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@skzdarlings
masterlist and links
howdy :) i'm darling. sideblog for skz nonsense. blog is rated 18+ in case i start acting up. my bias is felix except when it’s jisung but either way i continue to be disloyal.
blog tags: chan / lee know / changbin / hyunjin / han / felix / seungmin / jeongin
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main blog / pinterest / ao3
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masterlist is below the keep reading.
masterlist
fics are sorted by series alphabetically, then one-shots.
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S E R I E S.
the acquisition (of sugar) series:
the accidental acquisition (of sugar) ; changbin/reader the anonymous acquisition (of sugar) ; chan/reader the absolute acquisition (of sugar) ; han/reader
the bodyguard (felix/reader):
chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii chapter ix chapter x (finale) ao3 link.
the bodyguard sequel (chan/reader):
chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii (finale) ao3 link.
the faerie prince series:
the same but different ; han/reader/felix -> ao3 link -> pinterest the fifteenth heir ; jeongin/reader part one ; part two ; part three ; part four (finale) -> ao3 link -> pinterest the tyrant prince ; hyunjin/reader -> a03 link -> pinterest the autumn wars ; changbin/reader, seungmin/reader, chan/reader -> a03 link -> pinterest the changeling affair ; lee know/reader -> ao3 link -> pinterest
the kingsguard (jisung/reader):
chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii (finale) ao3 link.
princes (skz ensemble/reader):
(chapter count tba)
sharing a bed series:
bang chan ; friends2lovers ; alt ending lee know ; friends2lovers ; deleted scene seo changbin ; friends2lovers hwang hyunjin ; friends2lovers han jisung ; enemies2lovers lee felix ; enemies2lovers kim seungmin ; enemies2lovers ; sequel yang jeongin ; enemies2lovers
the threesome series:
saturday mornings ; chan/reader/seungmin the heist team ; lee know/reader/changbin the same but different ; han/reader/felix chill ; hyunjin/reader/jeongin
vexatious vixen (felix/reader)
chapter i chapter ii (finale)
O NE - S H O T S.
stand alones
verisimilitude ; friends2lovers ; hyunjin/reader harmony ; poly foursome ; 3racha/reader everything ; werewolf au ; felix/reader the kiss ; friends2lovers ; lee know/reader
prompt fills
bang chan : one / two / three lee know : one / two / two sequel seo changbin : one hwang hyunjin : one han jisung : lee felix : one ; two kim seungmin : one yang jeongin : one
hi folks sorry for the absence and temporary block, not been very good with my anxiety problems lately and online stuff has been making it worse. i will still finish things but may post a little less on tumblr for a while but i will let you know when stuff gets added to ao3 regardless of anything else. thank you and sorry lol 💕
Hey there! Are you okay? I just got a new job this week and I was like..something is missing from my celebration! And then I realized that it's the lack of darling posts for a month. 😢 you are missed!
Thank you for your sweet message!!! And to the nice comments and messages from others 💕
I’m doing all right overall, just a lot going on lately, nothing bad just lots to do haha. I miss writing and the folks online and will hopefully be back soon.
Thank you for your kindness and patience 💕💕
And congrats to you on your new job!! That’s very exciting!!
it’s been a busy week but thank you for the kinda messages and comments 😭💕 love you allll i shall be back with more stories and updates shortly
Me to my draft: You are a oneshot.
The draft: Wrong. I am the pilot chapter of a multichapter fic that you do not have the bandwidth to take on, but will haunt your every waking thought anyway.
i have no excuses for what i am about to post. christopher's leather jacket and lace shirt did a number on me. t hat is all. dont look at me. good night
HAN — 250921 live @ _doolsetnet (trans cr.)
250920 TMA♡
250920 — The Fact Music Awards / CEREMONY Lee Know
blind date ; jeongin x reader ; one-shot
masterlist.
( READ ON AO3. )
You are on a terrible blind date when you run into a boy from your past - only, he is far from a boy now. And he is determined to prove it to you.
pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: a lot of sexual tension (thoroughly resolved). older woman/younger man. little brother's friend (hyunjin is the brother). reader's age is ambiguous but she is explicitly older. jeongin was hyunjin's friend when they were university freshman and she hasn't seen him since. power exchanges (she calls him a good boy and he basically says oh, really, you think huh?). one use of noona, more pointedly than anything. dom!jeongin, sub!reader, pussy-eating, hand kink, spanking, creampie. also some drinking but no one is drunk. and reader's blind date is very rude and makes unprompted remarks (bringing up a piss kink randomly, comments about her ordering dessert, sexist comments about friendships with men.)
(word count: 8700 words.)
enjoy ;)
-
“And if tonight is gonna work,” your date says, “you will need to be good with piss.”
You freeze, your water glass halfway to your lips.
“Uh, sorry,” you say. You clear your throat. “Piss?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’ll need to piss on me. That’s not a problem is it?”
You like to consider yourself a reasonable person. You are not someone who jumps to conclusions or overreacts. People at work look up to you as a guiding figure in times of crisis. You are very in control of your emotions.
It is an astounding testament to your abilities that you refrain from chucking your glass at this moron.
It has been a few years since you were last on a blind date. You have since approached the oh-so shuddering threshold of long-term adulthood singleness, but how desperate is that supposed to make you? Does a vague gym buddy of your colleague genuinely think it’s appropriate to tell you, unprompted, that he wants you to piss on him tonight? Ugh.
For the first time, you wish you were more like your ridiculous little brother. Hyunjin would have flipped the table on this guy. You need to be a melodramatic bitch like Hyunjin.
You are shocked into silence. The waiter arrives and puts your food on the table. Your date thanks him.
“You think about it,” he says, still unashamed. “I’m gonna take a leak. But you hold onto yours, huh?” He laughs like that was funny.
You are still staring at his empty seat when he leaves. You put your water glass back on the table.
This is the last time you let Changbin arrange a blind date.
You look between your table and the exit, wondering if you can bolt and text your bad date an excuse. You can tell him you had a family emergency. Or a medical emergency. Or maybe you simply realized roasting your head over an open flame would be more fun than this date.
Your gaze wanders over the bar and stops on a head of dark hair. You tip your head, struck with a sense of déjà vu. The dark haired man is looking your way and he is as familiar as he is good looking. Not only is he impeccably dressed from his smart shoes to the crisp white shirt between the lapels of a jean jacket, but he is preposterously handsome. He is all long lines, svelte but athletic and flaunting it in the clean silhouette of denim on denim. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high, but his eyes are friendly. Dark hair falls neatly over his forehead, a smiling face just under it. His dimples are incredibly pronounced.
Those dimples. Oh.
You recognize him at the same time he recognizes you. Surprise bursts on both your faces.
He approaches the table, hands in his pockets and those deep dimples beaming at you. Your heart skips a beat and you blame it on surprise. It must be surprise, because it would be very inappropriate if it was spontaneous attraction for one of your little brother’s university friends.
“Hi!” Jeongin says, his laughter as endearingly wheezy as you remember.
The rest of him is not quite as you remember. Jeongin is a year younger than Hyunjin but Hyunjin spent a gap year in Paris ‘chasing his artistic soul’ so they were university freshmen together. They met at some summer program and Jeongin spent most of the season hanging around your house. Hyunjin is an irredeemable little twerp but his friends are remarkably nice. Jeongin was the sweetest of the lot. He was always helpful and polite, a little gawky and awkward in that over-grinning, brace-faced, eighteen-year-old-boy way, but nice.
You had nothing in common at the time so you didn’t spare him much of a second glance.
Jeongin is… not eighteen anymore. Not gawky. Not awkward. His smile is perfect now, his build still slender but strong, his dark eyes sparkling and his hands –
He extends a hand for a shake, his long, long ringed fingers reaching for yours. You can’t help but run your gaze up that hand, his arm, over the breadth of his shoulders, until you finally look into his smiling face.
“Hi,” you say. It takes another second, but you come to your senses. You shake his hand a little firmer. “Jeongin. Hi. It’s been a while.” You do remember he had a contagious smile. That much is still the same, those dimples coaxing your own smile out of hiding. “How are you?” you ask. And because the reality of it is still computing, you also blurt, “You look good. Really good. Wow.”
He laughs again, looking a little embarrassed with how his eyes drop. He is still smiling when he meets your gaze again.
“Thank you,” he says. “You too. Wow.”
He says it in the same awkward, surprised way you did. It makes you laugh together. It is a bubbly, champagne laughter, intoxicating, perched on the edge of anticipation.
Your hands are still clasped and your eyes still locked. Those bubbles start to feel suspiciously like butterflies.
You drop his hand. You have to press your palms together to numb the leftover tingles. His own hand flexes.
“I hope you’re doing well,” you say. “You must have graduated university already?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and nods, several head bobs in a row. A nervous fidget maybe. Not unlike your thumbs pushing at each other in your lap.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m a teacher. Substitute teaching right now. Hyunjin said you moved out of town for a while…?”
“Moved back a few weeks ago,” you say. “Promotion at work moved me out, another one moved me back.”
“Are you happy to be back?”
“Yeah,” you say, a little airily. It’s not a lie but also not the truth. You had as much going on back there as here, which is pretty much nothing but work. But you’re certainly not getting into the gritty details of all that with Jeongin. Not when Mister Golden Showers could get back any minute. So you just nod and say, “It’s nice being close to my old friends and family again.”
“Hyunjin missed you,” Jeongin says. He steps a little closer, speaking in a low voice. “I know he’d never say it, so I’ll tell you for him.”
You giggle, the sound surprising you. You bite your lip to hold it.
“Thanks,” you say. “Always good to have a spy giving up my brother’s secrets.”
He salutes, then admits, “Hyunjin is pretty easy to betray.”
“I believe you,” you say with a snort. “I love the kid, but I think the hair dye fumes are getting to him.”
“I shouldn’t say it,” he says, grinning, “but I was definitely the brains to his looks.”
“You could give him a run for his money now,” you say without thinking. It sounds more matter-of-fact than flirtatious, but that honesty is almost more provocative.
The tips of his ears turn red. It makes your own skin feel warm to the touch. He lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck. His ringed fingers circle his neck and settle on his shoulder, idly pressing there while he gazes down at you.
“Thank you,” he says. “You look… you look fantastic. Are you…” He glances at the food in your date’s spot. “With someone, I’m guessing?”
“Blind date,” you answer quickly. “So, yeah, I’m a little more dressed up, haha. Thanks. But yeah, I’m single and…” You look at your water glass. “I don’t think that’s gonna change tonight.”
“Uh oh.” He laughs, his face brightening once more. “Going that well?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” you say with a much beleaguered sigh. You’re usually more discreet, but tonight has taken a toll. You think you are going to explode. Piss? Really? During the main course? Come on.
“Sorry to hear it,” he says. His dimples soften as his smile goes from goofy to soft. “His loss. I’m serious.”
There’s a moment of charged silence. You really cannot deny the reciprocated attraction.
You try to suppress it. You are not in the habit of picking up early twenty-somethings who hang out with your dumb brother, especially not while out with someone else. So you clear your throat and reach for your glass, giving you an excuse to look away from him.
“What about you?” you ask. “Are you here with someone?”
It’s a casual question. At least, it’s supposed to be. It could be misconstrued as interest. Even your own ears catch the hint of curiosity.
You take a big gulp of cold water.
“I’m meeting a blind date too actually,” he says. He rocks on his heels. “I’m single too.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Well,” you say with a curt nod. “I hope it goes better than mine.”
As if summoned like the demon of discomfort that he is, your date returns. There is a substantial musculature difference between him and Jeongin as your date is a self-identified gym rat, but he is so conventionally good looking in contrast to Jeongin’s distinguished character that he is immediately boring to look at.
You would far rather spend the night looking at Jeongin’s funny expressions. Even now, his thick eyebrows knit together as he gives your date a quick onceover. He looks back at you with a smile like you’re sharing a secret.
“We’re not quite ready for dessert,” your date tells Jeongin. “She probably doesn’t need any, but I’ll ask about the tart after.”
Jeongin tries to hide his laugh in a cough. Your date looks at him funny.
You suck in a breath, trying not to cringe at your date or laugh at Jeongin.
“Jeongin is not a waiter,” you say. “He’s a friend. He was just saying hi.”
“You’re friends with men?” your date says apprehensively. “As a female?”
Jeongin purses his lips, looking at you with a cringe. You do your best to remain composed.
“Yes,” you say with fake sweetness. “Like the one who set us up in the first place, remember?”
“I’m, uh, gonna head back to my spot,” Jeongin interrupts, pointing over his shoulder. “Cool, uh, meeting you,” he says to your date. “And getting your dessert order.” When he looks at you, it’s with a wink. He says your name and offers his hand for another shake. “It was nice talking. Good luck.”
You are about to respond, but then he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. It’s so cheesy and stupid that it swings right back around to being adorable, especially with his mischievous eyes twinkling at you the whole time. Those dimples stay pressed, the touch of his hand lingering when he lets go. This time, there are leftover tingles from his lips as well.
“Have a good night,” he says. He gives one last nod then leaves.
You watch him go until your date scoffs. You look at him with a quirked eyebrow.
“No offence,” he says in an indubitably offensive manner, “but that’s why a female shouldn’t be friends with men. You might not know it, but he was being inappropriate.”
“Oh. Really.” Much as you smother your bitch gene, you and your brother share a natural propensity to glare a dummy down. You are certain your date feels the ice in your stare. “I know you’re good looking and it has allowed you to behave rudely and not get called a creep, but speaking as a woman with plenty of experience, you need to learn to show some respect for your partners and their wants. And for the record, no, I will not be pissing on you tonight, or any night. In fact, I have zero intention of even kissing you. No! No. Don’t say anything. It’s fine. Eat your food. I’ll eat mine. We’ll pay. We’ll go. Sounds good? Good.”
Unfortunately, your scolding probably gets him hard. At least he already peed.
-
You finish your meal in silence. Your date pays since he’s such an oh-so grand gentleman, then he leaves on his own.
You can follow. The dinner is over, the food gone, the cheque paid. It’s just you and the drops of white wine swirling around the bottom of your glass. You look into it, the little tang still lingering on your tongue. It’s almost empty. You can leave.
You should leave.
Here’s the thing: in the time it took to finish dinner, a pretty young woman joined Jeongin at the bar. Your gaze wandered over there despite knowing better. Curiosity and a hint of jealousy conquered your good sense.
Sensible, that’s what you always are. You do not suffer fools. But here you are, acting like one. It’s ridiculous. It’s fun.
You looked over more than once. The pair of them chatted politely, Jeongin friendly and laughing as always. She’s a lucky girl, you told yourself. And he’s a good guy. You wanted them to have a nice time.
Really.
But you are a little pleased they never left the bar. They had one drink each and chatted a little. He made no moves. She touched his arm a few times, leaned in when showing him something on her phone, but he leaned away and found reasons to move her hand.
Eventually, they hugged dispassionately and said good night. The woman left.
Jeongin is still sitting at the bar, nursing a drink that is also down to its dredges. He has his chin propped on his fist, his attention on his phone as he flips through it with a dull expression. You look at his long fingers wrapped around the device, at the rings on his closed fist, the way his hair flutters when he sighs and purses his full lips.
He casts you a sideways glance.
He’s been doing it all night.
Every time, your heart skips a beat. Your usual powers of deliberation are failing you. Going over there feels like a stupid thing to do. Sitting here also feels like a stupid thing to do. You hate that the wrong man is being a gentleman, waiting for you to decide if that’s the direction you want to go.
