pairing: porn director!haechan x newbie porn star!fem reader
genre: smut (pwp) 18+ mdni!
warnings / tags: explicit sexual content, workplace power dynamics, horny pining, eye contact kink / eye fucking, voyeurism-ish, soft dom haechan, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (whoops), overstimulation, squirting
wc: ~7.5k of pure filth
a/n: i am so so so sorry for keeping you guys waiting 🥲 sorry in advance if it's shitty af so please lower your expectations 😭 but still! please please please let me know what you think 🙏
Part 1
The next morning hits like a hangover he didn’t earn.
Haechan shows up twenty minutes early — unheard of — coffee in one hand, hood pulled low and zipped to the chin. He's already snapping at the lighting guy before the man even opens his mouth.
“Move the key light three inches left. It’s going to wash her out. Again.”
The crew exchanges glances. He’s always been sharp, but today he’s mean.
Snapping at the sound guy for a mic that’s “too hot,” telling makeup to “Don’t overdo her lips today. I don’t want them looking bitten on camera” when they’re literally just glossed.
Everyone chalks it up to a bad night.
Only Haechan knows the truth: he spent the entire night replaying your orgasm on loop, coming twice more in the shower just trying to get you out of his system.
It didn’t work.
He’s halfway through giving notes to a PA when—
You laugh.
Soft. Bright. Somewhere behind him.
He goes still.
His eyes snap to you before he can stop them.
You’re standing near the monitors, robe loose, hair still a little messy from sleep with that same soft, nervous-excited smile you had yesterday. You wave at the crew, thank them again for the compliments.
For a second, he just watches.
Then your eyes flick up.
You catch him staring.
You hold it—just long enough to feel intentional.
His grip tightens around the coffee cup.
He looks away first. Too fast. Clears his throat. “Places in ten.”
–
The scene today is POV. Simple setup: male talent (thank fuck it’s not Chad this time) on his back, you riding him, camera mounted to mimic his view. Intimate. Close. Lots of eye contact, body rolls, hands on hips/thighs/waist for leverage. The kind of shot that sells “connection”.
Haechan hates it already.
He calls action. You climb onto the bed, robe slipping off your shoulders, skin glowing under the soft ring lights. The actor’s hands find your waist immediately—professional, practiced.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until you’re fully seated on his cock, a soft, involuntary moan slipping out as the stretch hits just right.
You start slow, grinding down in lazy circles, head tipping back on a breathy moan that’s half-scripted, half-real.
Haechan’s staring at the monitor like it personally offended him.
Except he doesn’t look away.
His jaw tightens as the feed fills with you—every shift of your hips, every soft expression.
It’s wrong. It’s his job to watch, to adjust, to make it look good.
But there’s a split second, buried under all of that, where it hits him differently—heat curling low in his stomach, sharp and unwanted.
It should be him.
The thought arrives before he can stop it.
Followed immediately by something uglier—the actor's hands on your waist, thumbs pressing into skin that Haechan can almost feel in his own palms.
He doesn't say anything. Obviously. He just grips his coffee harder than it needs to and watches you move, hating every second of how much he can’t look away.
“Camera’s too high,” he mutters. Then louder: “Cut. Reset.”
The crew groans internally. Second take, not even thirty seconds in.
You sit back on your heels, confused but obedient. Your co-actor slides out carefully.
Haechan stands and walks over. The set goes quiet.
“I need to adjust you,” he says, voice coming out rough. “The angle’s off. You’re blocking the shot.”
He’s lying.
The angle’s fine.
He just… needs to touch you. Once. Just once. To see if it’s as bad as he remembers from yesterday’s guiding scene.
You nod. “Okay.”
He steps between your parted thighs—still kneeling on the bed, robe open just enough that he can see the curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist. He doesn’t look down. Not yet.
His hands hover for half a second, then settle.
Left palm on your hip bone. Right on the soft dip above your waist.
The second his fingertips meet your skin, something in his brain short-circuits.
Soft.
Warm.
Giving under his grip like you were made to be held. Your skin is velvet-smooth, still carrying that faint post-shower heat, and when you shift slightly to give him better access, the flesh yields just enough to make his thumbs dig in involuntarily.
Fuck, she feels like this?
He’s touched hundreds of bodies on set. Guided hands, adjusted poses, repositioned limbs like they were props. Never once did it feel like this—like electricity arcing straight to his cock. Never once did his pulse hammer in his ears just from palms on hips.
He slides his hands lower—slow, “professional”—fingers splaying over the tops of your thighs. soft, thick, trembling just a little under his touch. He presses gently, spreading them wider for the camera (bullshit excuse), and your breath hitches. Tiny. Barely audible.
But he hears it.
His thumbs stroke once—once—along the inner curve of your thigh. Not high enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to feel the heat radiating from your core, close enough that he can smell your skin, your faint vanilla lotion, the ghost of arousal that’s already there.
You’re looking up at him. Eyes wide, lips parted. Not acting.
He’s losing it.
Mentally he’s already flipped you onto your back, spread you wide, buried his face between those thighs until you’re crying his name.
Physically, he’s still just…
Adjusting.
Hands shaking now. He can feel the tremor in his own fingers and prays you don’t notice.
“Like this,” he rasps, voice so low it’s almost a growl. He rolls your hips forward a fraction—guiding the motion you’ll use later—making your body arch just so. The movement drags your skin against his palms again, plush and perfect, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.
Your thighs flex under his grip. A soft exhale escapes you.
He freezes.
For one heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Then he forces his hands away. Steps back like he’s been burned.
“Better,” he mutters. “That’s… better.”
He turns to the crew before anyone can see how blown his pupils are. “Roll it again.”
He drops back into his chair, legs crossed to hide the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. One hand scrubs over his face. The other fists on his thigh so hard it’ll bruise.
On the monitor, you start moving again—hips rolling exactly the way he just positioned you. Slow. Sensual. Eyes flicking to him every few seconds like you’re checking if he approves.
He approves.
He approves so much he might come in his pants if you keep looking at him like that.
And the shoot’s only just started.
The cameras are rolling again. Reset complete. The POV rig is mounted—sleek, invasive, positioned right where your co-actor’s eyes would be if this were real. It captures everything from below: the slow roll of your hips, the bounce of your breasts, the way your thighs flex around his waist as you sink down inch by inch.
Haechan is back in his chair but his posture is rigid now, his fingers digging into the armrests. He’s trying—God, he’s trying—to be the detached professional. Voice steady. Directions clipped. But every word comes out rougher than the last.
“Action.”
You start moving. Slow grinds at first, building rhythm. Your co-actor’s hands rest on your hips—light, guiding. You lean back just enough for the camera to catch the arch of your back, the sway of your body.
Haechan’s eyes are glued to the monitor feed. The POV angle fills the screen: your face hovering close, lips parted, eyes locked straight down the lens. Straight at him.
He swallows hard.
“Eyes on the camera,” he directs, voice low but carrying. “Hold it. Make it feel like you’re looking right at them. Right at me—at the viewer.”
He means the viewer. He swears he means the viewer.
But the way you obey—immediately, intensely—your gaze piercing the lens like it’s his face instead. The way your lashes flutter when you sink down — just once, involuntary, like even you can't help it.
It wrecks him. Through the screen. Through every layer of professionalism he's clinging to.
You ride harder now. Hips circling, rolling, taking your co-actor deeper. Soft moans spill out, breathier than yesterday, less controlled. Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as your back arches, head tipping just enough for your hair to fall over one shoulder.
Haechan shifts in his seat, but the friction against his aching cock makes his vision blur at the edges.
“Hands up,” he says, sharper than he means to. “Grip her—firm. Support her rhythm. Make it look possessive—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Just keep her steady.”
Your co-actor obeys instantly. His palms slide up your sides, cupping your breasts—thumbs brushing the undersides before he squeezes gently, holding you steady as you bounce.
The monitor shows it all in perfect, filthy detail: the way your tits fill his hands, the subtle give of soft flesh under his fingers, the way your nipples visibly tighten at the contact.
Your mouth falls open on a gasp—real and unscripted, your eyes locked on the camera.
Never leaving him.
Haechan’s breath stutters. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring so hard the rest of the room fades out. Onscreen, you move like you’re chasing something just out of reach—hips rolling, body tightening, every motion sharper than the last.
And those eyes.
Fixed. Wanting. Burning straight through the lens.
A groan almost slips out. He catches it at the last second—turns it into a cough, hand flying to his mouth. The crew doesn’t notice. Or if they do, they don’t say shit.
Inside, though—
He’s coming apart.
Fuck.
Look at her.
Taking it so well. Moving like that…
For the camera.
For me.
He can’t stop the thoughts.
They come fast and hot, one bleeding into the next— imagining those are his hands instead—kneading, pinching, rolling your nipples until you’re whining his name. Imagining it’s his cock you’re riding, your walls tightening around him, your eyes locked on his like it’s always been him.
“Keep the pace,” he rasps, voice catching on the last word. “Don’t speed up yet. Build it. Let her feel every inch.”
You listen.
Slow, deliberate rolls that make your thighs tremble. The actor's grip tightens, thumbs circling your nipples, and you arch into it with a soft, helpless whine that hits Haechan straight square in the chest.
His free hand drops to his thigh. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
He's rock hard. Has been for the last ten minutes. The denim isn't hiding anything anymore and he knows it and he can't bring himself to care because every roll of your hips on that monitor feels like it's happening to him. Every moan sounds like it's for him.
Then your eyes flick — subtle, barely a second — right to where he's sitting behind the monitor.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.
“Perfect,” he mutters, barely audible. “Just… fucking perfect.”
The take keeps going.
You keep looking at the camera like it’s him. He keeps watching like he’s the one buried inside you.
