, and you let out a muffled moan into his mouth. your lips left his, trailing down to the line of his jaw, then to his neck. you sucked at his skin, your tongue flicking out to soothe the mark after. he tilted his head back to give you more space, hands gripping you tighter as you painted little love bites in the area below his ear.

you broke away, your mouth hovering above his, lips still brushing as you caught your breath. “minho,” you murmured.

he hummed, eyes half-lidded. “what is it?”

you took another little breath, heart thudding wild in your chest. “we’ve never really…well, brought each other off before.” you smiled, gaze flicking up to meet his. “thought maybe you’d want to try something more tonight.”

he stilled, then his mouth curled at the corner. “you want me to make you come?”

you nodded. “i mean, i’ve only ever done it myself, when the dormitory’s empty.”

“well,” he murmured, “who do you think about when you’re alone?”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “that’s private, minho.”

he grinned, not the least bit chastened. “wouldn’t be uncomfortable if you said it was me, that’s all.”

you pressed a quick, warm kiss to his jaw, lips curving against his skin. “who else would it be, you idiot?” you whispered. 

minho’s smile stretched wide, his eyes shining with an affection that made your chest flutter. his hand slid from your ass around to the front, fingertips dancing along the edge of your knickers, only your skirt hiding you. he paused there, eyes flicking up to yours, his voice a low murmur just for you. “you’re alright with this?” he asked.

“yes,” you breathed, hardly more than a whisper.

his fingers slipped near the thin cotton. you buried your face in the curve of his neck, your breath shuddering against his skin.

minho thought maybe he’d spoken too soon about the potion not working, because he felt utterly, pathetically besotted. he’d loved you for years, but right now he wanted you to know it.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he whispered.

you grinned against his skin. “i think so too.”

“in love with me, or you also think i’m in love with you?”

“i don’t know, i think both,” you whispered, “you’re being very distracting.”

minho had only just started to reach down, fingers barely sliding under your panties, when the heavy door burst open with a bang against the stone wall. minho’s hand instantly yanked back, your body scrambling off his lap, straightening your skirt as you tried desperately to look like you hadn’t just been caught on the precipice of something indecent.

standing in the doorway was bang chan, the ever-diligent slytherin head boy. his gaze swept over the two of you, lingering on your flushed faces and disheveled uniforms.

“i knew you two were up here!” chan bit out. “thank goodness i caught you before something actually happened.”

minho’s jaw clenched, irritation flaring in his eyes as he shifted to sit a little straighter on the bed, deliberately casual. “do you mind?” he shot back.

“yes, actually, i do mind,” chan replied coldly, marching further into the room. he fixed you with a hard stare, eyes narrowed. “y/n, you stole two vials of love potion from the storeroom this morning you think no one would notice?”

your heart leapt into your throat, hands twisting in your skirt, trying desperately not to meet chan’s eyes for fear you’d laugh.

minho rolled his eyes, utterly unrepentant. “nothing even happened, chan. you’re interrupting a perfectly innocent evening.”

chan snorted, gaze flicking between you and the empty vials on the bedside table. “innocent? this is the stupidest shit i’ve ever seen—consuming potions so you can be in the completely wrong state of mind—merlin’s beard, this is exactly how people end up with a howler from your parents or, i don’t know, bloody pregnant! ”

he stepped forward and snatched the vials, shoving them deep into his robe pocket. you and minho watched in silence, equal parts shame and irritation burning in your chests. all you wanted was chan out of the room so you could pick up where you’d left off.

“y/n, you’re coming with me. minho, stay put.”

you reached for minho’s hand immediately, a frown washing over your features. “i’m not leaving him, chan,” you said. 

“you’ll have to hex me to take her away.” minho squeezed your hand, looking more sure of himself than ever. 

chan stared at the pair of you, then let out a loud sigh and scrubbed his face with both hands. “do you even hear yourselves?” 

you barely had time to blink before he was striding forward and grabbing your arm as he pulled you upright off minho’s bed.