You take the final swig of wine and draw your purse over your shoulder. You walk over to the bar. He has no reason to be here, same as you, so it is abundantly obvious you are waiting on each other. That doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe he just wants to catch up some more. You can talk as friends.
He lifts his head and his smile is not friendly at all, softer than a smirk but suggestive all the same. Oh, it feels very wrong to submit to the heat that follows, but that makes it all the more tantalizing. This is Yang Jeongin, you tell yourself, even while he checks you out and you very much let him, accentuating your walk with a swing.
“Hi,” you say, taking the seat beside him.
“Hi,” he replies. “How was dessert?”
You laugh while waving to the bartender. One glass of wine was enough to melt those bubbles into a warm simmer, but you suspect it is not quite enough to stoke whatever comes next.
That is unusual for you, usually so self-possessed, but the novelty makes your pulse pound.
The bartender brings you another glass. You sift through your purse for your wallet but Jeongin taps his card on the machine before you find it.
He grins at you with those deep dimples. His credit card is delicately balanced between two ringed fingers. He curls them back in and it’s all a little much, like he knows you’re looking at his hands that way.
“Since you’re older than me,” Jeongin says, making your heart skip a beat, “there is something I want to ask first.”
“Oh?”
Even though he says first, implying the expectation of every moment after that, you still anticipate a certain question. Should he acknowledge that age difference in how he addresses you?
But he tilts his head, his dark eyes so focussed on you. It makes you realize how intensely you have been staring back into his eyes. You lower your gaze. His long fingers are at his neck, fidgeting with the chain of a necklace.
“I’m just wondering,” he says, with a softer smile and a little laugh, “Does my age make you uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable?” You stare intently at your wine glass then take a slow sip.
You can feel him looking at you. You catch the wander of his gaze, eyes tracing the shape of you. You feel so very close. His knee touches yours under the bar.
“That is not the word I would use,” you say, voice just a little lower, just a little softer, so he has to lean a little closer.
“But you’re thinking about it,” he says.
You stare at your glass, feeling a lot of heat high in your cheeks. You rub your thumb up and down the stem.
“Yes,” you admit. You look at him slowly, not sure what to expect.
His whole face brightens with delight and he laughs. He is more than a little flushed too.
“Good,” he says and looks down at his own glass like he is embarrassed. He downs the last swallow of spirits.
“Good?” you ask with a helpless laugh, so taken aback by the reaction. “Why is that good?”
He hooks his foot around your bar stool. Startled, you gasp as he pulls you closer so you are touching along the whole side-lengths of your bodies.
“Because if you weren’t thinking about it,” he says with a blush, “it would mean you are here because you are just being friendly. It would mean you aren’t thinking about me as anything but your little brother’s friend.”
You sit a little straighter when you feel his hand under the counter. Just a touch, his fingers moving softly over your knee. The fabric of your skirt wrinkles under the gentle attention. When you do not protest – when your lips part and you press a little closer to his side, knee to knee and arm to arm and shoulder to shoulder – his thumb curls in and takes a bit of your skirt with it. You feel it whispering across your skin in a teasing suggestion.
“But if you are thinking about it,” he says, “then I think… maybe you aren’t here because you are just being friendly.”
“Mm, I see.” You tilt your head towards his. “You don’t think we can be friends?”
He laughs and says, “I can be friendly.” And he lightly squeezes you, his fingertips pressing the inside of your knee.
You are looking at each other so intently; anything could be happen in this room and you would miss it. You have eyes for each other and nothing else. The evening’s possibilities play as a shared fantasy between you.
The more pragmatic part of you says no, no way, not your thing. You’ve always been strict with men, no goofing around, no one night stands, and they always meet your approved list of expectations.
That list does not include a man this much younger than you, your little brother’s friend, with dark eyes and a far too mischievous smile.
“All right,” you say as your heart races with nerves and exhilaration. “Let’s be friends, then.”
-
A friend would walk you home after a bad blind date. A friend would ask all the nice questions that Jeongin asks, and he would make you laugh like Jeongin does. He would gasp with boyish incredulity when you tell him about your date’s inappropriate remarks. He would hum with sympathy that you were disappointed, that you were prepared for a long night, that with the right partner you might have allowed, well…
A friend would smile, his eyes sparkling, as he opened the door to your building. He would gently touch your lower back and press the elevator button for you.
Perhaps that is why the tension between you is so thick. A bubble surrounds it: the thinnest veneer of innocence to every interaction. If you both chose to say goodbye now, then nothing ever really happened, did it? You didn’t really go there, didn’t break all your rules. It wouldn’t be a lie to say you were friendly and nothing more. No explicit word has been spoken.
But if glances were words, Jeongin would have written you a novel tonight.
He leans against the opposite elevator wall, his eyes moving down your body while you pretend not to notice. He has already complimented every detail of your appearance, but much more has gone unsaid, at least verbally. Just like your preoccupation with his hands, his gaze keeps dipping to the flare of your hips, the curve of your thighs and where the skirt clings to your backside. His fingers twitch before he pockets them, like he is desperate to stroke the length of your body, to press his fingers on the softest parts of you.
You are almost embarrassed at the notion of him touching you so intimately. Usually, there is a process to getting turned on, and you and your partner get there together. But if those fingers dare to touch, he will find you have already melted into a puddle of longing.
At your apartment door, you take your time, looking in your purse for your key. He stands patiently at your side with his hands in his pockets.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” you ask, like this invitation is at all unexpected, like you are still just being friendly.
Those dimples will be the death of you. They really do give the game away.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”
You know he is already seduced, just as you are, so you really don’t have to do anything but drop your coat and say, kiss me. You can picture what would swiftly follow, are far too experienced to be naïve about the direction of tonight, yet it seems at once too near and too impossible. It remains a thrill to imagine the journey. Maybe that is why you don’t simply jump him in the doorway.
He continues to be good, obedient to your desires, though his gaze is ever more roving and he fidgets a little more. Much longer and he may break his constraints without your direction – and that should be alarming, right? But it makes your core tighten and your breath catch.
He is drawn as taut, back straight, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. That thick tension is ready to split as the veneer melts away.
“Have a seat,” you say, pointing to the couch in the main room.
You hang your coat. Shoes are left by the door. He wanders through your living space with his hands caged in the pockets of his jean jacket. He looks around, smiling. The living area opens into the kitchen so you make yourself busy with fetching some glasses.
He sits politely on the couch like you told him.
“Here we go,” you say. You return with two glasses and an open wine bottle.
You sit beside him on the couch. Your knees touch as you face each other. He thanks you as you pour a little wine into each glass.
Then you each take a sip, looking at each other in the silence. You both smile. He laughs a little, still flushed and not really from the wine. You feel very warm even though your dress is sleeveless.
You talk more about this and that, an everything and nothing conversation, just filling that silence. Yes, filling it, more and more until that tension is fit to bursting and the bubble can no longer contain it.
Your hand shakes uncharacteristically. You slosh a bit of wine while drinking and laugh at yourself.
“Sorry,” you say, wiping your chin.
You put your glasses down at the same time. He is laughing too, a still-friendly sound, eyes bright.
“Here,” he says. “You missed a…”
And he touches you.
It is just his thumb at first, there at the corner of your lips. He wipes that tiny little drop of wine, his eyes fixated so resolutely on it. Then his gaze drifts into yours.
His thumb is still there, his fingers curled loosely under your chin.
You breathe in, can see your own chest rise dramatically with the intake of breath. His eyes never leave yours.
His touch is still gentle, but coaxing. His thumb moves across your cheek, his fingers opening beneath your jaw.
You find yourself leaning into his hand, basically nuzzling it. It is an entirely thoughtless action propelled by the base and carnal need to touch, touch, touch. Your heart races at having his hand on you, even just caressing your face.
His fingers sweep along your jaw, down your throat. You don’t remember when you grabbed his wrist but you’re holding it like you’re the younger, girlish one, desperate with your wide eyes and open mouth as you cling to his hand. His fingers curl around the back of your neck and pull you close.
You lean in until your faces are almost touching. You look at his mouth and he looks at yours, then your eyes meet again. Your hand slides up his arm as your mouths move achingly closer. You can feel his breath coming quickly, your exhales colliding. His hair brushes your forehead, his nose your nose.
You make a horribly embarrassing sound, whimpering even though you haven’t even kissed. But it moves right through you, starts low and rises past your lips.
Your hand is on his collar now, tugging. Your faces are still close, breath still mingling, gazes moving to your mouths and back again. He lowers his hands to unbutton his jean jacket. You try to help but you are suddenly clumsy and you wish you could blame the wine but it’s not that.
It’s him. Oh, fuck, this is Jeongin. It’s really all him, having this effect, doing this to you.
And you are so close to each other, about to breach that space, about to break every rule and change everything together.
His hands are also clumsy until he gets that last button undone, then he is tearing his jacket off with quick force. He has just pushed it off, only just freed his hands, is sitting there in his jeans and t-shirt with his necklaces and his long ringed fingers, staring at you and breathing hard when –
You close the distance at once. His mouth is soft on yours despite the intensity with which he moves. You could sink right into him, the kiss so, so good, worth every second of anticipation.
Your mouths move together and sighs pass between you. You make a sweet noise when he cups your face with both hands. He pulls you even closer, kisses you even deeper. He licks into you, but not too much too fast, just enough to make you throb at the possessive sweep and still leave you yearning for more.
He returns a low noise of satisfaction. He breathes the word, “Yes.”
Your arch your back and press against him as his hands move down your face. For a moment, both his hands are on your neck and he tilts your chin up with a press of his thumbs. Then his thumb is on your pulse, pressing down as he slides his deft fingers down your throat.
You touch his biceps, feel the bare skin revealed by his t-shirt, squeeze the lean muscles there. Your fingers press in, climbing a little higher.
His warm kisses move from your mouth to your jaw. He leaves a few gentle presses there, then he is sucking a hot, harsh kiss on your throat.
His hands are quick in their sweeping caress down your arms. He takes the straps of your dress with him, the fabric looped neatly into his clever fingers. You shrug out of the top as swiftly as he did his jacket. He is fast then, unclipping your strapless bra and tossing it to the side.
Your eyes have been closed the whole time, so lost to sensation, but you open them when he wraps both his arms around your waist and hauls you easily into his lap. Perched on his thighs, you stare down at him, at the lushness of his mouth. His eyelids are heavy too, complexion so flushed. His necklaces are askew, his hair a little messy, his pristine t-shirt already rumpled where you fisted the material in your desperate clawing.
You feel your own desire, so evident in your expressions and movements. You have been stiff with tension all evening, but now you are so pliant and open, legs spread over his lap, dress tugged down to your waist, skin bare to him, and breathing hard.
He stares back at you, shifts his hands around your hips. You close your eyes and whimper again, though you’ll never admit you made such a sound. You certainly never thought you’d make it for Yang Jeongin, but here you are, an embarrassing bundle of nerves and desire, coming undone in his arms. That sound is whining and needy as he pulls you down into his lap, rolling his hips under yours.
“Jeongin,” his name is little more than a squeak of noise on your frantic mouth. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull his face close. Your mouths are almost touching again as he grinds against you.
Your dress is hardly protecting your modesty in this state, bare breasts rubbing against his shirt, wet sex grinding against his thickening bulge. Only thin black lace is keeping you from making a mess on his jeans.
He makes a stuttering noise that might be an attempt at your name. You sink your fingers into his hair, press your open mouth to his and kiss him deeply. He moans into it while curving his hands down your thighs, then back up under your skirt. He touches your bare skin there, all those soft and tender place so close to the heart of your desire. His thumbs caress your inner thighs and his big hands squeeze their fill.
Then his hands are on your hips and he moves. You are surprised to find yourself once more sitting on the couch. He flips you in the space of a moment, sits you down, and pushes the coffee table out of his way. Then he is on his knees in front of you, your underwear already halfway down your thighs before you even fully realize it.
The panties join the bra somewhere on the floor with the jean jacket. He sits back on his heels and gazes up at you. His mouth is pink from kissing and his breathing a little laboured. But his smile – his smirk – is downright filthy. He looks at you as he plucks his rings off, one by one, and puts them on the table behind him. The necklaces follow. Then he kneels upright and runs his hands through his hair to clear his face.
You make a very undignified little squeak when he pulls you to the edge of the couch. He lifts your skirt to your waist and puts your legs over his shoulders. He wets his fingers in his open mouth and you laugh, breathless.
“Trust me,” you say. “That won’t be necessary.”
His finger leaves his tongue. It moves to the inside of your thigh, which is resting on his shoulder, the sensitive skin there a little ticklish. You squirm but are secure in his hold.
His hand continues its path, torturously slow. He is luxuriating in the feel of you while you rock your hips in need of more. He ignores that pleading, so cruelly, and continues to touch, stroke, caress, and tease until finally his knuckle moves between your thighs to find how much you want him.
“Oh,” you gasp. “Jeongin, please—”
For a moment, he is just breathing hard, slowly touching you, unfurling his fingers and sliding them inside you. He curses under his breath. When you clench involuntarily around his fingers, he seems to realize he isn’t dreaming. Then he smiles, looking very pleased with himself, but you can’t even feel embarrassed because he knows how to use his hands and he does. Competently. Thoroughly.
You throw your head back, slouching against the couch while he makes a complete mess of you. Then he dives forward and his mouth is there too, a moan in his throat as his tongue seeks out the swell of pleasure amidst all that wet heat. He is fast but steady, face happily buried there, your thighs pressing against his head. You shove your fingers into his hair and pull him even closer. You lift your hips and hiccup with gasps as he deftly and seemingly so easily draws you over that crest into a mind-shattering orgasm.
“Ah—!" is the only sound you manage, your eyes closed, your fingers pressing into his scalp.
He brings you to a slow descent, hands on the outside of your thighs as you twitch with shuddering aftershocks.
You loosen your grip and feather your fingers through his soft dark hair. You sigh, a satisfied exhale.
“Oh.” You feel fuzzy, like you are floating even though he has put your feet back on the ground. You look at him through heavy-eyelids. All those giggly, girlish bubbles are back, tingling through your whole body. “Oh, wow,” you say. He is already flushed but that makes him blush a little harder, though he stays grinning. “Oh, you are a good boy.”
That isn’t normally the type of thing you say; it just sort of comes out in your dreamy post-orgasmic haze. It doesn’t much resonate with you, but it certainly does with him. It makes him lift an eyebrow and tilt his head, his eyes narrowing just a bit, as if with determination.
“Good… boy…” he says. He kneels upright and looks at you with those dark, penetrating eyes. “Am I a boy, noona?” And he stands up between your legs so he is towering over you.
From your vantage on the couch, your eyeline directly falls to the thick, unmistakable bulge trapped in denim. Your gaze lifts when he gathers the hem of shirt and pulls it over his head. It falls somewhere but you don’t see it, because your eyes are on him, drinking in every hard plane of his naked chest.
Your eyes lower when his confident hands go to his belt and flick it open. Then he gestures to you, a come-hither command with the same two fingers that fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life.
“Come on,” he says. “Take it off. I’ll show you if I’m a boy, hm?”
You reach for him, a little shaky from the tremors of pleasure, so he grabs your hand mid-air and pulls it towards his belt as if impatient. You sit up straighter, determined now, weaving his belt through the loops and off. It clatters to the floor and he grabs your face with both hands, tilting your head all the way back, and swoops down to kiss you with a domineering, desperate hunger.