And he knows—deep in his aching, throbbing core—that he’s not making it through this shoot without losing it.
Not when you’re like this.
Not when it feels like you’re fucking him through the lens.
And then—
“I’m gonna cum.”
Soft. Broken. Barely above a whisper but the mics catch every syllable.
Cameras still rolling. Your hips still grinding down slow and filthy. Eyes still locked on the lens.
On him.
Wait—
Was that line in the script?
He can't remember. The script is a blur he barely glanced at because all he could think about was you — your skin under his palms earlier, your thighs trembling when he spread them, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs drifted just a little too close to where he really wanted to touch.
He doesn’t know if you’re acting.
He doesn’t know if you’re telling the crew.
He only knows you're looking straight through the camera — straight through the POV rig — straight into his eyes like the lens doesn't exist. Like there’s no crew, no fucking monitors. Just the two of you in this dimly-lit room.
Just him buried inside you.
Just him feeling every clench as you chase that edge.
“Keep going.”
His voice comes out wrecked—rougher than he’s ever let it sound on set.
It’s supposed to be a direction.
It doesn’t sound like it.
“Keep going,” he repeats, quieter this time, leaning so far forward the chair creaks. “Don’t stop. Ride it out. Let it build… let it happen.”
The crew thinks he’s talking to both of you.
He’s not.
He’s talking to you.
Telling you to keep moving like this—slow, deep, greedy—until you break.
On the monitor, the POV feed is unforgiving.
Your face fills half the frame— eyes glassy and pleading, lips parted. Your thighs shaking harder now, rhythm faltering as you get close.
You whimper — higher, needier.
“Haechan—”
His name.
Not scripted. Not “director.”
Just him.
Gasped out like a secret. Like a prayer.
His grip white-knuckles the armrest.
On screen you arch back, spine pulling into that perfect, filthy curve. Your hips stutter, grind down once—twice—and then—
You come.
For real.
Again.
Your body locks up, walls clenching tight, thighs snapping shut around your co-actor’s waist as a broken sound tears out of you. Your whole body trembles through it, shaking and helpless.
And still—
You don’t look away.
Your eyes stay locked on the lens. On him.
Tears gather at the corners, your expression wrecked from how intense it is, but you don’t blink. Don’t break.
Like you’re coming for him.
In his head, it’s his cock.
Has been since the second you said his name.
He can almost feel it — the way you'd flutter around him, chasing every last pulse while he holds your hips down and makes you take it. His mouth against your ear, voice barely above a whisper: "There you go. Just like that." — while your nails rake down his back and your mouth falls open on his name again and again.
On the monitor, you’re still riding it out—small, helpless rolls of your hips, soft whimpers fading into shaky breaths. The actor's still moving, chasing his scripted finish, but Haechan stopped seeing him a long time ago.
Only you.
The way your lips tremble like you want to say something else. Something that isn't in the script.
He's shaking.
Actually shaking in his chair.
"Cut," he rasps.
The set comes back to life. Crew members move in, lights shifting, someone calling out for water.
Haechan doesn’t move.
He stares at the frozen frame on the monitor — your face, blissed out, eyes still half-lidded and aimed exactly where he's sitting. Like even after the word "cut" you're still looking at him.
Still waiting.
He drags a hand down his face.
He has never come this close to breaking on set. Never once.
Never been this close to saying fuck the cameras, fuck the crew, fuck the rules—and just taking what’s felt like his since the moment you walked onto his set.
But he stays seated.
For now.
Because if he stands up right now everyone in this room will know exactly what you did to him.
And because he knows—deep in that aching, throbbing part of him—that the second this shoot wraps…
He’s not making it through another conversation with you without snapping.
—
The crew wraps fast—lights clicking off one by one, someone shouting about the boom mic, laughter echoing down the hall as people start heading out. You linger near the set, robe tied tight, skin still flushed and buzzing from the last take. Your thighs ache in the best-worst way.
But all you can think about is Haechan.
He's already moving — hoodie up, head down, fast and purposeful like he's trying to disappear. No goodbye. No "great work." Just gone, same as yesterday.
Something twists in your chest.
You follow before you can talk yourself out of it. Bare feet quiet against the cold floor, heart pounding so loud you’re sure he’ll hear it before you even reach him.
He slips into one of the side rooms—the green room no one uses because the AC’s broken and it always smells faintly like old coffee. Door half-open. You hesitate, then knock softly.
“Come in,” he mutters, voice tight. Distracted.
You push the door open.
He’s pacing. Three steps forward, three back. Hand dragging over his face, hoodie shoved low, hair a mess underneath. His breathing’s uneven, his shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump. Like he's one wrong word away from snapping.
You swallow. “Um… Haechan?”
He freezes mid-step. Doesn't turn around.
You take a small step inside. "I just wanted to ask about my performance. Was it… okay? The last take — I know I went off-script a little. The moaning and… saying your name. I thought it worked for the scene but if it was bad I can—"
“Stop.”
Sharp.
Too sharp.
You flinch.
He exhales hard through his nose, hand dragging through his hair. "I need to be alone right now. Just… go."
The words hit cold.
Your throat tightens. You nod, quick and small. "Oh. Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
You turn to leave, shoulders curling in, feeling suddenly small and stupid. Of course he didn’t want to talk. Of course—
Behind you, he makes a strangled sound—half groan, half curse.
“Wait.”
You freeze. Hand still on the door.
He’s right behind you now.
You didn’t even hear him move.
He's just — there, close enough that you can smell sweat and cologne and something underneath both that makes your brain go quiet.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, quieter now. Rough. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
You don’t turn right away. Can’t.
Your voice comes out small. “You sounded like you hate me.”
A beat of silence so thick it hurts.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice low, strained. “Not even a little.”
You finally look at him.
His jaw is tight, eyes cutting away then back, like he keeps making a decision and unmaking it. Like whatever's happening behind his face is costing him something.
"Then why…?"
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, dragging both hands down his face again.
“Because I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind right now. And every time you’re in the same room as me, I—” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “You did good. You did too good. That’s the problem.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “Too good?”
He steps closer.
Not touching. Never touching.
But close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that you can see the tension in his arms, fists clenched at his sides.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Too good. Too real. Too fucking perfect. You came on camera—twice now—like that, looking right at me, saying my name like it’s the only word you know, and I’m supposed to just… direct?” He exhales sharply. “Pretend it doesn't affect me? Pretend I'm not sitting there so hard it hurts, trying not to come in my jeans while the whole crew thinks it's just another day?"
Your breath catches.
He keeps going, voice dropping. "You have no idea what you do to me. How many times I've had to walk away so I don't drag you off that set and finish what you started. And then you come in here asking if you did a bad job?"
He exhales, sharp. "Fuck, baby. You almost killed me out there."
The pet name slips out before he can stop it.
His eyes widen a fraction — like he heard it too — but he doesn't take it back.
You’re shaking now. Not from the cold.
“I thought…” Your voice wavers. “I thought I ruined it. Or that you were mad.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. For wanting this. For wanting you.”
His throat bobs once.
“For not being able to look away when you fall apart like that.”
Silence stretches between you.
He's so close now his hoodie brushes your robe. You can feel the heat of him everywhere — chest, thighs, everywhere.
"I should go," you whisper, even though your feet won't move.
"You should," he agrees, voice rough. But he doesn't step back. Doesn't open the door wider.
Instead, his hand lifts—slow, hesitant—and hovers near your cheek. Not touching. Just… there. Fingers trembling like he’s holding himself back by a thread.
“But I don’t want you to.”
Your eyes close for a second.
When you open them, he’s still there. Still looking at you like that.
"Tell me to stop," he says quietly. "Tell me to fuck off, and I will. If you don't want this I'll back off. I swear I will." His voice dips. "But if you don't…"
He lets it trail off.
Let it sit there between you—promise and warning all at once.
The air feels too thick to breathe.
You don’t tell him to leave.
You don't move at all.
And that's all the answer he needs.
The room feels smaller now. Air thick with everything unsaid.
Haechan's still standing too close, hoodie brushing your robe, hand hovering near your cheek like he's afraid one wrong move will break whatever this is.
Your eyes drop.
Land on the small damp spot already darkening the denim.
Your breath catches audibly.
He follows your line of sight—and freezes.
Color rushes up his neck, his ears, his cheeks — he looks caught, exposed, like you just found something he's been hiding for hours.
Which you have.
You swallow. Your voice comes out small, shy, almost disbelieving.
"Is that… because of me?"
A small pause. Eyes flicking back up to his.
"I did that?"
Haechan exhales sharply. His Adam's apple bobs. He doesn't look away — can't — and his voice cracks when he answers.
"Yeah."
Just that.
No excuses. No deflection.
“Yeah, baby. You did that.”
The pet name slips again, softer this time. Careful. Like he’s testing it. His eyes search yours like he's waiting for you to bolt.
You don’t.
Instead your knees hit the floor.
A soft thud against the carpet.
You're eye level with his hips now, close enough to see the way his thighs flex when he shifts slightly. Hands hovering uncertainly just above his thighs. Not quite touching.
Haechan jolts. Hands fly up like he’s going to stop you—then stall midair.
“What—what are you doing?” His voice is strangled, panicked. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. His legs stay planted, breath coming faster, cock twitching visibly under the fabric like it’s begging for attention.
You look up at him.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, and it almost sounds real. "I didn't mean to make you this hard. It must've been so difficult. Trying to direct like that. All day."
A strangled sound leaves him—half laugh, half something rougher.
"Difficult doesn't even—" He cuts himself off the second your fingers brush the button of his jeans.
You don't ask permission. You just do it.
Button pops. Zipper rasps down slow, loud in the quiet room. You tug the waistband down with it.