“no!” you snapped, trying to twist out of his grip, but he just re-anchored his hold higher on your sleeve and kept moving. 

minho’s eyes flared. “you’re the worst fucking head boy in the history of hogwarts—”

“i love you minho,” you cried as you were being dragged towards the exit.

chan finally yanked the door open, muttering under his breath as he tugged you out into the corridor.

when you stepped into the great hall the next morning, it seemed that the two opposing quidditch teams had spent very different nights.

the gryffindor table looked like a funeral procession in scarlet and gold. their players sat scattered and sulking. no one met anyone else’s eyes. the usual boisterous laughter was replaced by silence. it was broken only when some poor guy knocked over a pitcher of pumpkin juice. he let spill across the table for a full three seconds before a passing ghost finally tutted in disapproval.

the slytherins were late. but not all of them. a few had trickled in before you, those that had ducked out early or avoided the worst of last night’s victory bender. changbin was at the table, lounging with his head cradled in both hands like it might fall off otherwise. the same tie he used as a headband last was now around his neck, but loosely knotted and trailing into his plate.

you and your roommates entered, steps slowing as you neared your usual spot.

minho was already there.

he was resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table. his fingers tapped lightly against the side of his face, rhythm distracted, like he wasn’t even aware of it.

you saw the smallest flicker of his eyes the moment your shadow passed into the space across from him. you slid into your seat quietly and some of your roommates settled in beside you. you don’t remember ever feeling this awkward with minho.

you cleared your throat gently. 

“hi,” he said.

“hi.”

he glanced down at his own empty plate, then back up. “you… sleep okay?”

“yeah.” you nodded, eyes flicking down. “did chan give you detention?”

he shook his head, “he told me to never let this out or the three of us would all both be doomed.”

“well, that’s good.” you said, staring at the tea in front of you. the steam had thinned, barely curling now, but it gave you something to focus on.

you risked a quick look at him. there was the faintest shadow of a purple mark peeking just above the collar of his shirt. heat crept up your neck at the memory, and you quickly dropped your gaze back to the table.

minho cleared his throat. “did he make you drink the antidote as well?”

you nodded, still not quite looking at him. “last night.”

“gross, wasn’t it?” minho muttered.

“yeah,” you agreed. “absolutely vile.”

one of your roommates, who had been quietly buttering her toast beside you, suddenly perked up.

“antidote?” she asked, eyes widening with curiosity. “antidote for what?”

you froze. minho’s tapping stopped.

minho leaned back in his seat, giving the witch a sharp look. “nothing that concerns you.”

before you could even shoot him a warning glare, changbin’s loud voice cut through the table.

“antidote for the love potions they took together last night,” he announced. “i heard these two idiots thought it was a brilliant idea.”

“seo changbin!” you hissed, cheeks burning. looks like bang chan wasn't too careful about this secret either.

your roommate gasped, toast halfway to her mouth. “you two—?”

minho’s eyes narrowed at changbin. “if you wanna win the house cup this year, i suggest you zip it. unless you’d rather explain to the entire house why our points suddenly vanished because of your big mouth.”

changbin grinned around a mouthful of eggs, completely unfazed by the threat. “relax. i’m just saying, you two don’t even need potions to be infatuated with each other.”

you pushed your plate away. “i’ve lost my appetite.”

“so have i,” minho said, rising from the bench.

you both stood at the same time, slipping out from opposite sides of the long slytherin table. the green and silver banners swayed overhead as you walked toward the grand doors.

your eyes met minho’s across the aisle. you both bit back a smile.

as the two of you left the great hall together, changbin muttered under his breath, “there they go again…”

[hanjinology]

so this piece is actually based of of this request. to who ever sent this, i wanna give you a fat kiss in the face because i love this so so much. mwa! anyways. i will start writing all the request cultivated on my askbox so expect more of those for the next days! < 333

HEY— this is an 18+ post! please proceed with viewer's discretion as this contains graphic smut themes not suitable for some readers. porn without plot. MDNI!!!!

A deep, involuntary groan slipped from your lips the moment you tried to shift on the bed. Your body protested instantly—every muscle sore, your thighs trembling from the brutal pounding they’d taken last night.

Chan, who had been sprawled on his stomach beside you, sleeping soundly, snapped his eyes open at the sound. His messy hair fell over his forehead as he lifted his head, instantly alert.

“Baby? Where are you going?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and laced with worry.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying to swallow the whimper threatening to escape. A deep frown creased your face as you attempted to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, but a sharp, aching throb shot straight through your core and down your inner thighs. Your abused pussy clenched painfully at the slightest movement, still swollen and leaking from the way Chan had ruined you for hours.

Before you could even steady yourself, Chan sat up, the sheets sliding down his toned chest. He scooted closer, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he gently pulled you back against his warm body.

“Baby? What happened, hmm?” he cooed softly, his breath brushing against your ear, voice still husky from sleep but now dripping with that familiar teasing concern.

“My legs hurt,” you huffed, voice shaky as another wave of soreness pulsed between your legs. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, only for the motion to make your tender, well-fucked cunt throb even harder. The sticky mess of his cum from last night shifted inside you, making your cheeks burn.