He pulls you up like that, kissing you, claiming you, probably ruining you for every other kiss in your life. Your legs are shaky under you but he holds you, first your face, then a hand on your lower back, bringing your body against his. That bulge presses against you and your skirt is rucked up between you, so it’s bare skin on denim. This time you don’t squeak but practically squeal.
You rear against him, desperate, hands on his bare shoulders and chest, feeling him up. You put a leg around him to press harder against his bulge. He catches that thigh, hiking it around his waist and holding you there. You tip your head back, his mouth finding your throat, both of you moaning as he grinds a filthy rhythm against your softest most vulnerable place.
“Bedroom,” he whispers into the skin of your throat. You point over his shoulder in the vaguest gesticulation, not entirely sure of up from down never mind the layout of your own apartment.
He scoops you into his arms. You wrap both legs around his waist, string both arms around his neck, and kiss him with frantic, impatient need. He kisses you back, carrying you to the bedroom door and kicking it. It flies open and probably hits the wall too hard, but you don’t even notice, lost in all those deep kisses.
He groans with pleasure and carefully places you down. It takes you a second to find your balance but you do. You rock on your feet, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he kisses and bites down your throat. He blazes a hot, wet trail to your breasts. His mouth is there as he fumbles with your skirt, finally tearing it off and leaving you completely bare.
He grabs the back of your neck and kisses your mouth, holding you against him while his other hand smooths down the curve of your spine. He guides you closer, encouraging you to arch into him, and eventually settles that hand in a possessive squeeze on your ass. Then it moves around your body until he finds your hand. He grabs it and puts it on his bulge, curves your palm around the hard shape of it, making you rub him until you are breathing hard into each other’s mouths.
“Am I a good boy?” he asks, mouth so close that your lips brush when he speaks.
You don’t answer because you have essentially descended into a primal state, thighs pressed together, pushing your naked chest against his, squeezing him in your hand. You have no thoughts for once, everything purely physical.
“Huh?” he asks. He squeezes the back of your neck, just enough to make you gasp into his open mouth. Just enough your eyes open, meeting his piercing, determined stare. He knows he has you. You have been talking all night. He knows your date, that man your age, was an immature disappointment. He knows you were looking at him all evening. He knows your thighs were rubbing together under that bar as you stared at his hands and his belt buckle and thought about this moment. He knows what you actually want. And he knows your answer to his question. “Am I a boy?”
“No,” you say, nearly breathless and dizzy with desire. “No, I’m sorry. You’re not. You’re—you’re—”
“I’m—?”
“Jeongin, Jeongin, please, please, please,” you cry out, trembling in his arms.
He smiles, those deep dimples far too sweet for the kind of look on his face. He kisses you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, soothing you and taking control of you all at once.
Then he laughs into the kiss, just lightly, and says into your obedient open mouth, “Good girl.”
You moan, already undone, clawing at his chest and shoulders as he lets go of you to open his jeans. You help push them down his hips then stumble towards the bed while he takes them off.
You face each other at the bedside, still standing, nearly colliding, breathing hard and faces close. There is a moment of pause, not hesitation but anticipation, like when you sat on that couch with your faces so close and the precipice before you. That moment right before the bubble burst, before you decided to throw away all your rules and change everything between you.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, just so the reality of it is totally inescapable. He says it right to your face, right against your lips, grinning while he runs his hands down your body like he owns it. “You want it, don’t you?”
He takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. His eyes are fixed on yours while he kisses your fingertips then your palm, then opens his mouth and licks you, filthy wet. He leads your hand down between his legs where there is no barrier anymore. He wraps your wet hand around him, so fucking hard and hot.
His bigger hand is wrapped around yours as he guides you like he’s the older, more experienced one and you’re a trembling, helpless girl. His eyes are so intense, his energy so overwhelmingly dominant, that it is hypnotizing, and you think for a moment you must become exactly that.
“Yes,” you say. “Yes, sir.” It slips out as thoughtlessly as that good boy, but this time he rewards the correct answer.
He continues to guide your hand on his cock, stroking slowly, and touches you with his other hand. He is flushed and breathing heavy, and a little sweaty at his hairline, but he is still more composed than you. That never happens; you are the level-headed one, always. But he stares down at you, calm and collected as you touch each other. He is the one to work you into a frantic state, until you are crying out and close to coming.
Your legs are shaking. You can’t concentrate on touching him and he knows it, so he guides your hand to his hip instead. You hold onto him as he lays you down on the bed, his hand never stopping between your legs. You arch your back and close your eyes, riding the length of his fingers, shuddering under the steady roll of his thumb. You come again, shouting his name, gasping and writhing and slamming your thighs closed around his hand.
He pushes them apart again. He leaves you barely a breath before he is poised between your open thighs. He must know you are still throbbing from the rolling wave of your orgasm when he angles your hips and slides right into you. It happens so fast, so smooth and wet and easy, like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, like he’s been waiting far longer than a few hours to be there.
“Fuck,” he says, and finally seems to come a bit undone. If he intended to fuck you slowly, it doesn’t happen. It’s like his patience runs out all at once and he rolls his hips down into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He goes breathless, voice disappearing, and he pants and whines instead, staring at where his cock slides wetly, messily in and out of your soft and needy pussy.
You hold onto his wrists, letting him move your body exactly how he wants, trusting he will give you what you need. And he does, stretching those soft walls and hitting all those squishy, weak places inside you, begging to surrender to him. You feel so open, so wet, and he feels so deep, even going so fast.
Then he somehow feels deeper. It makes your eyes roll closed. He pushes your thighs back and presses his body more closely to yours. Your faces are near again, whispering each other’s names before he kisses you. His tongue seems to claim you as deep as the rest of him, making you feel so wholly taken.
Both your hands are on his face, holding him there, kissing him back. You slowly slide one hand down his side, making him laugh when you touch somewhere ticklish and sensitive. You smile back, but that giggling mirth disappears when you take one of his hands and slap it to your ass – more your thigh, at this awkward angle.
He makes a noise into your mouth, rumbling and low. Then you are the noisy one, mewling as he flips you over with quick work of his hands. There is a mirror on your vanity that you can see now, cheek pressed on your sheets while he lifts your hips to get back inside you. You see the shudder that moves through his lean body as he sinks into your pussy and you squeeze around him.
You feel his thumbs rubbing circles where he spread you open, and you feel as his fingers splay across your skin. You see him lift his hand but it’s still a surprise when it comes down again.
Your eyes close instinctively and you whimper, feeling needy and pathetic and thrilled with it. You don’t feel like you have to hide anything, don’t think you even can, as you arch your back and beg for more. He brings his hand down again, again, as he fucks you, fast and dirty and mean until you are aching inside and outside.
Then he reaches around you and pulls you up, your back to his chest. He puts you in his lap and fucks you with an arm across your collarbone and another hand covering an obscenely bouncing breast. He squeezes and teases you, gets you moaning loud and carefree as him.
He notices the mirror at the last moment and looks momentarily stunned in the best way, then he smiles that mean smile at you. The arm across your collar shifts and he clasps his hand around your throat. Clutching you so possessively, he moans your name and thrusts hard. You feel as he comes, warm inside you, leaving no part of your body untouched by him.
“Oh,” you say, still shaking in the aftermath. You are both breathing hard, still clinging together.
He hums in agreement. His grip loosens and he moves, the slightest change in position making you whimper. He twitches inside of you, like that sound is almost enough to make him go again.
He lays you down on your front, the sheets cool on your hot skin as you press your cheek there. You gasp as he pulls out and you feel his cum leaking out of you. You can see him in the mirror, looking there, flushed and sweaty and surprised, like he was out of his body until this moment. You know the feeling.
Fuck, you think, your more rational self scolding you from where she is buried six feet in the back of your head. You just let one of your brother’s stupid little friends blow a load into you, idiot.
It will be fine. You had flirtatiously mentioned it earlier, having been oh-so prepared with internal protection and disappointed by your date, what a waste since you would have allowed, well…
It feels like years since you were just talking, merely perched on the edge of anticipation with all those champagne bubbles.
Now you are in the very real world after the fact. Even though you know you’re safe and fine, you still let him come inside you. You don’t even usually let a man hold your hand until the third date at least. So much for your lists and rules.
“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, a wonderful hand gliding gently up your spine. It feels so good, just that simple, comforting touch. The silly voice gets buried again.
“Hmm,” you say and nod, eyes closing, content.
You feel him lay down beside you. You are at the foot of the bed and will have to move, but you both catch your breath for now. You open your eyes to look at him, find his looking at him, his cheek squished into the bed too. You blink at each other, then smile at the same time.
“You okay too?” you ask.
“Oh yes,” he says, and you both laugh.
The laughter softens when he reaches out and touches your face, just stroking your cheek. His eyes follow the caress. You swear they are sparkling with his happiness.
Your heart does a funny summersault. You have never felt it do that and it surprises you. Is genuine affection a physical feeling? Maybe it’s just the aftermath of everything else.
Maybe, you think, it’s just him.
“Will you stay the night?” you ask, shyly. You are not usually shy. You would not care about the answer at all. But you care about his answer, you realize. You think you would be hurt if he said no. That is a little frightening, and also a little exciting, your heart racing with emotions.
He smiles at you and it races even faster.
“I’ll stay forever,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be a joke but it comes out a little too sincere with his piercing eyes and sweet smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s blushing because he is still so flushed from exertion, but you think so.
It should make you cringe. But just like when he kissed the back of your hand, it is so goofy and ridiculous that it swings right back around to being endearing. And so you giggle instead, biting your lip to keep it in. But you don’t need to hide, because the giggling relaxes him, and he beams back at you.
He offers his hand. You take it and your clasped fingers rest between you.
“I’m afraid we’ve ruined our chance at friendship, Jeongin,” you say, looking at his fingers curled around yours.
“Hm,” he says. “That might be for the best. You don’t want to have to another date with the piss-before-dessert guy.”
You both laugh, squeezing hands.
“No,” you say. “You’re right about that.”
“Good thing I’m here,” he says.
“Yes.” You wonder if your eyes are sparkling too. It’s a little embarrassing to consider, but you find you don’t mind at all. “A very good thing.”
Your more pragmatic side does eventually surface. Tangled with this new version of you, she is a little shy, but Jeongin seems to understand her, so it’s okay. He agrees to follow your lead, that you don’t want to tell anyone just yet as you explore this thing between you. He just seems happy that there is something further to explore.
Eventually, his smug little grins and cheesy expressions are too much for you, and you laugh and swat his chest, and you both get under the covers and start kissing again.
-
Of course, your plan to not tell anyone is thwarted the next morning when Hyunjin barges into your apartment without knocking. Like the spoiled primadonna little brother he is, he waltzes right into your bedroom, complaining about something from work. Well, he promptly forgets all his problems, slack-jawed at finding you and Jeongin groggily stirring under the covers.
“Hyunjin—” you say, fully awake in a second, because you can tell what’s coming from that look on his face.
Hyunjin screams. Jeongin covers his ears, wincing, and you sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Hyunjin!” you shout, louder than him.
He runs out of the room. You and Jeongin exchange a glance, him smothering a laugh as you huff in annoyance. You throw on a house robe while Jeongin looks around for his jeans. You go to the kitchen where Hyunjin is rinsing his eyes in the sink.
“Hyunjin,” you grunt. “For goodness’s sake.”
Jeongin emerges from the bedroom, shirtless because his t-shirt was abandoned somewhere near the couch. You look at each other, helpless but to smile in the morning light, even while your melodramatic brother has a breakdown by the faucet. Keeping it a secret was your only real contingency, and now that’s done and over. It leaves you without any sort of plan at all.
You walk over to the couch and find Jeongin’s t-shirt. You hold it out to him. He approaches slowly, still smiling. When he takes it, you tug on it, pulling him close.
So it turns out you have no plan at all. And you should be panicking, should be descending into melodrama.
But he smiles at you. Those dimples really will be your undoing.
And so you smile back, unbound by any rules or expectations, completely and totally free.
-
“Oh my god, stop kissing,” Hyunjin says. “That’s my sister! What the hell! When did you two even meet again? What is going on right now?”
250924 — Bang Chan x Fendi SS26 in Milan
so i am just writing like the wind. everything. every damn thing. i have no idea what will be posted next. i have like 10k words here and 10k words there. i will try to come up with a date and time for kingsguard and bodyguard specifically, (both of which also have lots written lol) but you will probably see.. random things.. for a while first as i just get back into routine.
and we’re all just gonna smile n nod and not ask me why im posting an ot8/reader sex pollen gang bang one shot with so many other things to finish, okay? okay.
anyway im gonna go write normal things with my normal brain.
Hi! Just wanted to say I absolutely LOVED the recent Jeongin post Blind Date. It was cute, fun and spicy, the best combos! And I really loved that the reader was older then Jeongin. As an older kpop fan born in the 90s it was nice.
P.s. your fics NEVER disappoint and I love your writing! Thank you for sharing with us!
HEHE thank you so much!!!! it was a very fun one. honestly it was a half finished draft for a while and then that jewelry ad kicked my ass into gear to finish those remaining 4000 words of smut haha
im so glad it didn’t disappoint ;) it was a different dynamic than I usually write but super fun
thank you again!! 💕💕💕💕
blind date ; jeongin x reader ; one-shot
masterlist.
( READ ON AO3. )
You are on a terrible blind date when you run into a boy from your past - only, he is far from a boy now. And he is determined to prove it to you.
pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: a lot of sexual tension (thoroughly resolved). older woman/younger man. little brother's friend (hyunjin is the brother). reader's age is ambiguous but she is explicitly older. jeongin was hyunjin's friend when they were university freshman and she hasn't seen him since. power exchanges (she calls him a good boy and he basically says oh, really, you think huh?). one use of noona, more pointedly than anything. dom!jeongin, sub!reader, pussy-eating, hand kink, spanking, creampie. also some drinking but no one is drunk. and reader's blind date is very rude and makes unprompted remarks (bringing up a piss kink randomly, comments about her ordering dessert, sexist comments about friendships with men.)
(word count: 8700 words.)
enjoy ;)
-
“And if tonight is gonna work,” your date says, “you will need to be good with piss.”
You freeze, your water glass halfway to your lips.
“Uh, sorry,” you say. You clear your throat. “Piss?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’ll need to piss on me. That’s not a problem is it?”
You like to consider yourself a reasonable person. You are not someone who jumps to conclusions or overreacts. People at work look up to you as a guiding figure in times of crisis. You are very in control of your emotions.
It is an astounding testament to your abilities that you refrain from chucking your glass at this moron.
It has been a few years since you were last on a blind date. You have since approached the oh-so shuddering threshold of long-term adulthood singleness, but how desperate is that supposed to make you? Does a vague gym buddy of your colleague genuinely think it’s appropriate to tell you, unprompted, that he wants you to piss on him tonight? Ugh.
For the first time, you wish you were more like your ridiculous little brother. Hyunjin would have flipped the table on this guy. You need to be a melodramatic bitch like Hyunjin.
You are shocked into silence. The waiter arrives and puts your food on the table. Your date thanks him.
“You think about it,” he says, still unashamed. “I’m gonna take a leak. But you hold onto yours, huh?” He laughs like that was funny.
You are still staring at his empty seat when he leaves. You put your water glass back on the table.
This is the last time you let Changbin arrange a blind date.
You look between your table and the exit, wondering if you can bolt and text your bad date an excuse. You can tell him you had a family emergency. Or a medical emergency. Or maybe you simply realized roasting your head over an open flame would be more fun than this date.