He sucks in a sharp breath.
You don’t look away.
You gasp—quiet, involuntary. Eyes widening, lips parting.
He’s… bigger than you expected. Thick, flushed, the curve of him making your stomach drop as you take it in.
Haechan makes a broken noise in the back of his throat. One hand shoots to the doorframe, knuckles going white. The other hovers near your head—like he wants to thread his fingers through your hair but doesn’t trust himself not to pull.
“Fuck—wait—”
Too late.
You lean forward and take him into your mouth.
No teasing. Just warm, wet heat enveloping the head, tongue flat against the underside as you sink down on the first go.
Haechan actually stumbles a little at the feeling of it.
"Shit — oh my god —" His voice cracks, hips jerking forward before he catches himself. Hand finally lands in your hair — not pulling, just holding, trembling. "Baby — fuck — you don't have to —"
But you do.
You hum around him — and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. You pull back slow, lips dragging, tongue swirling around the head before sinking down again. Deeper this time. Cheeks hollowing. Hand wrapping around what your mouth can't reach, stroking in time.
He’s already losing it. Head tipped back against the door, eyes squeezed shut like the sight of you on your knees might actually kill him.
"You — fuck — You’re gonna fucking ruin me," he rasps. "Been hard for you since yesterday… and now this—fuck—”"
You pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip.
"I'm sorry it was hard for you." A soft kiss. "Let me make it better."
Then you take him again — deeper, faster, throat relaxing as you work him with everything you've got.
“Fuck—good girl—such a good girl—”
His grip tightens. Hips start to rock — shallow, helpless thrusts he can't stop. Low, broken moans spill out of him.
He’s close. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his thighs shake, the way his breath stutters like he’s trying to warn you and can’t get it out in time.
“Baby—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”
You don't pull off.
You take him deeper.
Suck harder.
Look up at him with those same wide eyes you gave the camera all day.
And that's what breaks him.
Haechan comes with a strangled groan—hips snapping forward, cock pulsing hot and thick down your throat as he spills. You swallow around him, throat working, not spilling a drop.
He's trembling when it's over. Hand still fisted gently in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek like he’s trying to calm himself down.
You pull off slowly. Lips swollen and eyes glassy.
And he just… stares.
Like he doesn’t know what to do with what just happened.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're unreal."
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly shy again. "Did that… help?"
He lets out a weak, disbelieving laugh and drops to his knees so you're face to face. Cups your jaw in both hands, thumbs brushing your swollen lips.
Then he kisses you — hard, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue like he's claiming every second of what just happened.
The door's still unlocked.
The crew's still somewhere in the building.
But right now?
None of that exists.
Only this.
The kiss starts desperate — hands cupping your face like you're something about to vanish if he lets go.
He pulls you up from your knees in one smooth motion, body flush against his, and walks you backward until the small table catches the backs of your thighs. Lifts you onto it without breaking the kiss.
Your legs part around him instinctively. Robe falling completely open, skin cold against the surface while he presses in close.
He groans into your mouth the second he feels how wet you are — how slick your thighs still are from earlier.
“Fuck.”
The sound gets swallowed by your mouth as he kisses you harder, tongue against yours, messy and desperate. One hand tangles in your hair while the other slides down your side—finally, finally touching without cameras, without excuses, without pretending any of this is professional anymore.
"Been wanting this since the second you walked on set. Wanted to touch you. Taste you. Make you come for me instead." A pause, voice dropping to almost nothing. "Not some lens. Not some script. Me."
He drops to his knees so fast it almost hurts — kneecaps hitting the floor, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider.
He goes still for a second.
Just — looks.
Like he's been starving for this exact view and now that he has it, he doesn't know where to start.
Then he dives in.
No buildup. No teasing.
Just his mouth on you like he's been thinking about nothing else all day.
The first drag of his tongue against your clit makes your whole body jolt, your hips jerk off the table before you can stop them.
You gasp sharply, fingers flying into his hair. He moans into you. Loud. Unashamed. Like he's the one being taken apart, the vibration making your thighs shake harder around his head.
His tongue flicked against your clit relentlessly while his nose stayed pressed against your mound, buried so deep between your thighs it was like he never wanted to come up for air.
"Fuck." He groans, hot and muffled against your folds. "You taste so good."
He pulls back just enough to bite down on the inside of your thigh — not hard, just enough to feel it. Just to hear the sound you make. Then licks over the sting before burying himself back in.
His hands slide under your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the table, lifting, tilting your hips so he can get deeper — and then his tongue is inside you, curling, and you cry out sharp enough that you slap a hand over your own mouth.
His nose nudges against your clit while his tongue pushes deeper, dragging another broken sound from your throat before he comes back up to suck your clit between his lips slow enough to make your whole body shake.
And every time you react—every twitch of your hips, every pull at his hair, every helpless little sound—he moans against you again, hands tightening on your thighs like it’s getting him off too.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips are wet, chin shining under the light, eyes completely blown. “Moaning like that for me. Fuck, baby—come on my tongue. Let me feel it.”
He dives back in.
Two fingers slide inside you, curling deep enough to make your back arch off the table while his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking in a messy rhythm with every thrust of his hand.
You stop trying to stay quiet. You’re loud now—completely unable to stop it. Gasps turning into broken cries of his name.
“Haechan—oh god—”
He whines against you. Actually whines.
His hips jerk uselessly against nothing, cock hard again already, but he doesn’t touch himself once. Doesn’t seem to care. All he cares about is the way your thighs lock around his head like you never want him to stop.
Every reaction you give him only makes him groan louder against your skin, hands tightening around your thighs like he’s getting drunk off this.
"That's it," he growls, voice vibrating against your clit. "Come for me. Come on my face."
And you do.
Harder than on set. Harder than anything.
Your whole body locks up with it, thighs tightening around his head as a sob rips out of your throat, back arching while you pulse around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop—keeps going, moaning against you like he’s the one coming, still licking through every aftershock like he can't make himself stop.
When you finally slump back, trembling, chest heaving, he pulls away slow.
Lips swollen. Face a mess. Eyes glassy and dark and so blissed out it almost hurts to look at.
He rests his forehead against your inner thigh.
Breathing hard. Pressing soft, reverent kisses to your skin like he's grateful.
"Jesus," he whispers, voice hoarse. "I could do this forever."
He looks up at you with this dazed little smile that somehow feels filthier than anything he’s said so far.
"But we're not done."
His hands slide up your sides.
"Not even close."
He rises slowly from his knees, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting you just enough to keep your legs around his waist.
Then he’s kissing you again.
Harder this time. Messier. Tongue pushing into your mouth so you can taste yourself on him, and the second you do, your stomach twists. You make this pathetic little sound into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans back like the sound alone could finish him off.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough. “You taste so good.”
You can barely think straight after that.
One hand braces against the table beside you while the other reaches down between your bodies, guiding himself against you. He’s still hard—still twitching from your mouth earlier, from watching you come apart on his tongue.
He wraps a hand around himself and slowly drags the tip between your folds, collecting the slick already dripping out of you. The accidental brush against your clit made you whimper.
The head of his cock catches at your entrance.
He presses forward just enough to part your folds, the blunt head stretching your entrance slightly before he stops.
You look at him and his eyes are already on yours, dark and intense enough to make heat crawl up your neck all over again.
No words. Just that heavy, burning stare — like he's memorizing you. Every flicker across your face. Every breath.
Then he pushes in.
Slow.
So fucking slow.
Inch by thick inch, stretching you open, filling you until your breath hitches and your nails bite into his hoodie.
And he keeps looking at you.
Doesn’t look away once.
He watches the way your brows pinch when he bottoms out — the way your mouth falls open, the soft sound you make when he settles deep inside you.
One hand pinning your thigh wider, exposing you fully as he watches his cock disappear into your dripping cunt. The sight alone — his cock splitting your swollen lips, veins dragging against your inner walls — makes his grip tighten against your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
His voice actually shakes a little.
“Look at you.”
Heat floods straight to your face.
“Taking me so well.”
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, like he’s letting himself feel it. Letting you feel it too.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Pulling back just enough before thrusting deep again, hips rolling instead of snapping, grinding against every sensitive spot until your legs start trembling around him.
His forehead presses against yours, breaths mixing together, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring.
“You feel that?” he whispers.
Another slow thrust.
“That’s me.”
Your stomach twists hard.
“Inside you. Finally.”
You can’t even answer properly. Just nod helplessly and cling to him while your hips keep chasing him without meaning to.
He kisses you again, messy and deep, before pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.
The same words he gave you on set. But this time there's no camera. No crew. No pretending.
“Don’t look away. I want to see every second of you cumming on my cock.”
He pulls back an inch, the drag of his cock along your walls making your breath catch, before pushing deeper again. The stretch hits harder this time, enough to make your legs tense around him, your pussy fluttering helplessly as he sinks halfway back in.
Every thrust knocks another broken sound out of you. The wet squelch of your soaked folds taking him echoes through the room while his hips keep rocking into yours, deep enough to leave you trembling around his waist.
And every time he bottoms out, the grind against your clit pulls another helpless sound from your throat.
Sweat slips down his skin, warm against your chest, and you lock your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him even closer.
One of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit in slow, firm circles, pleasure cutting through the fullness hard enough to make your whole body jerk. The other stays at the back of your neck, keeping you close.
Your body responds instantly, hips lifting to meet every thrust as the rhythm builds into something hotter, steadier. The fullness turns almost dizzying, every slow plunge hitting that sweet spot and making your walls flutter around him.
You’re already shaking.
Still sensitive from his mouth. Still completely full of him.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out embarrassingly wrecked.
“Yeah?” he groans immediately, hips stuttering for the first time. “Say it again.”