Chan let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound vibrating against your back as he cradled you tighter against his chest, one large hand possessively stroking down your bare thigh.

“Stop laughing!” you whined, though it came out more like a breathless moan.

“This is all your fault. You were so fucking eager last night—couldn’t even hold back. You fucked me like you were trying to break me.”

Your words only made him grin wider, his fingers slowly tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to your still-dripping pussy.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Chan murmured, his voice low and sweet. “Come here, baby. I’ll soothe you, okay?”

He slowly pulled you closer and began pressing soft, warm kisses along your cheek. His lips trailed down to the sensitive skin of your neck, then lower across your shoulder blades. Each kiss was gentle, but the heat behind them made your pulse race.

“Chan… I need to wash up,” you tried to protest weakly. “I feel so sticky…”

But the words barely left your mouth before a soft, needy moan slipped out instead. His lips had found that exact spot on your neck—the one he knew drove you crazy. He sucked lightly, tongue flicking against your skin, and your whole body trembled.

“I’ll wash you up later, yeah?” he hummed against your neck, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. His large hand roamed freely over your still-naked body. His fingers glided down your stomach, teasing your hips, until they finally settled between your legs.

Your breath hitched as his warm palm cupped your sore, swollen pussy. You were still dripping with the mess he left inside you last night—sticky cum and your own slick coating his fingers.

“Let me make it up to you from last night, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “I’ll soothe all this soreness away… nice and slow.”

Before you could answer, Chan gently laid you back down on the bed. He moved with surprising care, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. He positioned himself between your trembling thighs, spreading them wide open with his strong hands. The cool air hits your throbbing, puffy pussy, making you whimper.

“Shh, relax for me,” he cooed, though his voice had already turned darker, rougher with need.He didn’t start gentle.

Chan dove in like a man starved. His hot mouth latched onto your swollen clit, sucking hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. His tongue was relentless—flat and broad one second, flicking fast and firm the next. He licked long, messy stripes up your dripping slit, tasting the mix of his dried cum and your fresh slick. Every stroke soothed the deep ache inside you even as it made your legs shake uncontrollably.

You gasped loudly, fingers tangling in his messy hair. The soreness between your legs throbbed painfully at first, but each hungry lick seemed to melt it away. The more he devoured you, the better it felt, the raw, bruised feeling slowly turning into burning pleasure.

Chan groaned against your pussy, the deep sound vibrating straight through your core. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in short, greedy thrusts while his nose rubbed against your sensitive clit. He was messy and loud, slurping and sucking noisily, spit and your juices coating his chin and dripping down your ass.

“That’s it, baby… let me soothe this pretty little pussy,” he growled between licks. “Still so fucking swollen from how hard I fucked you last night. But you’re getting wetter for me already.”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he ate you out like he was trying to ruin you all over again—only this time, every rough suck and deep lick eased the throbbing pain, turning it into something hot and addictive.

You couldn’t stop the broken moans spilling from your lips. The soreness was still there, but it felt so much better now… almost like the pain itself was melting into pure, filthy pleasure.

Chan could feel you getting close. Your thighs started shaking around his head, your hips bucking weakly against his mouth. He doubled down, sucking your swollen clit harder while two thick fingers slid deep inside your slick, aching pussy. He curled them perfectly, stroking that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.

The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. Your body tensed, toes curling as the orgasm rushed toward you.

“Oh fuck— Chan!” you cried out, voice breaking. “I’m cumming— I’m cumming so hard! Please don’t stop— ahh!”

“Come for me, baby,” he growled against your folds, voice muffled and hungry. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hit you hard. Your back arched sharply off the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed through your body. Your sore pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers, gushing fresh slick all over his tongue and chin. The throbbing pain that had tormented you all morning finally melted away completely, replaced by a warm, blissful afterglow that left your whole body limp and satisfied.

Chan kept licking you gently through every pulse, drawing out every last tremor until you were a trembling, moaning mess beneath him.When your breathing finally slowed, he lifted his head. His lips and chin were shiny with your juices. He looked up at you with a soft, proud smile, eyes full of affection.

“There we go… all soothed now, yeah?” he whispered.

Without another word, Chan slid his arms under your body and easily lifted you off the bed. He carried you bridal-style toward the bathroom, your head resting against his chest. You felt safe, warm, and completely taken care of in his strong arms.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he turned on the warm shower. “Let me wash every inch of you myself.”

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