Your gaze wanders over the bar and stops on a head of dark hair. You tip your head, struck with a sense of déjà vu. The dark haired man is looking your way and he is as familiar as he is good looking. Not only is he impeccably dressed from his smart shoes to the crisp white shirt between the lapels of a jean jacket, but he is preposterously handsome. He is all long lines, svelte but athletic and flaunting it in the clean silhouette of denim on denim. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high, but his eyes are friendly. Dark hair falls neatly over his forehead, a smiling face just under it. His dimples are incredibly pronounced.
Those dimples. Oh.
You recognize him at the same time he recognizes you. Surprise bursts on both your faces.
He approaches the table, hands in his pockets and those deep dimples beaming at you. Your heart skips a beat and you blame it on surprise. It must be surprise, because it would be very inappropriate if it was spontaneous attraction for one of your little brother’s university friends.
“Hi!” Jeongin says, his laughter as endearingly wheezy as you remember.
The rest of him is not quite as you remember. Jeongin is a year younger than Hyunjin but Hyunjin spent a gap year in Paris ‘chasing his artistic soul’ so they were university freshmen together. They met at some summer program and Jeongin spent most of the season hanging around your house. Hyunjin is an irredeemable little twerp but his friends are remarkably nice. Jeongin was the sweetest of the lot. He was always helpful and polite, a little gawky and awkward in that over-grinning, brace-faced, eighteen-year-old-boy way, but nice.
You had nothing in common at the time so you didn’t spare him much of a second glance.
Jeongin is… not eighteen anymore. Not gawky. Not awkward. His smile is perfect now, his build still slender but strong, his dark eyes sparkling and his hands –
He extends a hand for a shake, his long, long ringed fingers reaching for yours. You can’t help but run your gaze up that hand, his arm, over the breadth of his shoulders, until you finally look into his smiling face.
“Hi,” you say. It takes another second, but you come to your senses. You shake his hand a little firmer. “Jeongin. Hi. It’s been a while.” You do remember he had a contagious smile. That much is still the same, those dimples coaxing your own smile out of hiding. “How are you?” you ask. And because the reality of it is still computing, you also blurt, “You look good. Really good. Wow.”
He laughs again, looking a little embarrassed with how his eyes drop. He is still smiling when he meets your gaze again.
“Thank you,” he says. “You too. Wow.”
He says it in the same awkward, surprised way you did. It makes you laugh together. It is a bubbly, champagne laughter, intoxicating, perched on the edge of anticipation.
Your hands are still clasped and your eyes still locked. Those bubbles start to feel suspiciously like butterflies.
You drop his hand. You have to press your palms together to numb the leftover tingles. His own hand flexes.
“I hope you’re doing well,” you say. “You must have graduated university already?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and nods, several head bobs in a row. A nervous fidget maybe. Not unlike your thumbs pushing at each other in your lap.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m a teacher. Substitute teaching right now. Hyunjin said you moved out of town for a while…?”
“Moved back a few weeks ago,” you say. “Promotion at work moved me out, another one moved me back.”
“Are you happy to be back?”
“Yeah,” you say, a little airily. It’s not a lie but also not the truth. You had as much going on back there as here, which is pretty much nothing but work. But you’re certainly not getting into the gritty details of all that with Jeongin. Not when Mister Golden Showers could get back any minute. So you just nod and say, “It’s nice being close to my old friends and family again.”
“Hyunjin missed you,” Jeongin says. He steps a little closer, speaking in a low voice. “I know he’d never say it, so I’ll tell you for him.”
You giggle, the sound surprising you. You bite your lip to hold it.
“Thanks,” you say. “Always good to have a spy giving up my brother’s secrets.”
He salutes, then admits, “Hyunjin is pretty easy to betray.”
“I believe you,” you say with a snort. “I love the kid, but I think the hair dye fumes are getting to him.”
“I shouldn’t say it,” he says, grinning, “but I was definitely the brains to his looks.”
“You could give him a run for his money now,” you say without thinking. It sounds more matter-of-fact than flirtatious, but that honesty is almost more provocative.
The tips of his ears turn red. It makes your own skin feel warm to the touch. He lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck. His ringed fingers circle his neck and settle on his shoulder, idly pressing there while he gazes down at you.
“Thank you,” he says. “You look… you look fantastic. Are you…” He glances at the food in your date’s spot. “With someone, I’m guessing?”
“Blind date,” you answer quickly. “So, yeah, I’m a little more dressed up, haha. Thanks. But yeah, I’m single and…” You look at your water glass. “I don’t think that’s gonna change tonight.”
“Uh oh.” He laughs, his face brightening once more. “Going that well?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” you say with a much beleaguered sigh. You’re usually more discreet, but tonight has taken a toll. You think you are going to explode. Piss? Really? During the main course? Come on.
“Sorry to hear it,” he says. His dimples soften as his smile goes from goofy to soft. “His loss. I’m serious.”
There’s a moment of charged silence. You really cannot deny the reciprocated attraction.
You try to suppress it. You are not in the habit of picking up early twenty-somethings who hang out with your dumb brother, especially not while out with someone else. So you clear your throat and reach for your glass, giving you an excuse to look away from him.
“What about you?” you ask. “Are you here with someone?”
It’s a casual question. At least, it’s supposed to be. It could be misconstrued as interest. Even your own ears catch the hint of curiosity.
You take a big gulp of cold water.
“I’m meeting a blind date too actually,” he says. He rocks on his heels. “I’m single too.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Well,” you say with a curt nod. “I hope it goes better than mine.”
As if summoned like the demon of discomfort that he is, your date returns. There is a substantial musculature difference between him and Jeongin as your date is a self-identified gym rat, but he is so conventionally good looking in contrast to Jeongin’s distinguished character that he is immediately boring to look at.
You would far rather spend the night looking at Jeongin’s funny expressions. Even now, his thick eyebrows knit together as he gives your date a quick onceover. He looks back at you with a smile like you’re sharing a secret.
“We’re not quite ready for dessert,” your date tells Jeongin. “She probably doesn’t need any, but I’ll ask about the tart after.”
Jeongin tries to hide his laugh in a cough. Your date looks at him funny.
You suck in a breath, trying not to cringe at your date or laugh at Jeongin.
“Jeongin is not a waiter,” you say. “He’s a friend. He was just saying hi.”
“You’re friends with men?” your date says apprehensively. “As a female?”
Jeongin purses his lips, looking at you with a cringe. You do your best to remain composed.
“Yes,” you say with fake sweetness. “Like the one who set us up in the first place, remember?”
“I’m, uh, gonna head back to my spot,” Jeongin interrupts, pointing over his shoulder. “Cool, uh, meeting you,” he says to your date. “And getting your dessert order.” When he looks at you, it’s with a wink. He says your name and offers his hand for another shake. “It was nice talking. Good luck.”
You are about to respond, but then he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. It’s so cheesy and stupid that it swings right back around to being adorable, especially with his mischievous eyes twinkling at you the whole time. Those dimples stay pressed, the touch of his hand lingering when he lets go. This time, there are leftover tingles from his lips as well.
“Have a good night,” he says. He gives one last nod then leaves.
You watch him go until your date scoffs. You look at him with a quirked eyebrow.
“No offence,” he says in an indubitably offensive manner, “but that’s why a female shouldn’t be friends with men. You might not know it, but he was being inappropriate.”
“Oh. Really.” Much as you smother your bitch gene, you and your brother share a natural propensity to glare a dummy down. You are certain your date feels the ice in your stare. “I know you’re good looking and it has allowed you to behave rudely and not get called a creep, but speaking as a woman with plenty of experience, you need to learn to show some respect for your partners and their wants. And for the record, no, I will not be pissing on you tonight, or any night. In fact, I have zero intention of even kissing you. No! No. Don’t say anything. It’s fine. Eat your food. I’ll eat mine. We’ll pay. We’ll go. Sounds good? Good.”
Unfortunately, your scolding probably gets him hard. At least he already peed.
-
You finish your meal in silence. Your date pays since he’s such an oh-so grand gentleman, then he leaves on his own.
You can follow. The dinner is over, the food gone, the cheque paid. It’s just you and the drops of white wine swirling around the bottom of your glass. You look into it, the little tang still lingering on your tongue. It’s almost empty. You can leave.
You should leave.
Here’s the thing: in the time it took to finish dinner, a pretty young woman joined Jeongin at the bar. Your gaze wandered over there despite knowing better. Curiosity and a hint of jealousy conquered your good sense.
Sensible, that’s what you always are. You do not suffer fools. But here you are, acting like one. It’s ridiculous. It’s fun.
You looked over more than once. The pair of them chatted politely, Jeongin friendly and laughing as always. She’s a lucky girl, you told yourself. And he’s a good guy. You wanted them to have a nice time.
Really.
But you are a little pleased they never left the bar. They had one drink each and chatted a little. He made no moves. She touched his arm a few times, leaned in when showing him something on her phone, but he leaned away and found reasons to move her hand.
Eventually, they hugged dispassionately and said good night. The woman left.
Jeongin is still sitting at the bar, nursing a drink that is also down to its dredges. He has his chin propped on his fist, his attention on his phone as he flips through it with a dull expression. You look at his long fingers wrapped around the device, at the rings on his closed fist, the way his hair flutters when he sighs and purses his full lips.
He casts you a sideways glance.
He’s been doing it all night.
Every time, your heart skips a beat. Your usual powers of deliberation are failing you. Going over there feels like a stupid thing to do. Sitting here also feels like a stupid thing to do. You hate that the wrong man is being a gentleman, waiting for you to decide if that’s the direction you want to go.
You take the final swig of wine and draw your purse over your shoulder. You walk over to the bar. He has no reason to be here, same as you, so it is abundantly obvious you are waiting on each other. That doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe he just wants to catch up some more. You can talk as friends.
He lifts his head and his smile is not friendly at all, softer than a smirk but suggestive all the same. Oh, it feels very wrong to submit to the heat that follows, but that makes it all the more tantalizing. This is Yang Jeongin, you tell yourself, even while he checks you out and you very much let him, accentuating your walk with a swing.
“Hi,” you say, taking the seat beside him.
“Hi,” he replies. “How was dessert?”
You laugh while waving to the bartender. One glass of wine was enough to melt those bubbles into a warm simmer, but you suspect it is not quite enough to stoke whatever comes next.
That is unusual for you, usually so self-possessed, but the novelty makes your pulse pound.
The bartender brings you another glass. You sift through your purse for your wallet but Jeongin taps his card on the machine before you find it.
He grins at you with those deep dimples. His credit card is delicately balanced between two ringed fingers. He curls them back in and it’s all a little much, like he knows you’re looking at his hands that way.
“Since you’re older than me,” Jeongin says, making your heart skip a beat, “there is something I want to ask first.”
“Oh?”
Even though he says first, implying the expectation of every moment after that, you still anticipate a certain question. Should he acknowledge that age difference in how he addresses you?
But he tilts his head, his dark eyes so focussed on you. It makes you realize how intensely you have been staring back into his eyes. You lower your gaze. His long fingers are at his neck, fidgeting with the chain of a necklace.
“I’m just wondering,” he says, with a softer smile and a little laugh, “Does my age make you uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable?” You stare intently at your wine glass then take a slow sip.
You can feel him looking at you. You catch the wander of his gaze, eyes tracing the shape of you. You feel so very close. His knee touches yours under the bar.
“That is not the word I would use,” you say, voice just a little lower, just a little softer, so he has to lean a little closer.
“But you’re thinking about it,” he says.
You stare at your glass, feeling a lot of heat high in your cheeks. You rub your thumb up and down the stem.
“Yes,” you admit. You look at him slowly, not sure what to expect.
His whole face brightens with delight and he laughs. He is more than a little flushed too.
“Good,” he says and looks down at his own glass like he is embarrassed. He downs the last swallow of spirits.
“Good?” you ask with a helpless laugh, so taken aback by the reaction. “Why is that good?”
He hooks his foot around your bar stool. Startled, you gasp as he pulls you closer so you are touching along the whole side-lengths of your bodies.
“Because if you weren’t thinking about it,” he says with a blush, “it would mean you are here because you are just being friendly. It would mean you aren’t thinking about me as anything but your little brother’s friend.”
You sit a little straighter when you feel his hand under the counter. Just a touch, his fingers moving softly over your knee. The fabric of your skirt wrinkles under the gentle attention. When you do not protest – when your lips part and you press a little closer to his side, knee to knee and arm to arm and shoulder to shoulder – his thumb curls in and takes a bit of your skirt with it. You feel it whispering across your skin in a teasing suggestion.
“But if you are thinking about it,” he says, “then I think… maybe you aren’t here because you are just being friendly.”
“Mm, I see.” You tilt your head towards his. “You don’t think we can be friends?”
He laughs and says, “I can be friendly.” And he lightly squeezes you, his fingertips pressing the inside of your knee.
You are looking at each other so intently; anything could be happen in this room and you would miss it. You have eyes for each other and nothing else. The evening’s possibilities play as a shared fantasy between you.
The more pragmatic part of you says no, no way, not your thing. You’ve always been strict with men, no goofing around, no one night stands, and they always meet your approved list of expectations.
That list does not include a man this much younger than you, your little brother’s friend, with dark eyes and a far too mischievous smile.
“All right,” you say as your heart races with nerves and exhilaration. “Let’s be friends, then.”
-
A friend would walk you home after a bad blind date. A friend would ask all the nice questions that Jeongin asks, and he would make you laugh like Jeongin does. He would gasp with boyish incredulity when you tell him about your date’s inappropriate remarks. He would hum with sympathy that you were disappointed, that you were prepared for a long night, that with the right partner you might have allowed, well…
A friend would smile, his eyes sparkling, as he opened the door to your building. He would gently touch your lower back and press the elevator button for you.
Perhaps that is why the tension between you is so thick. A bubble surrounds it: the thinnest veneer of innocence to every interaction. If you both chose to say goodbye now, then nothing ever really happened, did it? You didn’t really go there, didn’t break all your rules. It wouldn’t be a lie to say you were friendly and nothing more. No explicit word has been spoken.
But if glances were words, Jeongin would have written you a novel tonight.
He leans against the opposite elevator wall, his eyes moving down your body while you pretend not to notice. He has already complimented every detail of your appearance, but much more has gone unsaid, at least verbally. Just like your preoccupation with his hands, his gaze keeps dipping to the flare of your hips, the curve of your thighs and where the skirt clings to your backside. His fingers twitch before he pockets them, like he is desperate to stroke the length of your body, to press his fingers on the softest parts of you.
You are almost embarrassed at the notion of him touching you so intimately. Usually, there is a process to getting turned on, and you and your partner get there together. But if those fingers dare to touch, he will find you have already melted into a puddle of longing.
At your apartment door, you take your time, looking in your purse for your key. He stands patiently at your side with his hands in his pockets.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” you ask, like this invitation is at all unexpected, like you are still just being friendly.
Those dimples will be the death of you. They really do give the game away.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”
You know he is already seduced, just as you are, so you really don’t have to do anything but drop your coat and say, kiss me. You can picture what would swiftly follow, are far too experienced to be naïve about the direction of tonight, yet it seems at once too near and too impossible. It remains a thrill to imagine the journey. Maybe that is why you don’t simply jump him in the doorway.
He continues to be good, obedient to your desires, though his gaze is ever more roving and he fidgets a little more. Much longer and he may break his constraints without your direction – and that should be alarming, right? But it makes your core tighten and your breath catch.
He is drawn as taut, back straight, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. That thick tension is ready to split as the veneer melts away.
“Have a seat,” you say, pointing to the couch in the main room.