Your whole world narrows to the sounds between you — the sharp smack of skin, the wet slide every time he thrusts back into you, your broken moans mixing with his rough breathing.
The pressure inside you snaps so suddenly it almost scares you.
Your whole body tightens around him as you come with his name on your lips, vision blurring at the edges from how intense it is. Your thighs lock around his waist, and he lets out this wrecked sound like he can feel every pulse of you.
And he watches every second.
Like he can’t look away even if he wants to.
The way your body arches toward him like he’s gravity itself.
That’s what pushes him over.
He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a low, broken moan, hips twitching against yours while he rides through it. Even after, he stays close, staring at you like he’s still trying to process what just happened.
He doesn’t pull out.
The small room still smells faintly of coffee and sex, the air thick and warm from everything you’ve already done.
Haechan catches his breath against your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your collarbone like he’s still savoring the taste of your skin. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you.
His eyes are dark. Still hungry.
One hand slides under your thigh while the other braces at your waist before he lifts you off the table in one smooth motion. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, ankles locking behind his back as he carries you across the room.
The movement makes you feel every inch of him still buried inside you, deep enough to pull a shaky breath from your lungs, and Haechan groans quietly at the way you tighten around him.
He steps out of his jeans halfway across the room, kicking them aside without a second thought before dropping onto the old leather couch against the wall.
The couch leather is cool and slightly sticky against Haechan’s bare back, creaking softly beneath him as he sinks deeper into it, thighs spread wide, eyes fixed on you the entire time.
Your robe is long gone now, discarded somewhere on the floor with his hoodie. Nothing between you but skin, heat, and the lingering throb of wanting more.
His hands are already on you.
Warm palms slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers spreading possessively over your skin as he guides you into his lap. Your knees sink into the worn cushions on either side of his hips, chest pressed flush against his.
Every tiny movement drags your nipples against his, sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You can feel his heartbeat hammering beneath your hands — fast, uneven, matching the ache building low in your stomach.
And the way he looks up at you —
Like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to touch.
His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to guide, not force. He doesn’t rush. Just keeps you there for a second, letting you feel the slow pulse of him still inside you.
“Ride me,” he says, voice low and rough, eyes never leaving yours.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Like you did on set… but this time it’s just for me.”
You lift yourself slightly, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other guides him back inside you. He feels hot and heavy against your slick folds, the head of him catching at your entrance before slowly sliding deeper.
The stretch hits harder like this — facing him, every inch sliding in with a slow, burning glide that makes your breath hitch audibly. You sink down inch by inch, feeling the way he throbs inside you like a second heartbeat while his eyes stay locked on your face the entire time.
When your ass finally meets his thighs—fully seated, stuffed full— Haechan’s head falls back against the couch with a low groan. His hands flex hard against your hips like he’s trying to hold himself together, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before snapping open again.
And then he’s looking at you.
Like he can’t stand missing a single second of this.
“Fuck—baby,” he breathes.
His hands wander up your back before settling on your hips, helping guide you into the same slow roll that already has both of you breathing harder.
“You feel so good,” he groans softly. “Still so fucking tight…”
You start moving properly then — slow lifts until only the head remains inside followed by deep, dragging drops, grinding down every time your hips meet his.
The angle is perfect. Every roll presses against that spot inside you while the friction between your bodies sends heat shooting straight up your spine.
Wet sounds fill the quiet room — slick, rhythmic, embarrassingly loud — mixing with your uneven breathing and the occasional creak of the old couch beneath you.
Haechan’s hands roam everywhere.
Thighs. Waist. Up your sides.
Thumbs brushing beneath your breasts before he cups them fully, palms hot against your skin as his fingers toy with your nipples until they ache. Then he leans in and takes one into his mouth with a groan, sucking hard before switching to the other while you whimper and grind down harder against him.
But somehow he always comes back to your face.
A hand cups your jaw, thumb dragging lightly across your bottom lip as he keeps your gaze fixed on him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”
The words sound dangerously close to his on-set directions, except softer now. Rougher around the edges. Possessive in a way that makes your stomach twist.
Every time you sink back down, your clit catches against the coarse hair at the base of him, sending a sharp pulse through you. The pressure building inside you feels different this time — deeper, heavier, like something tightening low in your stomach every time he thrusts up into you.
“I wanna see every time you feel good,” he says quietly. “Every time I make you feel good.”
His mouth finds your neck, sucking lightly while his teeth graze your pulse.
His hips start rolling up to meet you now, deep controlled thrusts that make you gasp every time he bottoms out.
You whimper softly, hips faltering for a second when he thrusts into you again.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice cracking this time. “Just like that—fuck.”
His grip tightens at your hips.
“Your face when you take me…” He breaks off with another breathless sound, eyes dragging over your expression. “God.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and firm in time with your hips. The pressure builds so intensely your thighs start shaking around him, pleasure twisting almost painfully low in your stomach—too much fullness, too much heat, too much him.
He angles his hips just slightly on the next thrust, hitting that spot perfectly while his thumb presses harder against your clit.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out broken and pleading. Your thighs are trembling, burning, but you can’t stop.
The release crashes over you so suddenly it steals the breath from your lungs.
Something inside you snaps.
You cry out, back arching hard your breasts press into his face as your walls tighten around him in sharp pulsing waves. Wet heat floods between your thighs, soaking him, the couch, both of you, and the sound of it makes Haechan groan low in his throat like he can’t believe what he’s feeling.
“Fuck—yeah, that’s it—”
He’s moaning with you now, hips stuttering while he watches your face like he’s completely gone from it.
“So pretty,” he breathes brokenly. “Fuck… you’re so pretty when you come.”
He doesn’t stop moving. Keeps thrusting through it slowly, dragging out every tremor until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation, thighs shaking so badly you can barely stay upright.
Only then does he finally let himself go.
One last deep thrust, burying himself inside you as he comes with a wrecked groan of your name, arms tightening around you while both of you shake through it.
You collapse against his chest afterward, breathing hard, skin damp with sweat and everything else. His arms wrap around you immediately, holding you close like he doesn’t want an inch of space between you.
Open-mouthed kisses press against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice completely ruined. “You just… fuck.”
You hide your face in his neck, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him.
He laughs softly under his breath, still sounding wrecked, fingers sliding gently through your hair.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Another kiss presses against your hairline before he shifts you carefully in his lap, still inside you and softening slowly, until you’re curled against his chest.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you moves.
Just breathing.
Skin sticking together.
The faint drip of your combined release somewhere beneath you.
His heartbeat slowing beneath your cheek.
His lips brush your ear, smile warm against your skin.
“…I genuinely don’t know how I’m supposed to direct tomorrow without losing my mind.”
MDNI !! hey peeps!! just so you know, i will be making another list of shorter fics ( under 1k ) and a haechan smau masterlist!! lmk if youre interested, will also keep on adding to this list btw!!
red velvet hearts. - @ choerrypuffs - 7.7k
lights out , lights out pt2 - @ hhaechansmoless - 17.8k + 15.8k
if i lose my mind, if i lose my mind 2 - @ slightlymore - 14.5k + 11k
caramel haechan masterlist - @ mejaemin
love virus , love virus 2 - @ twilightau - 7.6k + 5.6k
love jones , love jones 2 - @ lisired - 12.4k + 13.1k
would you film my s*x tape? - @ sweetiechenle
the boy is mine - @ domjaehyun - 101k ( 6 parts )
indica dreams - @ hazyhae - 11.7k
what the puck! - @ choerrypuffs - 11.6k
romancing - @ jenoloqy - 23.7k
risking it all , risking it all pt2 - @ kiszjuli -15.3k + 7.4k
settle down , settle down pt2 , settle down pt3 - @ hyuckmov - 22k + 18k + 11k
two rules one problem - @ liliansun - 14.8k
eight letters - @ strwbbit - 11.8k
not a big deal - @ haeiheart - 3.8k
wanna bet? - @ ilovedinodino - 15.9k
birthday mayhem - @ nebularsung - 7.5k
under the influence - @ domjaehyun - 11.6k
tease - @ hyuckiefluff - 5.8k
call d - @ neocitylights - 12k
m.i.l.f (make it last forever) - @ ncteez - 18.9k
learning languages - @ tonicandjins - 18.5k
fast times - @ choerrypuffs - 7.6k
can we love - @ heartseungs-archive - 2.5k
carpe diem - @ kiachiako - 5.1k
lucky strike - @ heartseungs-archive - 2.3k
tan lines and hushed nights - @ ch3rryd0ll - 6k
dance to this - @ heartseungs-archive - 3.8k
sugar, butter, & the royal crown - @ haechwrites - 17.1k
🔮 preview. “I think he’s a whiny little boy half the time, and he’s obsessed with himself, which, sure, it’s a nod to the old rockstars, the sex, drugs, rock and roll, the alcohol and smoking, but if we’re being honest, don’t we know better by now? Don’t we, as a collective, as a culture, know that the type of shit that was happening in the seventies, eighties, and nineties was not conducive to actual health? Sure, some of the best songs ever written were written under the influence of cocaine, ecstasy, alcohol, etcetera, but are any of Hyuck’s songs instant classics? I, personally, don’t think so. So it feels like a waste of drugs, and a risk to himself, to be doing all of that to emulate the rockstars of old, while being nowhere near their level of talent.”
tw/cw. Mentions of drugs/alcohol, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral (m/f receiving), sixty-nine, deep throating, multiple reader orgasms, power dynamics, slightly switchy dom leading Hyuck, man handling, bickering, praise, dirty talk, finger sucking, slight overstimulation, multiple sex positions, hair pulling, slight pain kink, tattooed hyuck, big/thick dick Hyuck, etc… I pet names: (hers) wolfie.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.6k
🍭 aus. Rockstar!au, enemies to lovers, tension, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I love doing fics that rely on small sections of interview or article renditions describing the relationship between the mc’s, so this one was super fun to write :)
Prologue:
In an era of PR teams and training, this new generation of singers is beginning to go back to the roots of rock and roll. Yes, they have the live bands, the big hair, the facepaint, glitter and leather, but they’re also starting to bring back something a little more controversial: the art of shit-talking.
Lee Donghyuck has become widely known for his ‘Devil May Care’ antics, for his now infamous Rolling Stones interview, and for a slew of high-profile women who have attempted - and failed, may I add - to tie this seemingly reincarnated 80’s rockstar down. But if there’s one thing almost as famous as the young singer himself, it’s the rivalry he has with fellow up-and-comer, y/n y/l/n, who goes by the stage name Wolfie Muse.
Like ‘The Hyuckster,’ Wolfie has made a reputation for herself in recent years, channeling vibes and aesthetics that are reminiscent of artists like Freddie Mercury in her orchestral power house songs, and the fashion style of David Bowie. She’s not as in-your-face as her male counterpart, but that classic ‘sex, drugs, and rock and roll’ attitude is unmistakable in every interview she takes.
Blind Items have been talking about these two rockstars in indirect musings for some time, with uncorroborated sources claiming they’re ‘exes’ out for vengeance’, while others note that they ‘got into a fight at a throwback-themed party thrown by renowned DJ pair Mark Lee and Johnny Suh last Spring.’
Regardless of history, one thing is certain: these two have sparks that just can’t be contained, and with them both headlining this year's Music Awards, it’s sure to be a spectacle.
One:
With the Music Awards quickly approaching and a tour on the horizon, your life has become a series of press conferences and interviews.
Being an artist has never been about saying the right thing to news anchors and TMZ representatives; no, to you, being an artist is about two things: the music and the fans. You’re aware that PR is part of your job, but you refuse to be anything other than authentic, and - to even your label’s surprise - the ‘genuine approach’ has actually bolstered your success.
You’re at the Vice headquarters today, answering questions for a piece that a new writer is drafting for next month's edition, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t beginning to feel monotonous.
Two Starbucks drinks in, and you’re getting restless, your knee is bobbing as you do your best to go through every question with the right level of genuine thought.
You’re asked about how you and your team choose which cities for your tour, and that’s when you notice someone out of the corner of your eye.
Your skin tingles with even more annoyance, heat flushing through your body, and as you take a second to look like you're considering your answer, your gaze shifts to Lee Donghyuck, who’s standing by the refreshment table off camera.
His eyes lock with yours, and he smirks over the rim of his cup.
Taking a breath, you try to focus on the interview, but it’s nearly impossible to be professional with Hyuck in the same room.
He’s the most judgmental little shit of a human that you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, and the last time he released an album, you and a few of your friends had conducted an ‘anti-success’ tarot reading in the hopes that he would crash and burn.
It’s hard to be in the same industry and circles as a person you’ve come to hate, and even more difficult to finish the interview, but as the questions come to an end, you’re more than happy to jump up and try to escape.
“Hiya, Wolfie,” he calls, making you groan with annoyance immediately.
“What do you want?” you snap.
“Noticed you were struggling a bit near the end there,” Hyuck grins.
“Yeah, well…” you scour your mind for a comeback, but you’re just too exhausted, “fuck you.”
The rockstar lets out a laugh. “Fuck you? Is that the best you could come up with?”
“I don’t have time for losers today,” you brush it off.
“Well, we’re both headliners at the Music Awards, so if I’m a loser, what are you?”
“Just the best female rock artist,” you retort.
“Nominee,” Hyuck corrects. “The best female rock artist nominee. And again, I’m the best male rock artist nominee, so… seems we’re equals, Wolfie.”
“Why are you even here?” you scowl.
“Hmm, why would I be at Vice right now?” Hyuck pretends to think on it, raising one black chipped fingernail to his chin. “Oh, right, maybe because I also have an interview? It’s not rocket science, you know.”
“No, I mean, why are you here watching me like some creep?”
Hyuck shrugs. “I like to see you squirm.”
You scoff. “I was not squirming.”
“Okay, little miss, ‘can’t stop shaking my knee.’”
“At least I’m not little mister, ‘clearly hungover on a work day.’”
“Sex, drugs, rock and roll… alcohol, more sex, more drugs,” Hyuck’s grin widens. “I thought we were both on the same wavelength with that, but I guess one of us is a pretender.”
“Fuck you.”
He lifts his cup mockingly. “Fuck you, too, Wolfie.”
Two:
In an exclusive video acquired by TMZ, we can see the tension between rockstars Lee Donghyuck and Wolfie Muse heating up already. While at a Vice interview, the pair were caught exchanging heated words behind the scenes.
This altercation raises questions that have been on the minds of fans, haters, and journalists since the meteoric rise to fame both rock stars enjoyed earlier this year. Like a WWE feud crafted by a creative team, this fiery duo is sure to bring even more eyes to the Music Awards happening this month. Now the question is: is the animosity between these two real, or is it all a PR setup known only to a select few, in hopes of spurring more fans, more media coverage, and more attention?
Three:
Rehearsals for something like the Music Awards are never fun, especially as a performer and an MC. You have dual duties, and what feels like ten times the stress, which isn’t made any easier by the fact that Hyuck is taking longer than his slotted time during prep.
He’ll be announcing Best Female Rock Artist, and he’s been paired up with Johnny Suh, a famous DJ. Suh is perhaps the only person in the world that Hyuck looks up to, and as you wait in the wings for the two of them to finish up their practice, you can see the joy radiating off the rockstar.
For a man who has a resting bitch face and an unparalleled mischievous streak, Hyuck turns quite boyish when he smiles and looks up at Suh.
The sight of him simping over his Hyung is enough to make you laugh, hiding your mouth with a hand, but the amusement is quickly overshadowed by annoyance. Not only is Hyuck overdue on his time, but he’s also extremely cute when he smiles, and the realization makes your blood boil.
Finally, a stage hand announces that the two of them really have to wrap things up, and a minute later, Hyuck is walking toward you in the wings of the stage.
“Took you long enough to read a cue card,” you say under your breath.
“Took you long enough to end up nominated for awards,” he retorts.
“Says you, we have the same career trajectory,” you snap back.
“Well,” Hyuck struggles for a response. “I’m the announcer for Best Female Rock Artist, and if your name comes up on the fucking card…”
“What? Finish your threat.” You grin. “Are you going to read the wrong name and be corrected like that time at the Oscars? I would actually love to see that.”
“I guess it won’t matter, because you won’t win anyway,” Hyuck scoffs.
“Really? Who else would win?” You laugh, knowing he’s grasping at straws now.
“Literally anyone else,” he spits back.
“Wow, so a drunk and delusional.” You shake your head at him. “I really don’t understand what anyone sees in you.”
Hyuck takes a step forward, and your heart leaps to your throat. “They see my handsome good looks, my sexy hair, my attractive smile-”
“Okay, Narcissus,” you blurt out, trying to put some distance between you and Hyuck by taking a step back, but the rockstar only follows you.
“Come on, Wolfie, you might hate me, but you’re not blind.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk that makes your skin heat up.
You hate that he is good-looking, and you hate the fact that your body reacts to it, even though your mind is screaming at you to hate this man and everything he stands for.
“You think I’m sexy, just admit it,” Hyuck says, his voice lowering.
“And you know I’m going to win that award,” you fire back once you can find your words.
Hyuck releases a sigh, stepping back. “Keep dreaming.”
Four:
Red carpets are a different monster.
You feel the weight of your makeup on your skin, and the heaviness of the ‘designer dress’ adorning your body. It’s tight in all the right places according to your stylist, but as it hugs your stomach and your ribs, cutting off some of your breathing, you think maybe it’s tight in all the wrong places.
To make matters worse, red carpets are a shit show of yelling, flashing, demands, and the extreme pressure to act graceful and poised through all of the noise.
You do your best to focus on each interview, each small touch and go, most of which are about your outfit, your performance tonight, or your tour.
Somehow, in the circus that is the Music Awards red carpet, you end up next to Hyuck as you both take short interviews, and your skin tingles at the proximity.
“So, I want to address the elephant in the room,” the interviewer grins, and you match the smile, listening hard for the question that is soon to follow. “This rakishly handsome man to your left, Lee Donghyuck, The Huckster. Everyone is dying to know the root of your rivalry.”
“Oh, uh,” you falter, swallowing back the words that are dying to come out of you.
You fight with yourself, wanting to be candid, but remembering your PR training. However… your manager had mentioned that no press is bad press, and a rivalry with Hyuck is something that’s been putting you in the headlines recently…
“Do you want my honest opinion?” you sigh.
“Yes, please,” the interviewer grins, smiling like a vulture.
“I think he’s a whiny little boy half the time, and he’s obsessed with himself, which, sure, it’s a nod to the old rockstars, the sex, drugs, rock and roll, the alcohol and smoking, but if we’re being honest, don’t we know better by now? Don’t we, as a collective, as a culture, know that the type of shit that was happening in the seventies, eighties, and nineties was not conducive to actual health? Sure, some of the best songs ever written were written under the influence of cocaine, ecstasy, alcohol, etcetera, but are any of Hyuck’s songs instant classics? I, personally, don’t think so. So it feels like a waste of drugs, and a risk to himself, to be doing all of that to emulate the rockstars of old, while being nowhere near their level of talent.”
The interviewer stares at you in shock, and you can see her processing your words.
You can’t believe all of that just came out of you.
“Tell us how you really feel,” the interviewer laughs, finally. “So it’s safe to say you’re not exes like the blind items claim.”