You hang your coat. Shoes are left by the door. He wanders through your living space with his hands caged in the pockets of his jean jacket. He looks around, smiling. The living area opens into the kitchen so you make yourself busy with fetching some glasses.
He sits politely on the couch like you told him.
“Here we go,” you say. You return with two glasses and an open wine bottle.
You sit beside him on the couch. Your knees touch as you face each other. He thanks you as you pour a little wine into each glass.
Then you each take a sip, looking at each other in the silence. You both smile. He laughs a little, still flushed and not really from the wine. You feel very warm even though your dress is sleeveless.
You talk more about this and that, an everything and nothing conversation, just filling that silence. Yes, filling it, more and more until that tension is fit to bursting and the bubble can no longer contain it.
Your hand shakes uncharacteristically. You slosh a bit of wine while drinking and laugh at yourself.
“Sorry,” you say, wiping your chin.
You put your glasses down at the same time. He is laughing too, a still-friendly sound, eyes bright.
“Here,” he says. “You missed a…”
And he touches you.
It is just his thumb at first, there at the corner of your lips. He wipes that tiny little drop of wine, his eyes fixated so resolutely on it. Then his gaze drifts into yours.
His thumb is still there, his fingers curled loosely under your chin.
You breathe in, can see your own chest rise dramatically with the intake of breath. His eyes never leave yours.
His touch is still gentle, but coaxing. His thumb moves across your cheek, his fingers opening beneath your jaw.
You find yourself leaning into his hand, basically nuzzling it. It is an entirely thoughtless action propelled by the base and carnal need to touch, touch, touch. Your heart races at having his hand on you, even just caressing your face.
His fingers sweep along your jaw, down your throat. You don’t remember when you grabbed his wrist but you’re holding it like you’re the younger, girlish one, desperate with your wide eyes and open mouth as you cling to his hand. His fingers curl around the back of your neck and pull you close.
You lean in until your faces are almost touching. You look at his mouth and he looks at yours, then your eyes meet again. Your hand slides up his arm as your mouths move achingly closer. You can feel his breath coming quickly, your exhales colliding. His hair brushes your forehead, his nose your nose.
You make a horribly embarrassing sound, whimpering even though you haven’t even kissed. But it moves right through you, starts low and rises past your lips.
Your hand is on his collar now, tugging. Your faces are still close, breath still mingling, gazes moving to your mouths and back again. He lowers his hands to unbutton his jean jacket. You try to help but you are suddenly clumsy and you wish you could blame the wine but it’s not that.
It’s him. Oh, fuck, this is Jeongin. It’s really all him, having this effect, doing this to you.
And you are so close to each other, about to breach that space, about to break every rule and change everything together.
His hands are also clumsy until he gets that last button undone, then he is tearing his jacket off with quick force. He has just pushed it off, only just freed his hands, is sitting there in his jeans and t-shirt with his necklaces and his long ringed fingers, staring at you and breathing hard when –
You close the distance at once. His mouth is soft on yours despite the intensity with which he moves. You could sink right into him, the kiss so, so good, worth every second of anticipation.
Your mouths move together and sighs pass between you. You make a sweet noise when he cups your face with both hands. He pulls you even closer, kisses you even deeper. He licks into you, but not too much too fast, just enough to make you throb at the possessive sweep and still leave you yearning for more.
He returns a low noise of satisfaction. He breathes the word, “Yes.”
Your arch your back and press against him as his hands move down your face. For a moment, both his hands are on your neck and he tilts your chin up with a press of his thumbs. Then his thumb is on your pulse, pressing down as he slides his deft fingers down your throat.
You touch his biceps, feel the bare skin revealed by his t-shirt, squeeze the lean muscles there. Your fingers press in, climbing a little higher.
His warm kisses move from your mouth to your jaw. He leaves a few gentle presses there, then he is sucking a hot, harsh kiss on your throat.
His hands are quick in their sweeping caress down your arms. He takes the straps of your dress with him, the fabric looped neatly into his clever fingers. You shrug out of the top as swiftly as he did his jacket. He is fast then, unclipping your strapless bra and tossing it to the side.
Your eyes have been closed the whole time, so lost to sensation, but you open them when he wraps both his arms around your waist and hauls you easily into his lap. Perched on his thighs, you stare down at him, at the lushness of his mouth. His eyelids are heavy too, complexion so flushed. His necklaces are askew, his hair a little messy, his pristine t-shirt already rumpled where you fisted the material in your desperate clawing.
You feel your own desire, so evident in your expressions and movements. You have been stiff with tension all evening, but now you are so pliant and open, legs spread over his lap, dress tugged down to your waist, skin bare to him, and breathing hard.
He stares back at you, shifts his hands around your hips. You close your eyes and whimper again, though you’ll never admit you made such a sound. You certainly never thought you’d make it for Yang Jeongin, but here you are, an embarrassing bundle of nerves and desire, coming undone in his arms. That sound is whining and needy as he pulls you down into his lap, rolling his hips under yours.
“Jeongin,” his name is little more than a squeak of noise on your frantic mouth. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull his face close. Your mouths are almost touching again as he grinds against you.
Your dress is hardly protecting your modesty in this state, bare breasts rubbing against his shirt, wet sex grinding against his thickening bulge. Only thin black lace is keeping you from making a mess on his jeans.
He makes a stuttering noise that might be an attempt at your name. You sink your fingers into his hair, press your open mouth to his and kiss him deeply. He moans into it while curving his hands down your thighs, then back up under your skirt. He touches your bare skin there, all those soft and tender place so close to the heart of your desire. His thumbs caress your inner thighs and his big hands squeeze their fill.
Then his hands are on your hips and he moves. You are surprised to find yourself once more sitting on the couch. He flips you in the space of a moment, sits you down, and pushes the coffee table out of his way. Then he is on his knees in front of you, your underwear already halfway down your thighs before you even fully realize it.
The panties join the bra somewhere on the floor with the jean jacket. He sits back on his heels and gazes up at you. His mouth is pink from kissing and his breathing a little laboured. But his smile – his smirk – is downright filthy. He looks at you as he plucks his rings off, one by one, and puts them on the table behind him. The necklaces follow. Then he kneels upright and runs his hands through his hair to clear his face.
You make a very undignified little squeak when he pulls you to the edge of the couch. He lifts your skirt to your waist and puts your legs over his shoulders. He wets his fingers in his open mouth and you laugh, breathless.
“Trust me,” you say. “That won’t be necessary.”
His finger leaves his tongue. It moves to the inside of your thigh, which is resting on his shoulder, the sensitive skin there a little ticklish. You squirm but are secure in his hold.
His hand continues its path, torturously slow. He is luxuriating in the feel of you while you rock your hips in need of more. He ignores that pleading, so cruelly, and continues to touch, stroke, caress, and tease until finally his knuckle moves between your thighs to find how much you want him.
“Oh,” you gasp. “Jeongin, please—”
For a moment, he is just breathing hard, slowly touching you, unfurling his fingers and sliding them inside you. He curses under his breath. When you clench involuntarily around his fingers, he seems to realize he isn’t dreaming. Then he smiles, looking very pleased with himself, but you can’t even feel embarrassed because he knows how to use his hands and he does. Competently. Thoroughly.
You throw your head back, slouching against the couch while he makes a complete mess of you. Then he dives forward and his mouth is there too, a moan in his throat as his tongue seeks out the swell of pleasure amidst all that wet heat. He is fast but steady, face happily buried there, your thighs pressing against his head. You shove your fingers into his hair and pull him even closer. You lift your hips and hiccup with gasps as he deftly and seemingly so easily draws you over that crest into a mind-shattering orgasm.
“Ah—!" is the only sound you manage, your eyes closed, your fingers pressing into his scalp.
He brings you to a slow descent, hands on the outside of your thighs as you twitch with shuddering aftershocks.
You loosen your grip and feather your fingers through his soft dark hair. You sigh, a satisfied exhale.
“Oh.” You feel fuzzy, like you are floating even though he has put your feet back on the ground. You look at him through heavy-eyelids. All those giggly, girlish bubbles are back, tingling through your whole body. “Oh, wow,” you say. He is already flushed but that makes him blush a little harder, though he stays grinning. “Oh, you are a good boy.”
That isn’t normally the type of thing you say; it just sort of comes out in your dreamy post-orgasmic haze. It doesn’t much resonate with you, but it certainly does with him. It makes him lift an eyebrow and tilt his head, his eyes narrowing just a bit, as if with determination.
“Good… boy…” he says. He kneels upright and looks at you with those dark, penetrating eyes. “Am I a boy, noona?” And he stands up between your legs so he is towering over you.
From your vantage on the couch, your eyeline directly falls to the thick, unmistakable bulge trapped in denim. Your gaze lifts when he gathers the hem of shirt and pulls it over his head. It falls somewhere but you don’t see it, because your eyes are on him, drinking in every hard plane of his naked chest.
Your eyes lower when his confident hands go to his belt and flick it open. Then he gestures to you, a come-hither command with the same two fingers that fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life.
“Come on,” he says. “Take it off. I’ll show you if I’m a boy, hm?”
You reach for him, a little shaky from the tremors of pleasure, so he grabs your hand mid-air and pulls it towards his belt as if impatient. You sit up straighter, determined now, weaving his belt through the loops and off. It clatters to the floor and he grabs your face with both hands, tilting your head all the way back, and swoops down to kiss you with a domineering, desperate hunger.
He pulls you up like that, kissing you, claiming you, probably ruining you for every other kiss in your life. Your legs are shaky under you but he holds you, first your face, then a hand on your lower back, bringing your body against his. That bulge presses against you and your skirt is rucked up between you, so it’s bare skin on denim. This time you don’t squeak but practically squeal.
You rear against him, desperate, hands on his bare shoulders and chest, feeling him up. You put a leg around him to press harder against his bulge. He catches that thigh, hiking it around his waist and holding you there. You tip your head back, his mouth finding your throat, both of you moaning as he grinds a filthy rhythm against your softest most vulnerable place.
“Bedroom,” he whispers into the skin of your throat. You point over his shoulder in the vaguest gesticulation, not entirely sure of up from down never mind the layout of your own apartment.
He scoops you into his arms. You wrap both legs around his waist, string both arms around his neck, and kiss him with frantic, impatient need. He kisses you back, carrying you to the bedroom door and kicking it. It flies open and probably hits the wall too hard, but you don’t even notice, lost in all those deep kisses.
He groans with pleasure and carefully places you down. It takes you a second to find your balance but you do. You rock on your feet, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he kisses and bites down your throat. He blazes a hot, wet trail to your breasts. His mouth is there as he fumbles with your skirt, finally tearing it off and leaving you completely bare.
He grabs the back of your neck and kisses your mouth, holding you against him while his other hand smooths down the curve of your spine. He guides you closer, encouraging you to arch into him, and eventually settles that hand in a possessive squeeze on your ass. Then it moves around your body until he finds your hand. He grabs it and puts it on his bulge, curves your palm around the hard shape of it, making you rub him until you are breathing hard into each other’s mouths.
“Am I a good boy?” he asks, mouth so close that your lips brush when he speaks.
You don’t answer because you have essentially descended into a primal state, thighs pressed together, pushing your naked chest against his, squeezing him in your hand. You have no thoughts for once, everything purely physical.
“Huh?” he asks. He squeezes the back of your neck, just enough to make you gasp into his open mouth. Just enough your eyes open, meeting his piercing, determined stare. He knows he has you. You have been talking all night. He knows your date, that man your age, was an immature disappointment. He knows you were looking at him all evening. He knows your thighs were rubbing together under that bar as you stared at his hands and his belt buckle and thought about this moment. He knows what you actually want. And he knows your answer to his question. “Am I a boy?”
“No,” you say, nearly breathless and dizzy with desire. “No, I’m sorry. You’re not. You’re—you’re—”
“I’m—?”
“Jeongin, Jeongin, please, please, please,” you cry out, trembling in his arms.
He smiles, those deep dimples far too sweet for the kind of look on his face. He kisses you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, soothing you and taking control of you all at once.
Then he laughs into the kiss, just lightly, and says into your obedient open mouth, “Good girl.”
You moan, already undone, clawing at his chest and shoulders as he lets go of you to open his jeans. You help push them down his hips then stumble towards the bed while he takes them off.
You face each other at the bedside, still standing, nearly colliding, breathing hard and faces close. There is a moment of pause, not hesitation but anticipation, like when you sat on that couch with your faces so close and the precipice before you. That moment right before the bubble burst, before you decided to throw away all your rules and change everything between you.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, just so the reality of it is totally inescapable. He says it right to your face, right against your lips, grinning while he runs his hands down your body like he owns it. “You want it, don’t you?”
He takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. His eyes are fixed on yours while he kisses your fingertips then your palm, then opens his mouth and licks you, filthy wet. He leads your hand down between his legs where there is no barrier anymore. He wraps your wet hand around him, so fucking hard and hot.
His bigger hand is wrapped around yours as he guides you like he’s the older, more experienced one and you’re a trembling, helpless girl. His eyes are so intense, his energy so overwhelmingly dominant, that it is hypnotizing, and you think for a moment you must become exactly that.
“Yes,” you say. “Yes, sir.” It slips out as thoughtlessly as that good boy, but this time he rewards the correct answer.
He continues to guide your hand on his cock, stroking slowly, and touches you with his other hand. He is flushed and breathing heavy, and a little sweaty at his hairline, but he is still more composed than you. That never happens; you are the level-headed one, always. But he stares down at you, calm and collected as you touch each other. He is the one to work you into a frantic state, until you are crying out and close to coming.
Your legs are shaking. You can’t concentrate on touching him and he knows it, so he guides your hand to his hip instead. You hold onto him as he lays you down on the bed, his hand never stopping between your legs. You arch your back and close your eyes, riding the length of his fingers, shuddering under the steady roll of his thumb. You come again, shouting his name, gasping and writhing and slamming your thighs closed around his hand.
He pushes them apart again. He leaves you barely a breath before he is poised between your open thighs. He must know you are still throbbing from the rolling wave of your orgasm when he angles your hips and slides right into you. It happens so fast, so smooth and wet and easy, like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, like he’s been waiting far longer than a few hours to be there.
“Fuck,” he says, and finally seems to come a bit undone. If he intended to fuck you slowly, it doesn’t happen. It’s like his patience runs out all at once and he rolls his hips down into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He goes breathless, voice disappearing, and he pants and whines instead, staring at where his cock slides wetly, messily in and out of your soft and needy pussy.
You hold onto his wrists, letting him move your body exactly how he wants, trusting he will give you what you need. And he does, stretching those soft walls and hitting all those squishy, weak places inside you, begging to surrender to him. You feel so open, so wet, and he feels so deep, even going so fast.
Then he somehow feels deeper. It makes your eyes roll closed. He pushes your thighs back and presses his body more closely to yours. Your faces are near again, whispering each other’s names before he kisses you. His tongue seems to claim you as deep as the rest of him, making you feel so wholly taken.
Both your hands are on his face, holding him there, kissing him back. You slowly slide one hand down his side, making him laugh when you touch somewhere ticklish and sensitive. You smile back, but that giggling mirth disappears when you take one of his hands and slap it to your ass – more your thigh, at this awkward angle.
He makes a noise into your mouth, rumbling and low. Then you are the noisy one, mewling as he flips you over with quick work of his hands. There is a mirror on your vanity that you can see now, cheek pressed on your sheets while he lifts your hips to get back inside you. You see the shudder that moves through his lean body as he sinks into your pussy and you squeeze around him.
You feel his thumbs rubbing circles where he spread you open, and you feel as his fingers splay across your skin. You see him lift his hand but it’s still a surprise when it comes down again.