“Honestly,” you scoff, “some days, I think he wishes.”
Five:
“And the award for Best Female Rock Singer goes to…” Johnny and Hyuck open the folded envelope.
“No fucking way,” Hyuck laughs under his breath, but the mic still picks it up.
“Wolfie Muse,” Hyuck and Johnny say together, and the entire arena roars with the reveal.
You feel numb even as your team stands to congratulate you. Part of you had known you’d win, but it still feels surreal, and everything is a blur as you make your way to the stage. You’re in such shock that you even accept a hug from both Johnny and Hyuck, although one feels more performative than the other.
Both men stand respectfully behind you as you give your speech, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion as you bare your heart out for everyone. You’re practically shaking as Johnny and Hyuck walk you off the stage after your acceptance, and it’s not until you’re in the wings that the reality and ecstasy truly hit you.
“Congratulations,” Hyuck says, hanging back with you as Johnny scurries off to prepare for his set, which is happening during the middle of the show intermission.
“I-” You’re tongue-tied, staring down at your award.
“You’re part of the closing event, which means you have time to go celebrate, if you want,” Hyuck muses, awkwardly patting you on the shoulder.
“Hyuck…” You swallow the lump in your throat, all your animosity toward him disappearing as it hits you that you’ve won your first major music award.
“Yeah, yeah, you deserved it,” he sighs, his own issues with you clearly evaporating into thin air.
Right now, you’re not Wolfie and Hyuck, the rockstar rivals; you’re just two people, one who won an award, and the other who is genuinely congratulating them for the achievement.
“I can’t even think,” you admit, running a hand through your hair. “Do you want to come have a drink with me in my trailer before I have to do prep for my show?”
“I guess all the awards I was up for already went through, so I have the time, and I make it a rule to never turn down alcohol,” Hyuck smirks.
“Oh, right, congratulations on your Best Male Rock Singer award, too,” you blurt out.
He shrugs. “I guess we both knew we’d be winners tonight.”
He’s so nonchalant, and it’s annoyingly sexy how full of himself he can be.
“Come have a drink before I change my mind,” you laugh, finally feeling grounded as your usual irritation for the man starts to slowly return.
Hyuck only chuckles, following you as you head through the backstage area to the VIP lot outside, where your trailer is.
“So… I got a bottle of Champagne in case I won this,” you explain as you enter the space that contains your hair and makeup station, a closet, and a bed in the back to nap on in case you get tired from working.
“No vodka or whiskey?” Hyuck jokes, taking a seat on the couch area while you grab the bottle from the minifridge.
“This is a champagne occasion,” you insist.
“But you do have vodka or whiskey?” he asks.
With a sigh, you point to a cupboard where you keep your liquid courage, and Hyuck grins as he stands up to saunter over to it.
“You’re going to make me drink my champagne alone?” you question, pouring yourself a glass.
“It’s your win, Wolfie,” Hyuck winks, flicking the cap off the bottle of vodka before lifting it to his lips. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll.”
You groan at his words, in disbelief that you actually invited this man into your trailer.
Hyuck takes a seat, and your eyes are drawn to the way his thighs look in his pinstripe pants. He’d gone for a more refined look this evening, but there are still touches of rockstar. You’re pretty sure someone dusted his face with a bit of glitter, and the chunky rings match the chipped nail polish that he always sports.
A bit of his chest is showing with his unbuttoned white shirt, and you swallow a lump in your throat before downing your glass of champagne.
“Oh, so it’s that kind of party,” Hyuck grins, taking a large swig of the vodka. “And you were on my ass about being drunk while working.”
“I’m not getting drunk,” you insist.
“So what’s made you so thirsty?”
You look over at him again, and you can see the mischief in Hyuck’s smile. He spreads his legs a little, and you have to fight the urge to gaze down at his thighs again.
“Fine, don’t answer, I know you’ve been high-strung today,” Hyuck sighs, turning away and nursing the bottle of vodka.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“That interview you gave earlier, you know, the one where you said I do a bunch of drugs and act like an idiot, but I don’t actually make any good music.”
Your heart lurches to your throat. “I didn’t know you heard all of that.”
“I was standing three feet away,” he scoffs. “It’s fine, I don’t think that highly of you either.”
“Oh?” You quirk a brow. “And tell me, what have I done to you?”
“You’re a faker. You make money trying to be this sexy rock and roll goddess, but it’s a costume you put on for show, and then take off. I bet you go to sleep early, have a cup of tea, hang out with your cat, that type of bullshit. You are monopolizing on a lifestyle and aesthetic that you don’t actually embody.”
Your words catch in your throat.
“Oh, and I bet you’re celibate,” Hyuck throws in for good measure, flashing you a grin before taking another sip of vodka.
“I am not celibate!” you insist.
“Yeah? Prove it.” Hyuck licks his lips, sitting up on the couch to stare at you.
You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes, but when your gaze returns to your rockstar rival, you realize he’s dead serious.
“Wait, you’re propositioning me?” you ask in shock.
“Kind of been wanting to fuck some sense into you for a while.”
“Fuck some sense into me?” You can’t contain yourself anymore. “I’d like to see you fucking try!”
“Fucking finally,” Hyuck groans. He sets the bottle of vodka on the floor and stands up abruptly, grabbing you by the hips and tugging you to his chest. You let out a squeak in shock, having not expected him to actually do this, but when his lips smash against your own, your mind goes blank.
The glass you’d been holding in your hand slips from your fingers, and you hear it shatter against the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, kissing him passionately, fighting with his tongue for dominance.
Hyuck groans, one of his own hands slipping down to your ass, where he gropes you through your dress. A moan escapes you, and the rockstar grins slightly, leaning down to get a grip on you so he can lift you up.
Your legs wrap around his hips, and he carries you toward the small hallway that leads to the back bedroom. He pushes you against a wall there, and you bite on his lower lip as a warning, but he only grins into the kiss, the roughness continuing.
You hate that you enjoy the manhandling, the way he’s dominating you, but you won’t take it lying down, and you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging roughly to earn yourself a deep moan that goes straight to your core.
Hyuck moves his mouth down to your throat, and he licks your sweet spot. You release your own moan of pleasure, panting in his ear as he begins to suck on your skin.
“You better not mark me,” you gasp when you feel his teeth drag against your neck.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snaps back.
You tug on his hair, forcing his mouth away from your throat, and you begin to attack his own neck, licking and sucking, earning all sorts of sinful sounds from the man who has you pressed against the wall.
“Fuck,” Hyuck says, his voice shaky, his fingers digging into your skin where he’s holding you up.
He tightens his grip on you, then walks you toward the room at the end of your trailer. The blinds are all closed, but there’s a red light on the wall, and it creates a sinful ambiance as he tosses you onto the bed.
“So how hard is it going to be to get you out of that dress?” he asks as he begins to remove his clothes.
“Depends, are you man enough for a challenge?” you retort.
Hyuck scoffs, shaking his head at you. “I swear to god, I will tear that dress off of your fucking body.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ve gotta stop challenging me,” Hyuck sighs, ripping off his shirt to expose a thin but built form that’s covered in tattoos. “Don’t you know? I hate to lose.”
He’s on top of you in an instant, lips hot against yours as his hands grab the front of your dress. It’s only when he begins to rip it apart that you realize he wasn't playing around. Hyuck truly doesn’t care that this is a designer garment, he doesn’t care about anything other than getting you naked, and it makes your core pulse with desire.
“You’ll have to pay for this dress,” you tell him between kisses.
Hyuck chuckles. “A rockstar wouldn’t care about ripped clothes.”
“A man would just say yes and be done with it,” you snap back.
He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you back roughly so you have to stare up at him. His voice is low when he says, “I like you best when you don’t talk.”
“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you,” you grin.
Hyuck shakes his head, letting out a sigh of annoyance, and then he slams his lips to yours again, pushing your ripped up dress off your body so one of his hands can grasp your now exposed breast.
You groan desperately, loving the way he’s immediately rough with you, pinching the sensitive bud between two fingers.
“I always knew you’d like to be dominated,” he says smugly, his lips moving to your throat where his teeth graze your skin again.
“Fuck off,” you snap, but another whimper escapes you when he twists your nipple.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
A powerful surge of adrenaline runs through you, and you push him off of you, leaving the rockstar blinking in confusion.
You tear off what’s left of your outfit, leaving only your high heels, and then, you grab his pants, tugging them down with rough hands.
“Oh, shit,” Hyuck laughs. “Didn’t realize you wanted to suck me off so bad.”
You roll your eyes at him, of course Hyuck thinks you want to give him head, but this isn’t about to be a one way street.
“I make it a habit to never eat alone,” you tell him, standing up straight and looking down at his naked body.
His cock is thick, it’s not the longest you’ve ever seen, but you begin to salivate as you think of the stretch the girth will give you.
“So… we sixty-nineing or what?” Hyuck grins, laying back against the pillow like the cat who ate the canary.
You roll your eyes at how much tact he lacks, but you climb onto the bed anyways, core practically dripping with anticipation.
He helps you adjust over him, and you stare down at his cock, feeling his breath on your wet pussy.
You can’t believe you’re about to do this, but you don’t take the time to think about it, because Hyuck’s hands pull you down to his mouth.
He clearly doesn’t have a care in the world that you’re ‘rivals,’ and as he fully dives into eating your pussy, you throw all inhibitions away as well.
Grabbing the base of his cock, you sink your mouth down on him, not caring to tease. If he’s not going to beat around the bush, neither will you, and from the way he’s sucking on your clit, you think he’s trying to see which one of you can make the other cum first.
It’s a wordless challenge, and it drives you to take as much of him into your mouth as you can. The tip of his girthy cock hits the back of your throat, and your gag reflex kicks in, but you clench your eyes shut and will it away.