Your eyes close instinctively and you whimper, feeling needy and pathetic and thrilled with it. You don’t feel like you have to hide anything, don’t think you even can, as you arch your back and beg for more. He brings his hand down again, again, as he fucks you, fast and dirty and mean until you are aching inside and outside.
Then he reaches around you and pulls you up, your back to his chest. He puts you in his lap and fucks you with an arm across your collarbone and another hand covering an obscenely bouncing breast. He squeezes and teases you, gets you moaning loud and carefree as him.
He notices the mirror at the last moment and looks momentarily stunned in the best way, then he smiles that mean smile at you. The arm across your collar shifts and he clasps his hand around your throat. Clutching you so possessively, he moans your name and thrusts hard. You feel as he comes, warm inside you, leaving no part of your body untouched by him.
“Oh,” you say, still shaking in the aftermath. You are both breathing hard, still clinging together.
He hums in agreement. His grip loosens and he moves, the slightest change in position making you whimper. He twitches inside of you, like that sound is almost enough to make him go again.
He lays you down on your front, the sheets cool on your hot skin as you press your cheek there. You gasp as he pulls out and you feel his cum leaking out of you. You can see him in the mirror, looking there, flushed and sweaty and surprised, like he was out of his body until this moment. You know the feeling.
Fuck, you think, your more rational self scolding you from where she is buried six feet in the back of your head. You just let one of your brother’s stupid little friends blow a load into you, idiot.
It will be fine. You had flirtatiously mentioned it earlier, having been oh-so prepared with internal protection and disappointed by your date, what a waste since you would have allowed, well…
It feels like years since you were just talking, merely perched on the edge of anticipation with all those champagne bubbles.
Now you are in the very real world after the fact. Even though you know you’re safe and fine, you still let him come inside you. You don’t even usually let a man hold your hand until the third date at least. So much for your lists and rules.
“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, a wonderful hand gliding gently up your spine. It feels so good, just that simple, comforting touch. The silly voice gets buried again.
“Hmm,” you say and nod, eyes closing, content.
You feel him lay down beside you. You are at the foot of the bed and will have to move, but you both catch your breath for now. You open your eyes to look at him, find his looking at him, his cheek squished into the bed too. You blink at each other, then smile at the same time.
“You okay too?” you ask.
“Oh yes,” he says, and you both laugh.
The laughter softens when he reaches out and touches your face, just stroking your cheek. His eyes follow the caress. You swear they are sparkling with his happiness.
Your heart does a funny summersault. You have never felt it do that and it surprises you. Is genuine affection a physical feeling? Maybe it’s just the aftermath of everything else.
Maybe, you think, it’s just him.
“Will you stay the night?” you ask, shyly. You are not usually shy. You would not care about the answer at all. But you care about his answer, you realize. You think you would be hurt if he said no. That is a little frightening, and also a little exciting, your heart racing with emotions.
He smiles at you and it races even faster.
“I’ll stay forever,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be a joke but it comes out a little too sincere with his piercing eyes and sweet smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s blushing because he is still so flushed from exertion, but you think so.
It should make you cringe. But just like when he kissed the back of your hand, it is so goofy and ridiculous that it swings right back around to being endearing. And so you giggle instead, biting your lip to keep it in. But you don’t need to hide, because the giggling relaxes him, and he beams back at you.
He offers his hand. You take it and your clasped fingers rest between you.
“I’m afraid we’ve ruined our chance at friendship, Jeongin,” you say, looking at his fingers curled around yours.
“Hm,” he says. “That might be for the best. You don’t want to have to another date with the piss-before-dessert guy.”
You both laugh, squeezing hands.
“No,” you say. “You’re right about that.”
“Good thing I’m here,” he says.
“Yes.” You wonder if your eyes are sparkling too. It’s a little embarrassing to consider, but you find you don’t mind at all. “A very good thing.”
Your more pragmatic side does eventually surface. Tangled with this new version of you, she is a little shy, but Jeongin seems to understand her, so it’s okay. He agrees to follow your lead, that you don’t want to tell anyone just yet as you explore this thing between you. He just seems happy that there is something further to explore.
Eventually, his smug little grins and cheesy expressions are too much for you, and you laugh and swat his chest, and you both get under the covers and start kissing again.
-
Of course, your plan to not tell anyone is thwarted the next morning when Hyunjin barges into your apartment without knocking. Like the spoiled primadonna little brother he is, he waltzes right into your bedroom, complaining about something from work. Well, he promptly forgets all his problems, slack-jawed at finding you and Jeongin groggily stirring under the covers.
“Hyunjin—” you say, fully awake in a second, because you can tell what’s coming from that look on his face.
Hyunjin screams. Jeongin covers his ears, wincing, and you sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Hyunjin!” you shout, louder than him.
He runs out of the room. You and Jeongin exchange a glance, him smothering a laugh as you huff in annoyance. You throw on a house robe while Jeongin looks around for his jeans. You go to the kitchen where Hyunjin is rinsing his eyes in the sink.
“Hyunjin,” you grunt. “For goodness’s sake.”
Jeongin emerges from the bedroom, shirtless because his t-shirt was abandoned somewhere near the couch. You look at each other, helpless but to smile in the morning light, even while your melodramatic brother has a breakdown by the faucet. Keeping it a secret was your only real contingency, and now that’s done and over. It leaves you without any sort of plan at all.
You walk over to the couch and find Jeongin’s t-shirt. You hold it out to him. He approaches slowly, still smiling. When he takes it, you tug on it, pulling him close.
So it turns out you have no plan at all. And you should be panicking, should be descending into melodrama.
But he smiles at you. Those dimples really will be your undoing.
And so you smile back, unbound by any rules or expectations, completely and totally free.
-
“Oh my god, stop kissing,” Hyunjin says. “That’s my sister! What the hell! When did you two even meet again? What is going on right now?”
blind date ; jeongin x reader ; one-shot
masterlist.
( READ ON AO3. )
You are on a terrible blind date when you run into a boy from your past - only, he is far from a boy now. And he is determined to prove it to you.
pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: a lot of sexual tension (thoroughly resolved). older woman/younger man. little brother's friend (hyunjin is the brother). reader's age is ambiguous but she is explicitly older. jeongin was hyunjin's friend when they were university freshman and she hasn't seen him since. power exchanges (she calls him a good boy and he basically says oh, really, you think huh?). one use of noona, more pointedly than anything. dom!jeongin, sub!reader, pussy-eating, hand kink, spanking, creampie. also some drinking but no one is drunk. and reader's blind date is very rude and makes unprompted remarks (bringing up a piss kink randomly, comments about her ordering dessert, sexist comments about friendships with men.)
(word count: 8700 words.)
enjoy ;)
-
“And if tonight is gonna work,” your date says, “you will need to be good with piss.”
You freeze, your water glass halfway to your lips.
“Uh, sorry,” you say. You clear your throat. “Piss?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’ll need to piss on me. That’s not a problem is it?”
You like to consider yourself a reasonable person. You are not someone who jumps to conclusions or overreacts. People at work look up to you as a guiding figure in times of crisis. You are very in control of your emotions.
It is an astounding testament to your abilities that you refrain from chucking your glass at this moron.
It has been a few years since you were last on a blind date. You have since approached the oh-so shuddering threshold of long-term adulthood singleness, but how desperate is that supposed to make you? Does a vague gym buddy of your colleague genuinely think it’s appropriate to tell you, unprompted, that he wants you to piss on him tonight? Ugh.
For the first time, you wish you were more like your ridiculous little brother. Hyunjin would have flipped the table on this guy. You need to be a melodramatic bitch like Hyunjin.
You are shocked into silence. The waiter arrives and puts your food on the table. Your date thanks him.
“You think about it,” he says, still unashamed. “I’m gonna take a leak. But you hold onto yours, huh?” He laughs like that was funny.
You are still staring at his empty seat when he leaves. You put your water glass back on the table.
This is the last time you let Changbin arrange a blind date.
You look between your table and the exit, wondering if you can bolt and text your bad date an excuse. You can tell him you had a family emergency. Or a medical emergency. Or maybe you simply realized roasting your head over an open flame would be more fun than this date.
Your gaze wanders over the bar and stops on a head of dark hair. You tip your head, struck with a sense of déjà vu. The dark haired man is looking your way and he is as familiar as he is good looking. Not only is he impeccably dressed from his smart shoes to the crisp white shirt between the lapels of a jean jacket, but he is preposterously handsome. He is all long lines, svelte but athletic and flaunting it in the clean silhouette of denim on denim. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high, but his eyes are friendly. Dark hair falls neatly over his forehead, a smiling face just under it. His dimples are incredibly pronounced.
Those dimples. Oh.
You recognize him at the same time he recognizes you. Surprise bursts on both your faces.
He approaches the table, hands in his pockets and those deep dimples beaming at you. Your heart skips a beat and you blame it on surprise. It must be surprise, because it would be very inappropriate if it was spontaneous attraction for one of your little brother’s university friends.
“Hi!” Jeongin says, his laughter as endearingly wheezy as you remember.
The rest of him is not quite as you remember. Jeongin is a year younger than Hyunjin but Hyunjin spent a gap year in Paris ‘chasing his artistic soul’ so they were university freshmen together. They met at some summer program and Jeongin spent most of the season hanging around your house. Hyunjin is an irredeemable little twerp but his friends are remarkably nice. Jeongin was the sweetest of the lot. He was always helpful and polite, a little gawky and awkward in that over-grinning, brace-faced, eighteen-year-old-boy way, but nice.
You had nothing in common at the time so you didn’t spare him much of a second glance.
Jeongin is… not eighteen anymore. Not gawky. Not awkward. His smile is perfect now, his build still slender but strong, his dark eyes sparkling and his hands –
He extends a hand for a shake, his long, long ringed fingers reaching for yours. You can’t help but run your gaze up that hand, his arm, over the breadth of his shoulders, until you finally look into his smiling face.
“Hi,” you say. It takes another second, but you come to your senses. You shake his hand a little firmer. “Jeongin. Hi. It’s been a while.” You do remember he had a contagious smile. That much is still the same, those dimples coaxing your own smile out of hiding. “How are you?” you ask. And because the reality of it is still computing, you also blurt, “You look good. Really good. Wow.”
He laughs again, looking a little embarrassed with how his eyes drop. He is still smiling when he meets your gaze again.
“Thank you,” he says. “You too. Wow.”
He says it in the same awkward, surprised way you did. It makes you laugh together. It is a bubbly, champagne laughter, intoxicating, perched on the edge of anticipation.
Your hands are still clasped and your eyes still locked. Those bubbles start to feel suspiciously like butterflies.
You drop his hand. You have to press your palms together to numb the leftover tingles. His own hand flexes.
“I hope you’re doing well,” you say. “You must have graduated university already?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and nods, several head bobs in a row. A nervous fidget maybe. Not unlike your thumbs pushing at each other in your lap.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m a teacher. Substitute teaching right now. Hyunjin said you moved out of town for a while…?”
“Moved back a few weeks ago,” you say. “Promotion at work moved me out, another one moved me back.”
“Are you happy to be back?”
“Yeah,” you say, a little airily. It’s not a lie but also not the truth. You had as much going on back there as here, which is pretty much nothing but work. But you’re certainly not getting into the gritty details of all that with Jeongin. Not when Mister Golden Showers could get back any minute. So you just nod and say, “It’s nice being close to my old friends and family again.”
“Hyunjin missed you,” Jeongin says. He steps a little closer, speaking in a low voice. “I know he’d never say it, so I’ll tell you for him.”
You giggle, the sound surprising you. You bite your lip to hold it.
“Thanks,” you say. “Always good to have a spy giving up my brother’s secrets.”
He salutes, then admits, “Hyunjin is pretty easy to betray.”
“I believe you,” you say with a snort. “I love the kid, but I think the hair dye fumes are getting to him.”
“I shouldn’t say it,” he says, grinning, “but I was definitely the brains to his looks.”
“You could give him a run for his money now,” you say without thinking. It sounds more matter-of-fact than flirtatious, but that honesty is almost more provocative.
The tips of his ears turn red. It makes your own skin feel warm to the touch. He lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck. His ringed fingers circle his neck and settle on his shoulder, idly pressing there while he gazes down at you.
“Thank you,” he says. “You look… you look fantastic. Are you…” He glances at the food in your date’s spot. “With someone, I’m guessing?”
“Blind date,” you answer quickly. “So, yeah, I’m a little more dressed up, haha. Thanks. But yeah, I’m single and…” You look at your water glass. “I don’t think that’s gonna change tonight.”
“Uh oh.” He laughs, his face brightening once more. “Going that well?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” you say with a much beleaguered sigh. You’re usually more discreet, but tonight has taken a toll. You think you are going to explode. Piss? Really? During the main course? Come on.
“Sorry to hear it,” he says. His dimples soften as his smile goes from goofy to soft. “His loss. I’m serious.”
There’s a moment of charged silence. You really cannot deny the reciprocated attraction.
You try to suppress it. You are not in the habit of picking up early twenty-somethings who hang out with your dumb brother, especially not while out with someone else. So you clear your throat and reach for your glass, giving you an excuse to look away from him.
“What about you?” you ask. “Are you here with someone?”
It’s a casual question. At least, it’s supposed to be. It could be misconstrued as interest. Even your own ears catch the hint of curiosity.
You take a big gulp of cold water.
“I’m meeting a blind date too actually,” he says. He rocks on his heels. “I’m single too.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Well,” you say with a curt nod. “I hope it goes better than mine.”
As if summoned like the demon of discomfort that he is, your date returns. There is a substantial musculature difference between him and Jeongin as your date is a self-identified gym rat, but he is so conventionally good looking in contrast to Jeongin’s distinguished character that he is immediately boring to look at.
You would far rather spend the night looking at Jeongin’s funny expressions. Even now, his thick eyebrows knit together as he gives your date a quick onceover. He looks back at you with a smile like you’re sharing a secret.
“We’re not quite ready for dessert,” your date tells Jeongin. “She probably doesn’t need any, but I’ll ask about the tart after.”
Jeongin tries to hide his laugh in a cough. Your date looks at him funny.
You suck in a breath, trying not to cringe at your date or laugh at Jeongin.
“Jeongin is not a waiter,” you say. “He’s a friend. He was just saying hi.”
“You’re friends with men?” your date says apprehensively. “As a female?”
Jeongin purses his lips, looking at you with a cringe. You do your best to remain composed.
“Yes,” you say with fake sweetness. “Like the one who set us up in the first place, remember?”
“I’m, uh, gonna head back to my spot,” Jeongin interrupts, pointing over his shoulder. “Cool, uh, meeting you,” he says to your date. “And getting your dessert order.” When he looks at you, it’s with a wink. He says your name and offers his hand for another shake. “It was nice talking. Good luck.”
You are about to respond, but then he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. It’s so cheesy and stupid that it swings right back around to being adorable, especially with his mischievous eyes twinkling at you the whole time. Those dimples stay pressed, the touch of his hand lingering when he lets go. This time, there are leftover tingles from his lips as well.
“Have a good night,” he says. He gives one last nod then leaves.
You watch him go until your date scoffs. You look at him with a quirked eyebrow.
“No offence,” he says in an indubitably offensive manner, “but that’s why a female shouldn’t be friends with men. You might not know it, but he was being inappropriate.”