Hyuck groans desperately, slurping and sucking your pussy while the vibrations run through you. You can feel your thighs shaking slightly, and Hyuck adjusts his grip on them, warm palms massaging your muscles.
For a moment, you can forget that this is Hyuck, and you can just focus on the fact that he’s eating you out better than anyone else ever has.
You grind down against his mouth, and Hyuck flattens his tongue to allow you to ride his face.
He’s being shockingly good for you… and this is a man who - by all accounts - has made it seem like he’s more dominant. However, you get the sense maybe he’s more versatile than he lets on, and the thought excites you.
You repeatedly push your mouth down on his cock, your eyes watering as you fight your gag reflex, and Hyuck moans wildly, his hips buckling slightly.
You can feel your orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and it spurs you on as you suck Hyuck stupid, wanting him to be the one who breaks first.
His lips wrap around your clit, and he holds you still, forcing you to take everything he’s giving you.
You can no longer hold in your moans, and you pull off of his cock, wrapping your fist around it so you can stroke him off while you press your face to his thigh, whimpering like a whore.
Hyuck grins a little, but he doesn’t stop his motions, and soon, your entire body is teetering on the edge.
You try to hold it off, but you can’t help the orgasm that washes over you, enveloping your form with pleasurable shivers.
The high is overwhelming, and you’ve never felt more alive as Hyuck eats you through your orgasm, his mouth still moving like a man who is ravaged by hunger.
But soon, it becomes too much, and you lift off of his face, whimpering and shaking.
Hyuck pushes you off of him, and you land on the bed as he sits up. “I could eat that pretty pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Wolfie,” he muses. “Now are you ready to take my cock, or what?”
You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I thought we agreed to keep the talking to a minimum.”
“No, I said I like it better when you don’t talk, we never agreed I would shut up,” he laughs, adjusting you on the bed before getting on top of you.
Your legs wrap around his hips, and you stare up at the beautifully infuriating man. “Don’t be two pump chump.”
Hyuck laughs even harder, then he leans over you, his lips ghosting your ear, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Two of his fingers slide into your mouth rather suddenly, and his other hand guides the head of his cock toward your core.
You’re so soaked that it’s easy for him to push into you, and you groan at the stretch, sucking his fingers diligently.
“So this is the way I can shut you up, huh?” Hyuck groans when he’s fully inside of you. “Give you something to suck on and you turn into a complete sub.”
You open your eyes and glare at him, teasing your teeth against his knuckles.
“I know you liked sucking my cock,” Hyuck continues. “Don’t try to deny it. And I also know that you’re about to love this.”
With one slight adjustment to anchor himself, Hyuck begins to rut into you, and your eyes roll back into your head from the sensation.
He’s just so thick, and you can feel him stretching you out with every motion. Your core is still sensitive from your orgasm, and it makes your toes curl as he fucks into you, finding a pace that works for you both.
You moan around his fingers, fully immersed once again.
His sounds aren’t something you’re averse to either, and there’s something sexy about the slight whining tone he makes between gasps and grunts.
Hyuck pulls his fingers out of your mouth to smash his lips against yours, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, moaning desperately as he fucks you stupid.
Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and you kind of love the wet sounds coming from between your legs, the skin on skin, the heat and sweat.
His teeth tease your lower lip and you groan, tugging on his hair.
It seems you both have a thing for pain, and Hyuck’s pace quickens, the head of his cock hitting a deep spot inside of you that has your toes curling.
“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, pulling out of you abruptly. He flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and lifting you into doggy style before slamming into you again.
You mewl against the sheets, pressing your cheek firmly to the mattress as you grab for something to steady yourself. His hands are on your hips, tugging you back toward him to meet every thrust as he ravishes you in the best possible way.
“Fuck, pussy tastes amazing, but it feels like fucking magic,” he groans.
Your core flutters around him, and you love the dirty praise, which is something he clearly knows, because his thrusts falter slightly.
“I knew you liked dirty talk like this shit,” Hyuck laughs. “Knew you’d like listening to your rival come undone as he fucks you stupid.”
For once, you have no response, and you can only moan, pushing your hips back toward him, desperate for more.
“Fuck, keep doing that, keep fucking twerking on my fucking cock,” Hyuck grunts, his fingers digging into your hips. “And rub your clit too, I wanna feel you cum this time.”
You shove your hand under your body, two fingers finding the sensitive bud. Your core tightens around him again, and you both moan from the sensation.
“Just like that, fuck,” Hyuck groans, and his words make your entire body tingle.
You let your sounds escape you uncensored as he fucks you toward another high, and the rubbing of your clit has all of your muscles tensing in anticipation.
Then, he grabs your hair, tugging your head back so your body is arched in an odd shape. “Don’t hold back,” Hyuck warns, and from the angle of your throat, your sounds are much more guttural now, but there’s something so sexy about the animalistic way in which he’s fucking you.
“Keep going, keep rubbing that pretty pussy,” he instructs, and you give in to him being the dominant now.
You give in to Hyuck, and it actually feels amazing.
Each rough thrust has you closer and closer to the edge, and soon, your entire body is tensed with anticipation.
“That’s it, cum for me, cum on my fucking cock,” Hyuck groans, and without any more prompting needed, you let go.
Your orgasm slams through you, your pussy clamping down hard on Hyuck, who lets out a desperate moan.
Then he’s pushing you down flat, his body collapsing on your back as he shallowly fucks you, his cock throbbing in your own pulsating hole.
The warmth of his cum fills you, and the way he’s panting against your shoulders has your body tingling with sensitivity.
The two of you are gasping, and you can feel his heart racing against your back as you both try to steady yourselves.
A few minutes pass, and then Hyuck groans. “I probably should have asked you about birth control and STD’s and shit.”
Your heart lurches into your throat. “Did you just give me something?!”
“No, I’m clean, are you?”
“Fuck off,” you groan, pushing yourself up so he has to roll off of your back while you grab some tissues to deal with the cum that’s starting to drip off of you.
“So we’re both clean, good,” Hyuck laughs, but then his demeanor gets more serious. “This doesn’t change anything, by the way.”
“Yeah, in your dreams this changes anything,” you snap back.
“In your dreams!”
And the irritation is back.
You shake your head, going to the small bathroom to clean yourself up. You grab some clothes, checking your phone for the time. “Fuck, my team will be here soon to prep me for my show.”
“Wouldn’t want to hold little miss Best Female Rock Artist back,” Hyuck chuckles, pulling on his jeans.
“Yeah, get the fuck out of my trailer.”
“You’d have to beg me on your knees if you wanted me to stay.”
You roll your eyes. “Again, I don’t want you here.”
“Sure you don’t.” Hyuck grabs you by your hips, pulling you in for one last heated kiss, and when he pulls away, he’s grinning. “All bark and no bite.”
You can’t with him, and you let out a frustrated sigh.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Hyuck winks as he heads toward the exit door of your trailer. “And again, this doesn’t change anything.”
You wonder if he’s trying to convince you or himself, but you don’t dwell on it. You have a job to do, and you’d never let a man - let alone a man like Hyuck - get in the way of your work.
This is something to deal with another time, and you’ll cross that bridge then.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! love some rockstar au!
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🔮 preview. Hyuck always seemed like a wild card to you, so it’s a shock that he actually has a calming effect when you’re around him, and you melt into the feeling of relaxation, the feeling that everything will be okay.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, mentions of roleplay, alcohol, grinding, groping, foreplay, oral (f/m receiving), dick sucking, deep throating, pussy eating, overstimulation, multiple reader orgasms, mutual orgasms, dirty talk, praise, thick cock Hyuck, etc… I petnames. (hers) Wolfie.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 115
🌙 starring. Haechan x afab!Reader
bonus
It’s been over a year since the now infamous onstage moment at the Music Awards, wherein ‘The Hyuckster’ had to present his rival, Wolfie Muse, with the distinction of Best Female Rock Artist. And what a year it has been.
Blind items about this pair of rock stars have been popping up left, right, and center. But blind items are just gossip, and as a journalist who did attend university for a degree on the subject, I don’t deal in word of mouth. The picture below depicts one Mister Lee Donghyuck, leaving a hotel in Madrid, and whose hotel you may ask? Well, Wolfie Muse’s hotel, where she stayed after doing a concert two days ago.
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SYNOPSIS: Moving back home after unforeseen circumstances is hard enough as a 23 year old. But when you run into your childhood friend who you cut off all contact with now playing shows with his band that have apparently gained quite the reputation, you're forced to reevaluate the life that you left behind. And all of the doors you left wide open.
WORD COUNT: 28k (oops)
WARNINGS: humor, fluff, angst (kinda a lot of it), smut (MDNI), dry humping, thigh fucking, fingering, nipple play, light sub/dom play, vaginal sex (unprotected but pls wrap it when you tap it), characters might be a bit frustrating at some points, y/n deals with a lot of self hatred
NOTES: this is one of my proudest works while simultaneously being the longest! | was hoping to release earlier but I was severely sick two days ago while finishing it up, I hope you don't mind the delay!
explore the 𝑹𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 here!
spotify playlist that helped inspire me while writing can be found here
Part One: Late November
All I Think About Now
☆ 💫 ☆
“I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life,” He breathed out, his gaze sincere and intimate. It were as if you two were the only beings left in the world, he’d always had the ability to create such an environment for just the two of you. You reached forward—
“Long time no see, Y/N.” You heard the familiar voice from behind you, pulling you from your very heavy mind. You’d felt uneasy since the second the plane landed, your memories flooding back to you with zero remorse.
You turned to face her, the luggage in your hands weighing them down enough that you only gave a polite bow. You’d hoped that you came off nice enough and not like you were awkwardly avoiding any physical contact after not having spoken to your friend for so long. Even if thats exactly why you hadn’t met her eyes for longer than three seconds at a time.