“Oh. Really.” Much as you smother your bitch gene, you and your brother share a natural propensity to glare a dummy down. You are certain your date feels the ice in your stare. “I know you’re good looking and it has allowed you to behave rudely and not get called a creep, but speaking as a woman with plenty of experience, you need to learn to show some respect for your partners and their wants. And for the record, no, I will not be pissing on you tonight, or any night. In fact, I have zero intention of even kissing you. No! No. Don’t say anything. It’s fine. Eat your food. I’ll eat mine. We’ll pay. We’ll go. Sounds good? Good.”
Unfortunately, your scolding probably gets him hard. At least he already peed.
-
You finish your meal in silence. Your date pays since he’s such an oh-so grand gentleman, then he leaves on his own.
You can follow. The dinner is over, the food gone, the cheque paid. It’s just you and the drops of white wine swirling around the bottom of your glass. You look into it, the little tang still lingering on your tongue. It’s almost empty. You can leave.
You should leave.
Here’s the thing: in the time it took to finish dinner, a pretty young woman joined Jeongin at the bar. Your gaze wandered over there despite knowing better. Curiosity and a hint of jealousy conquered your good sense.
Sensible, that’s what you always are. You do not suffer fools. But here you are, acting like one. It’s ridiculous. It’s fun.
You looked over more than once. The pair of them chatted politely, Jeongin friendly and laughing as always. She’s a lucky girl, you told yourself. And he’s a good guy. You wanted them to have a nice time.
Really.
But you are a little pleased they never left the bar. They had one drink each and chatted a little. He made no moves. She touched his arm a few times, leaned in when showing him something on her phone, but he leaned away and found reasons to move her hand.
Eventually, they hugged dispassionately and said good night. The woman left.
Jeongin is still sitting at the bar, nursing a drink that is also down to its dredges. He has his chin propped on his fist, his attention on his phone as he flips through it with a dull expression. You look at his long fingers wrapped around the device, at the rings on his closed fist, the way his hair flutters when he sighs and purses his full lips.
He casts you a sideways glance.
He’s been doing it all night.
Every time, your heart skips a beat. Your usual powers of deliberation are failing you. Going over there feels like a stupid thing to do. Sitting here also feels like a stupid thing to do. You hate that the wrong man is being a gentleman, waiting for you to decide if that’s the direction you want to go.
You take the final swig of wine and draw your purse over your shoulder. You walk over to the bar. He has no reason to be here, same as you, so it is abundantly obvious you are waiting on each other. That doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe he just wants to catch up some more. You can talk as friends.
He lifts his head and his smile is not friendly at all, softer than a smirk but suggestive all the same. Oh, it feels very wrong to submit to the heat that follows, but that makes it all the more tantalizing. This is Yang Jeongin, you tell yourself, even while he checks you out and you very much let him, accentuating your walk with a swing.
“Hi,” you say, taking the seat beside him.
“Hi,” he replies. “How was dessert?”
You laugh while waving to the bartender. One glass of wine was enough to melt those bubbles into a warm simmer, but you suspect it is not quite enough to stoke whatever comes next.
That is unusual for you, usually so self-possessed, but the novelty makes your pulse pound.
The bartender brings you another glass. You sift through your purse for your wallet but Jeongin taps his card on the machine before you find it.
He grins at you with those deep dimples. His credit card is delicately balanced between two ringed fingers. He curls them back in and it’s all a little much, like he knows you’re looking at his hands that way.
“Since you’re older than me,” Jeongin says, making your heart skip a beat, “there is something I want to ask first.”
“Oh?”
Even though he says first, implying the expectation of every moment after that, you still anticipate a certain question. Should he acknowledge that age difference in how he addresses you?
But he tilts his head, his dark eyes so focussed on you. It makes you realize how intensely you have been staring back into his eyes. You lower your gaze. His long fingers are at his neck, fidgeting with the chain of a necklace.
“I’m just wondering,” he says, with a softer smile and a little laugh, “Does my age make you uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable?” You stare intently at your wine glass then take a slow sip.
You can feel him looking at you. You catch the wander of his gaze, eyes tracing the shape of you. You feel so very close. His knee touches yours under the bar.
“That is not the word I would use,” you say, voice just a little lower, just a little softer, so he has to lean a little closer.
“But you’re thinking about it,” he says.
You stare at your glass, feeling a lot of heat high in your cheeks. You rub your thumb up and down the stem.
“Yes,” you admit. You look at him slowly, not sure what to expect.
His whole face brightens with delight and he laughs. He is more than a little flushed too.
“Good,” he says and looks down at his own glass like he is embarrassed. He downs the last swallow of spirits.
“Good?” you ask with a helpless laugh, so taken aback by the reaction. “Why is that good?”
He hooks his foot around your bar stool. Startled, you gasp as he pulls you closer so you are touching along the whole side-lengths of your bodies.
“Because if you weren’t thinking about it,” he says with a blush, “it would mean you are here because you are just being friendly. It would mean you aren’t thinking about me as anything but your little brother’s friend.”
You sit a little straighter when you feel his hand under the counter. Just a touch, his fingers moving softly over your knee. The fabric of your skirt wrinkles under the gentle attention. When you do not protest – when your lips part and you press a little closer to his side, knee to knee and arm to arm and shoulder to shoulder – his thumb curls in and takes a bit of your skirt with it. You feel it whispering across your skin in a teasing suggestion.
“But if you are thinking about it,” he says, “then I think… maybe you aren’t here because you are just being friendly.”
“Mm, I see.” You tilt your head towards his. “You don’t think we can be friends?”
He laughs and says, “I can be friendly.” And he lightly squeezes you, his fingertips pressing the inside of your knee.
You are looking at each other so intently; anything could be happen in this room and you would miss it. You have eyes for each other and nothing else. The evening’s possibilities play as a shared fantasy between you.
The more pragmatic part of you says no, no way, not your thing. You’ve always been strict with men, no goofing around, no one night stands, and they always meet your approved list of expectations.
That list does not include a man this much younger than you, your little brother’s friend, with dark eyes and a far too mischievous smile.
“All right,” you say as your heart races with nerves and exhilaration. “Let’s be friends, then.”
-
A friend would walk you home after a bad blind date. A friend would ask all the nice questions that Jeongin asks, and he would make you laugh like Jeongin does. He would gasp with boyish incredulity when you tell him about your date’s inappropriate remarks. He would hum with sympathy that you were disappointed, that you were prepared for a long night, that with the right partner you might have allowed, well…
A friend would smile, his eyes sparkling, as he opened the door to your building. He would gently touch your lower back and press the elevator button for you.
Perhaps that is why the tension between you is so thick. A bubble surrounds it: the thinnest veneer of innocence to every interaction. If you both chose to say goodbye now, then nothing ever really happened, did it? You didn’t really go there, didn’t break all your rules. It wouldn’t be a lie to say you were friendly and nothing more. No explicit word has been spoken.
But if glances were words, Jeongin would have written you a novel tonight.
He leans against the opposite elevator wall, his eyes moving down your body while you pretend not to notice. He has already complimented every detail of your appearance, but much more has gone unsaid, at least verbally. Just like your preoccupation with his hands, his gaze keeps dipping to the flare of your hips, the curve of your thighs and where the skirt clings to your backside. His fingers twitch before he pockets them, like he is desperate to stroke the length of your body, to press his fingers on the softest parts of you.
You are almost embarrassed at the notion of him touching you so intimately. Usually, there is a process to getting turned on, and you and your partner get there together. But if those fingers dare to touch, he will find you have already melted into a puddle of longing.
At your apartment door, you take your time, looking in your purse for your key. He stands patiently at your side with his hands in his pockets.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” you ask, like this invitation is at all unexpected, like you are still just being friendly.
Those dimples will be the death of you. They really do give the game away.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”
You know he is already seduced, just as you are, so you really don’t have to do anything but drop your coat and say, kiss me. You can picture what would swiftly follow, are far too experienced to be naïve about the direction of tonight, yet it seems at once too near and too impossible. It remains a thrill to imagine the journey. Maybe that is why you don’t simply jump him in the doorway.
He continues to be good, obedient to your desires, though his gaze is ever more roving and he fidgets a little more. Much longer and he may break his constraints without your direction – and that should be alarming, right? But it makes your core tighten and your breath catch.
He is drawn as taut, back straight, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. That thick tension is ready to split as the veneer melts away.
“Have a seat,” you say, pointing to the couch in the main room.
You hang your coat. Shoes are left by the door. He wanders through your living space with his hands caged in the pockets of his jean jacket. He looks around, smiling. The living area opens into the kitchen so you make yourself busy with fetching some glasses.
He sits politely on the couch like you told him.
“Here we go,” you say. You return with two glasses and an open wine bottle.
You sit beside him on the couch. Your knees touch as you face each other. He thanks you as you pour a little wine into each glass.
Then you each take a sip, looking at each other in the silence. You both smile. He laughs a little, still flushed and not really from the wine. You feel very warm even though your dress is sleeveless.
You talk more about this and that, an everything and nothing conversation, just filling that silence. Yes, filling it, more and more until that tension is fit to bursting and the bubble can no longer contain it.
Your hand shakes uncharacteristically. You slosh a bit of wine while drinking and laugh at yourself.
“Sorry,” you say, wiping your chin.
You put your glasses down at the same time. He is laughing too, a still-friendly sound, eyes bright.
“Here,” he says. “You missed a…”
And he touches you.
It is just his thumb at first, there at the corner of your lips. He wipes that tiny little drop of wine, his eyes fixated so resolutely on it. Then his gaze drifts into yours.
His thumb is still there, his fingers curled loosely under your chin.
You breathe in, can see your own chest rise dramatically with the intake of breath. His eyes never leave yours.
His touch is still gentle, but coaxing. His thumb moves across your cheek, his fingers opening beneath your jaw.
You find yourself leaning into his hand, basically nuzzling it. It is an entirely thoughtless action propelled by the base and carnal need to touch, touch, touch. Your heart races at having his hand on you, even just caressing your face.
His fingers sweep along your jaw, down your throat. You don’t remember when you grabbed his wrist but you’re holding it like you’re the younger, girlish one, desperate with your wide eyes and open mouth as you cling to his hand. His fingers curl around the back of your neck and pull you close.
You lean in until your faces are almost touching. You look at his mouth and he looks at yours, then your eyes meet again. Your hand slides up his arm as your mouths move achingly closer. You can feel his breath coming quickly, your exhales colliding. His hair brushes your forehead, his nose your nose.
You make a horribly embarrassing sound, whimpering even though you haven’t even kissed. But it moves right through you, starts low and rises past your lips.
Your hand is on his collar now, tugging. Your faces are still close, breath still mingling, gazes moving to your mouths and back again. He lowers his hands to unbutton his jean jacket. You try to help but you are suddenly clumsy and you wish you could blame the wine but it’s not that.
It’s him. Oh, fuck, this is Jeongin. It’s really all him, having this effect, doing this to you.
And you are so close to each other, about to breach that space, about to break every rule and change everything together.
His hands are also clumsy until he gets that last button undone, then he is tearing his jacket off with quick force. He has just pushed it off, only just freed his hands, is sitting there in his jeans and t-shirt with his necklaces and his long ringed fingers, staring at you and breathing hard when –
You close the distance at once. His mouth is soft on yours despite the intensity with which he moves. You could sink right into him, the kiss so, so good, worth every second of anticipation.
Your mouths move together and sighs pass between you. You make a sweet noise when he cups your face with both hands. He pulls you even closer, kisses you even deeper. He licks into you, but not too much too fast, just enough to make you throb at the possessive sweep and still leave you yearning for more.
He returns a low noise of satisfaction. He breathes the word, “Yes.”
Your arch your back and press against him as his hands move down your face. For a moment, both his hands are on your neck and he tilts your chin up with a press of his thumbs. Then his thumb is on your pulse, pressing down as he slides his deft fingers down your throat.
You touch his biceps, feel the bare skin revealed by his t-shirt, squeeze the lean muscles there. Your fingers press in, climbing a little higher.
His warm kisses move from your mouth to your jaw. He leaves a few gentle presses there, then he is sucking a hot, harsh kiss on your throat.
His hands are quick in their sweeping caress down your arms. He takes the straps of your dress with him, the fabric looped neatly into his clever fingers. You shrug out of the top as swiftly as he did his jacket. He is fast then, unclipping your strapless bra and tossing it to the side.
Your eyes have been closed the whole time, so lost to sensation, but you open them when he wraps both his arms around your waist and hauls you easily into his lap. Perched on his thighs, you stare down at him, at the lushness of his mouth. His eyelids are heavy too, complexion so flushed. His necklaces are askew, his hair a little messy, his pristine t-shirt already rumpled where you fisted the material in your desperate clawing.
You feel your own desire, so evident in your expressions and movements. You have been stiff with tension all evening, but now you are so pliant and open, legs spread over his lap, dress tugged down to your waist, skin bare to him, and breathing hard.
He stares back at you, shifts his hands around your hips. You close your eyes and whimper again, though you’ll never admit you made such a sound. You certainly never thought you’d make it for Yang Jeongin, but here you are, an embarrassing bundle of nerves and desire, coming undone in his arms. That sound is whining and needy as he pulls you down into his lap, rolling his hips under yours.
“Jeongin,” his name is little more than a squeak of noise on your frantic mouth. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull his face close. Your mouths are almost touching again as he grinds against you.
Your dress is hardly protecting your modesty in this state, bare breasts rubbing against his shirt, wet sex grinding against his thickening bulge. Only thin black lace is keeping you from making a mess on his jeans.
He makes a stuttering noise that might be an attempt at your name. You sink your fingers into his hair, press your open mouth to his and kiss him deeply. He moans into it while curving his hands down your thighs, then back up under your skirt. He touches your bare skin there, all those soft and tender place so close to the heart of your desire. His thumbs caress your inner thighs and his big hands squeeze their fill.
Then his hands are on your hips and he moves. You are surprised to find yourself once more sitting on the couch. He flips you in the space of a moment, sits you down, and pushes the coffee table out of his way. Then he is on his knees in front of you, your underwear already halfway down your thighs before you even fully realize it.
The panties join the bra somewhere on the floor with the jean jacket. He sits back on his heels and gazes up at you. His mouth is pink from kissing and his breathing a little laboured. But his smile – his smirk – is downright filthy. He looks at you as he plucks his rings off, one by one, and puts them on the table behind him. The necklaces follow. Then he kneels upright and runs his hands through his hair to clear his face.
You make a very undignified little squeak when he pulls you to the edge of the couch. He lifts your skirt to your waist and puts your legs over his shoulders. He wets his fingers in his open mouth and you laugh, breathless.
“Trust me,” you say. “That won’t be necessary.”
His finger leaves his tongue. It moves to the inside of your thigh, which is resting on his shoulder, the sensitive skin there a little ticklish. You squirm but are secure in his hold.
His hand continues its path, torturously slow. He is luxuriating in the feel of you while you rock your hips in need of more. He ignores that pleading, so cruelly, and continues to touch, stroke, caress, and tease until finally his knuckle moves between your thighs to find how much you want him.
“Oh,” you gasp. “Jeongin, please—”
For a moment, he is just breathing hard, slowly touching you, unfurling his fingers and sliding them inside you. He curses under his breath. When you clench involuntarily around his fingers, he seems to realize he isn’t dreaming. Then he smiles, looking very pleased with himself, but you can’t even feel embarrassed because he knows how to use his hands and he does. Competently. Thoroughly.
You throw your head back, slouching against the couch while he makes a complete mess of you. Then he dives forward and his mouth is there too, a moan in his throat as his tongue seeks out the swell of pleasure amidst all that wet heat. He is fast but steady, face happily buried there, your thighs pressing against his head. You shove your fingers into his hair and pull him even closer. You lift your hips and hiccup with gasps as he deftly and seemingly so easily draws you over that crest into a mind-shattering orgasm.
“Ah—!" is the only sound you manage, your eyes closed, your fingers pressing into his scalp.
He brings you to a slow descent, hands on the outside of your thighs as you twitch with shuddering aftershocks.
You loosen your grip and feather your fingers through his soft dark hair. You sigh, a satisfied exhale.
“Oh.” You feel fuzzy, like you are floating even though he has put your feet back on the ground. You look at him through heavy-eyelids. All those giggly, girlish bubbles are back, tingling through your whole body. “Oh, wow,” you say. He is already flushed but that makes him blush a little harder, though he stays grinning. “Oh, you are a good boy.”
That isn’t normally the type of thing you say; it just sort of comes out in your dreamy post-orgasmic haze. It doesn’t much resonate with you, but it certainly does with him. It makes him lift an eyebrow and tilt his head, his eyes narrowing just a bit, as if with determination.
“Good… boy…” he says. He kneels upright and looks at you with those dark, penetrating eyes. “Am I a boy, noona?” And he stands up between your legs so he is towering over you.
From your vantage on the couch, your eyeline directly falls to the thick, unmistakable bulge trapped in denim. Your gaze lifts when he gathers the hem of shirt and pulls it over his head. It falls somewhere but you don’t see it, because your eyes are on him, drinking in every hard plane of his naked chest.
Your eyes lower when his confident hands go to his belt and flick it open. Then he gestures to you, a come-hither command with the same two fingers that fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life.
“Come on,” he says. “Take it off. I’ll show you if I’m a boy, hm?”
You reach for him, a little shaky from the tremors of pleasure, so he grabs your hand mid-air and pulls it towards his belt as if impatient. You sit up straighter, determined now, weaving his belt through the loops and off. It clatters to the floor and he grabs your face with both hands, tilting your head all the way back, and swoops down to kiss you with a domineering, desperate hunger.
He pulls you up like that, kissing you, claiming you, probably ruining you for every other kiss in your life. Your legs are shaky under you but he holds you, first your face, then a hand on your lower back, bringing your body against his. That bulge presses against you and your skirt is rucked up between you, so it’s bare skin on denim. This time you don’t squeak but practically squeal.
You rear against him, desperate, hands on his bare shoulders and chest, feeling him up. You put a leg around him to press harder against his bulge. He catches that thigh, hiking it around his waist and holding you there. You tip your head back, his mouth finding your throat, both of you moaning as he grinds a filthy rhythm against your softest most vulnerable place.
“Bedroom,” he whispers into the skin of your throat. You point over his shoulder in the vaguest gesticulation, not entirely sure of up from down never mind the layout of your own apartment.
He scoops you into his arms. You wrap both legs around his waist, string both arms around his neck, and kiss him with frantic, impatient need. He kisses you back, carrying you to the bedroom door and kicking it. It flies open and probably hits the wall too hard, but you don’t even notice, lost in all those deep kisses.
He groans with pleasure and carefully places you down. It takes you a second to find your balance but you do. You rock on your feet, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he kisses and bites down your throat. He blazes a hot, wet trail to your breasts. His mouth is there as he fumbles with your skirt, finally tearing it off and leaving you completely bare.
He grabs the back of your neck and kisses your mouth, holding you against him while his other hand smooths down the curve of your spine. He guides you closer, encouraging you to arch into him, and eventually settles that hand in a possessive squeeze on your ass. Then it moves around your body until he finds your hand. He grabs it and puts it on his bulge, curves your palm around the hard shape of it, making you rub him until you are breathing hard into each other’s mouths.
“Am I a good boy?” he asks, mouth so close that your lips brush when he speaks.
You don’t answer because you have essentially descended into a primal state, thighs pressed together, pushing your naked chest against his, squeezing him in your hand. You have no thoughts for once, everything purely physical.
“Huh?” he asks. He squeezes the back of your neck, just enough to make you gasp into his open mouth. Just enough your eyes open, meeting his piercing, determined stare. He knows he has you. You have been talking all night. He knows your date, that man your age, was an immature disappointment. He knows you were looking at him all evening. He knows your thighs were rubbing together under that bar as you stared at his hands and his belt buckle and thought about this moment. He knows what you actually want. And he knows your answer to his question. “Am I a boy?”
“No,” you say, nearly breathless and dizzy with desire. “No, I’m sorry. You’re not. You’re—you’re—”
“I’m—?”
“Jeongin, Jeongin, please, please, please,” you cry out, trembling in his arms.
He smiles, those deep dimples far too sweet for the kind of look on his face. He kisses you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, soothing you and taking control of you all at once.
Then he laughs into the kiss, just lightly, and says into your obedient open mouth, “Good girl.”
You moan, already undone, clawing at his chest and shoulders as he lets go of you to open his jeans. You help push them down his hips then stumble towards the bed while he takes them off.
You face each other at the bedside, still standing, nearly colliding, breathing hard and faces close. There is a moment of pause, not hesitation but anticipation, like when you sat on that couch with your faces so close and the precipice before you. That moment right before the bubble burst, before you decided to throw away all your rules and change everything between you.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, just so the reality of it is totally inescapable. He says it right to your face, right against your lips, grinning while he runs his hands down your body like he owns it. “You want it, don’t you?”
He takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. His eyes are fixed on yours while he kisses your fingertips then your palm, then opens his mouth and licks you, filthy wet. He leads your hand down between his legs where there is no barrier anymore. He wraps your wet hand around him, so fucking hard and hot.
His bigger hand is wrapped around yours as he guides you like he’s the older, more experienced one and you’re a trembling, helpless girl. His eyes are so intense, his energy so overwhelmingly dominant, that it is hypnotizing, and you think for a moment you must become exactly that.
“Yes,” you say. “Yes, sir.” It slips out as thoughtlessly as that good boy, but this time he rewards the correct answer.
He continues to guide your hand on his cock, stroking slowly, and touches you with his other hand. He is flushed and breathing heavy, and a little sweaty at his hairline, but he is still more composed than you. That never happens; you are the level-headed one, always. But he stares down at you, calm and collected as you touch each other. He is the one to work you into a frantic state, until you are crying out and close to coming.
Your legs are shaking. You can’t concentrate on touching him and he knows it, so he guides your hand to his hip instead. You hold onto him as he lays you down on the bed, his hand never stopping between your legs. You arch your back and close your eyes, riding the length of his fingers, shuddering under the steady roll of his thumb. You come again, shouting his name, gasping and writhing and slamming your thighs closed around his hand.
He pushes them apart again. He leaves you barely a breath before he is poised between your open thighs. He must know you are still throbbing from the rolling wave of your orgasm when he angles your hips and slides right into you. It happens so fast, so smooth and wet and easy, like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, like he’s been waiting far longer than a few hours to be there.
“Fuck,” he says, and finally seems to come a bit undone. If he intended to fuck you slowly, it doesn’t happen. It’s like his patience runs out all at once and he rolls his hips down into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” He goes breathless, voice disappearing, and he pants and whines instead, staring at where his cock slides wetly, messily in and out of your soft and needy pussy.
You hold onto his wrists, letting him move your body exactly how he wants, trusting he will give you what you need. And he does, stretching those soft walls and hitting all those squishy, weak places inside you, begging to surrender to him. You feel so open, so wet, and he feels so deep, even going so fast.
Then he somehow feels deeper. It makes your eyes roll closed. He pushes your thighs back and presses his body more closely to yours. Your faces are near again, whispering each other’s names before he kisses you. His tongue seems to claim you as deep as the rest of him, making you feel so wholly taken.
Both your hands are on his face, holding him there, kissing him back. You slowly slide one hand down his side, making him laugh when you touch somewhere ticklish and sensitive. You smile back, but that giggling mirth disappears when you take one of his hands and slap it to your ass – more your thigh, at this awkward angle.
He makes a noise into your mouth, rumbling and low. Then you are the noisy one, mewling as he flips you over with quick work of his hands. There is a mirror on your vanity that you can see now, cheek pressed on your sheets while he lifts your hips to get back inside you. You see the shudder that moves through his lean body as he sinks into your pussy and you squeeze around him.
You feel his thumbs rubbing circles where he spread you open, and you feel as his fingers splay across your skin. You see him lift his hand but it’s still a surprise when it comes down again.
Your eyes close instinctively and you whimper, feeling needy and pathetic and thrilled with it. You don’t feel like you have to hide anything, don’t think you even can, as you arch your back and beg for more. He brings his hand down again, again, as he fucks you, fast and dirty and mean until you are aching inside and outside.
Then he reaches around you and pulls you up, your back to his chest. He puts you in his lap and fucks you with an arm across your collarbone and another hand covering an obscenely bouncing breast. He squeezes and teases you, gets you moaning loud and carefree as him.
He notices the mirror at the last moment and looks momentarily stunned in the best way, then he smiles that mean smile at you. The arm across your collar shifts and he clasps his hand around your throat. Clutching you so possessively, he moans your name and thrusts hard. You feel as he comes, warm inside you, leaving no part of your body untouched by him.
“Oh,” you say, still shaking in the aftermath. You are both breathing hard, still clinging together.
He hums in agreement. His grip loosens and he moves, the slightest change in position making you whimper. He twitches inside of you, like that sound is almost enough to make him go again.
He lays you down on your front, the sheets cool on your hot skin as you press your cheek there. You gasp as he pulls out and you feel his cum leaking out of you. You can see him in the mirror, looking there, flushed and sweaty and surprised, like he was out of his body until this moment. You know the feeling.
Fuck, you think, your more rational self scolding you from where she is buried six feet in the back of your head. You just let one of your brother’s stupid little friends blow a load into you, idiot.
It will be fine. You had flirtatiously mentioned it earlier, having been oh-so prepared with internal protection and disappointed by your date, what a waste since you would have allowed, well…
It feels like years since you were just talking, merely perched on the edge of anticipation with all those champagne bubbles.
Now you are in the very real world after the fact. Even though you know you’re safe and fine, you still let him come inside you. You don’t even usually let a man hold your hand until the third date at least. So much for your lists and rules.
“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, a wonderful hand gliding gently up your spine. It feels so good, just that simple, comforting touch. The silly voice gets buried again.
“Hmm,” you say and nod, eyes closing, content.
You feel him lay down beside you. You are at the foot of the bed and will have to move, but you both catch your breath for now. You open your eyes to look at him, find his looking at him, his cheek squished into the bed too. You blink at each other, then smile at the same time.
“You okay too?” you ask.
“Oh yes,” he says, and you both laugh.
The laughter softens when he reaches out and touches your face, just stroking your cheek. His eyes follow the caress. You swear they are sparkling with his happiness.
Your heart does a funny summersault. You have never felt it do that and it surprises you. Is genuine affection a physical feeling? Maybe it’s just the aftermath of everything else.
Maybe, you think, it’s just him.
“Will you stay the night?” you ask, shyly. You are not usually shy. You would not care about the answer at all. But you care about his answer, you realize. You think you would be hurt if he said no. That is a little frightening, and also a little exciting, your heart racing with emotions.
He smiles at you and it races even faster.
“I’ll stay forever,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be a joke but it comes out a little too sincere with his piercing eyes and sweet smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s blushing because he is still so flushed from exertion, but you think so.
It should make you cringe. But just like when he kissed the back of your hand, it is so goofy and ridiculous that it swings right back around to being endearing. And so you giggle instead, biting your lip to keep it in. But you don’t need to hide, because the giggling relaxes him, and he beams back at you.
He offers his hand. You take it and your clasped fingers rest between you.
“I’m afraid we’ve ruined our chance at friendship, Jeongin,” you say, looking at his fingers curled around yours.
“Hm,” he says. “That might be for the best. You don’t want to have to another date with the piss-before-dessert guy.”
You both laugh, squeezing hands.
“No,” you say. “You’re right about that.”
“Good thing I’m here,” he says.
“Yes.” You wonder if your eyes are sparkling too. It’s a little embarrassing to consider, but you find you don’t mind at all. “A very good thing.”
Your more pragmatic side does eventually surface. Tangled with this new version of you, she is a little shy, but Jeongin seems to understand her, so it’s okay. He agrees to follow your lead, that you don’t want to tell anyone just yet as you explore this thing between you. He just seems happy that there is something further to explore.
Eventually, his smug little grins and cheesy expressions are too much for you, and you laugh and swat his chest, and you both get under the covers and start kissing again.
-
Of course, your plan to not tell anyone is thwarted the next morning when Hyunjin barges into your apartment without knocking. Like the spoiled primadonna little brother he is, he waltzes right into your bedroom, complaining about something from work. Well, he promptly forgets all his problems, slack-jawed at finding you and Jeongin groggily stirring under the covers.
“Hyunjin—” you say, fully awake in a second, because you can tell what’s coming from that look on his face.
Hyunjin screams. Jeongin covers his ears, wincing, and you sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Hyunjin!” you shout, louder than him.
He runs out of the room. You and Jeongin exchange a glance, him smothering a laugh as you huff in annoyance. You throw on a house robe while Jeongin looks around for his jeans. You go to the kitchen where Hyunjin is rinsing his eyes in the sink.
“Hyunjin,” you grunt. “For goodness’s sake.”
Jeongin emerges from the bedroom, shirtless because his t-shirt was abandoned somewhere near the couch. You look at each other, helpless but to smile in the morning light, even while your melodramatic brother has a breakdown by the faucet. Keeping it a secret was your only real contingency, and now that’s done and over. It leaves you without any sort of plan at all.
You walk over to the couch and find Jeongin’s t-shirt. You hold it out to him. He approaches slowly, still smiling. When he takes it, you tug on it, pulling him close.
So it turns out you have no plan at all. And you should be panicking, should be descending into melodrama.
But he smiles at you. Those dimples really will be your undoing.
And so you smile back, unbound by any rules or expectations, completely and totally free.
-
“Oh my god, stop kissing,” Hyunjin says. “That’s my sister! What the hell! When did you two even meet again? What is going on right now?”
AND THE CROWD [ME] CHEERED HIP HIP HOORAY *POPS A CHAMPAGNE LIKE FELIX* I COULD KISS YOU RN HAHAHAHA bet you cant tell im downbad for yang jeongin
~ ☁️
DJFJFJSKKFKF im glad ur excited my friend hehe its about 8000 words so hopefully a nice chunky sorry-for-the-unexpected-hiatus post HAHA 💕
i'm going to be so honest....... i check your blog with FEAR in my bones every time you post, in case it's the enemies3lovers sharing a bed chan fic, i'm SO not ready for that catastrophy after months of your hiatus - i'm shaking and redoing breathing exercises in preparation if i see a title and a long post instead of your latest updates.
ALSO! p.s. i'm so so so so SO invested in enemies to lovers hyunbin i keep having dreams abt what they're gonna be like it truly feels exactly like waiting for the skz comeback
ANYWAYSS!!! hope ud doing well and life has been treating you good, i wish all the best to you <333
p.s.s. bodyguard lino can bash my head into the floor and i'd say 'again??🥺'
- 🪻
ajdjfkskfkakdjjgg thank you so much, lovely! enemies2lovers chan is still on the horizon. it’s just gonna be like 20k words when I thought it would be less than 10k but OF COURSEEE i lost control as usual. it will nonetheless be among sooner than later and i hope you will enjoy it 😊💕
and omg.. just u wait for bodyguard lino.. i am fr obsessed w him. their dynamic is good sexy fun 🤭💕💕💕