She sucked her teeth playfully, “Is that any way to greet your friend?”
You couldn’t help but smile, her tone all so familiar and comforting. “Hi Giselle—“
”Aeri,” she cut you off pulling you in for a tight hug. “My closest friends call me Aeri.”
You let out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to hug her back even after you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cause anymore trouble than you already had before booking the first flight out. “Aeri, i’m sorry to call you so abruptly.”
She shakes her head that you’d only now noticed was pink as she pulled away from the hug, “Don’t say sorry you idiot. I’m glad you called even though I was like ninety percent sure it was a prank call when you asked for a ride from Seoul Airport.”
Your cheeks reddened, to be fair you weren’t exactly the type to pull off spontaneous trips. It was just as uncharacteristic to her as it was to you, though you weren’t really the type to prank call either.
”This way,” she slid one of the carriers out of your grip, dragging it as she made her way through the terminal.
The drive was silent apart from the sound of the air flowing out of the air conditioning and the occasional sorry Aeri offered when she turned a little too close to the edge, driving over the curb. You hadn’t anticipated the easiest reunion after the years that had gone by, but as the seconds went by you only felt more awkwardly trapped within the Toyota.
You’d been overthinking over what to say for the past ten minutes your mouth agape with hesitation until you finally built up the courage. “You dyed your hair.”
Aeri giggled, flicking the blinker as she made yet another sharp turn. “Yeah like two years ago.”
Your heart sank, thats right you had seen it on her instagram story last Halloween right before closing the app at the sight of—no that didnt matter. It shouldn’t at least.
“I’m sorry,” you stuttered, only making her giggle more.
”You’re so awkward now,” she spoke through the laughs.”What did they do to you in France.”
You pouted, the place you’d been at more than twenty four hours ago had been alright to say the least besides the rude pedestrians and pitpockets. “What do you mean you’re the one who’s been acting so normal! Pretending like nothing’s changed when I haven’t seen you for five years.” You crossed your arms, burning holes through the side of her face.
She hummed playfully, “And who’s fault is that?” The words stung which was certainly not her intention yet caused you to fall silent. She wasn’t wrong, if anyone were to blame it was definitely you.
“Hey,” She called out, her voice regretful. “I’m just kidding you know, seriously there’s no reason to be so awkward.” She spared you a quick glance with an apologetic smile, “You’re overthinking it, i’m not mad you made it out of this shit town. Hell, I would’ve done the same.
“So why didn’t you?” You ask, curious. Aeri had always wanted to travel, it’d been her dream since diapers.
She shakes her head, “You talk like we don’t have the rest of the world ahead of us.”
You bit your tongue, maybe for her it was that way, for you the future had different plans. You nod, the rest of the conversation falling into another silence. “I’m acting normal because everything is normal. Don’t think of this as time lost think of it as time catching up.”
Before you can get a word out she continues,”And I wasn’t like trying to make things awkward. Just thought silence fit the whole angsty quarter life crisis vibe you’re going through right now,” She jokes.
”I’m not the one who turned twenty five this year.” You deadpan causing her to gasp.
“Oh wow you’re not that far off I hope you know that.” She replies, the two of you laughing together. You both had a way of poking at each other, of course knowing when to stop, but in most cases it wasn’t ever necessary. It was the way the two of you showed love.
“I’m guessing i’m the only one you’ve told?”
Aeri was always very attentive so you were sure she’d have figured it out before the week ended, you’d only wished she could’ve at least realized after you’d had showered and changed into clothes that weren’t full of sweat.
“Yeah.” You felt your heart racing in fear of her mentioning his name.
“Wow I still have best friend privileges then?” She jokes, helping ease your stress a little more.
“You never lost them.”
“Right, well that must mean something then.” She smiles, before adding. “It’s the same for me, even now you’re still my best friend. I tell everyone, even told my friend Renjun before heading this way.”
You smiled, she had answered the phone quicker than you expected and before the phone call ended had already stated she was on the way. You were grateful even if in that back of your mind you had already known that she wouldn’t have just left you alone. It was even stupid for you to think that things had changed in the first place, Aeri wasn’t going to drive an hour away into Seoul for just anyone on a Friday.
“Renjun is?” You ask, curious about what she had been up to before she had picked you up.
“Oh he’s a cool guy I met doing some volunteer work for the Children’s Art program. He was a bit annoyed about me leaving right as we were getting ready for tonight but he shut up when I told him it’s cause I was coming to get you.”
“He knows me?” The thought scares you. Other people you’ve never met perceiving you was not really something any introvert would want.
“Yeah well me and Ning talk about you a lot.”
Ningning. You’d more recently seen her in person about a year ago. Her family had some business to take care of in France so you had the chance to have brunch with her before she was on her way out of the country.
“I hope I get to meet him.”
Her eyes light up, the next turn sharp enough to make your body slide over from one side of the seat to the next. “You can tonight! We were going to go over to some bar later on and getting drinks.”
“Aeri I have nothing to wear.”
“You can borrow some of my clothes!”
You groan in frustration, she was still the stubborn type. “I’m not really in the mood to socialize right now.” That wasn’t exactly the full truth but you’d rather get ran over than admit the real reason.
“I think it’ll do you good.” The rose haired girl replies, eyeing you through her peripherals. “I’m like one hundred percent sure that your grandma has zero idea that you’re even here right?”
Your silence tells her enough to know that she’s correct in that assumption. “It’ll be fun! You can wipe that kicked puppy look off of your face and get to socializing! Ning will be there too! It’ll be like you never left.”
You sigh. It wasn’t that you were avoiding contact with anyone from your past it’s just that you were avoiding seeing him.
Truth be told you really didn’t even know what made you come back here in the first place. Things were even more messy than they were in France right now, and that was a lot to say considering that you hadn’t replied to a single missed call from your mother.
You’d get around to it eventually. For now you just needed an escape. If your grandma knew she would tell you to not argue with your mom and go back home. But you didn’t want whatever kind of home that was supposed to be you wanted–
“Fine.” You spoke before you could even finish your thought. “I’ll go.”
Aeri squealed in excitement, pulling her phone out as soon as the two of you reached a red light to call and let everyone know that she had a very important person she was bringing over.
You hoped tonight could be a night of silence. You’d been thinking way too much about everything the past few days, it was important that you cleared your mind before your thoughts fried it. You weren’t sure how much time you had left before you had to come to terms with reality. France was where you were supposed to be no matter how differently you wish it were.
You were here for clarity, not for your own personal gain despite the urge to reach out because what you wanted wasn’t going to happen. Not after things ended so horribly.
You at least owed him that.
☆ 🎸 ☆
“You okay man? You’ve been playing that same chord progression for the past thirty minutes.”
“Leave him alone he’s just pissy because his last hookup tried the groupie route.”
That wasn’t exactly true. Naeun seemed like a pretty sweet girl but she had a score she was hoping to reach and Jisung wasn’t interested in fucking a girl who planned on hopping on his bandmates afterwards.
“I told you man,” He feels the weight of his friend's arm on his shoulder, sighing in annoyance at the familiar action. “You should be more like Jeno, tell them you’re only hitting it once and then you’re done.”
“That’s not at all what I say.”
Jisung could hear the scattered laughs from around him, breaking the cocoon of peace he’d been in while strumming to his own tune on the bass.
Most of the band’s rehearsals began this way. He’d be in his own funk until the rest of them snapped him out of it, usually by poking at him until he finally gave them attention, and then they’d all practice. Only now, instead of ten minutes of being in his own world he’d somewhere along the way picked up the habit of playing for over twenty minutes, now thirty, all by himself.
It wasn’t that it affected the group’s intense practice schedules, actually he’d argue that Donghyuck’s habit of bringing his latest hookup for an exclusive behind the scenes tour was much more disruptive. It was, however, becoming increasingly irritating to himself. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Jisung was no psychic but he at least had some kind of intuition. It came with having a Scorpio Moon, or whatever Jaemin had told him when he was hanging out with the tarot card girl.
“Are you good?” Mark asked, his words full of concern yet low enough that only Jisung could hear him as the others continued to mess around paying them two no more attention.
Mark had pretty easily taken on the leader role when this whole band came about, being the eldest of the group and also the voice of reason. The lead guitarist was known for his friendly demeanor and knowing just about everyone, which made it easier for him to book gigs all over the place.
That’s also how the two met, Jisung having covered for the older’s friend’s band, Frequency, when their bassist caught food poisoning three days before they had to do a grand show two cities over.
If it weren’t for meeting Mark then it would’ve been safe to bet that Jisung would’ve given up on his dream of playing in a band. He was eternally grateful even now, which is why he’d grown more frustrated at himself. It was unfair to space out all the time, but it was even more unfair that he couldn’t get his own head straight all the time. He had to get his head straight, he couldn’t run Oblivion into the ground.
His breath was shaky. “I’m fine.” He answered, much less tranquil than he’d hoped for but it got the point across. Mark gave a tight smile, choosing to accept the pretense, before clapping loud enough to disrupt the other’s shenanigans.
The guys turned their attention to Mark, who had made his way over to where his guitar stood. “Come on guys, it’s time we take things a little more seriously.”
“It’s nothing we haven’t played before,” Donghyuck started, his confidence high and sprung as always. “We have practiced these songs more times than i’ve seen my mother.”
“Doesn’t mean we’ve mastered anything,” Mark replies swiftly. “This is the most packed schedule we have these next couple of months. We have a couple of venues sold out, that festival downtown in a few weeks, not to mention the fact that we’ve been needing new music since forever.”
“Songwriting isn’t exactly my forte,” Jeno retorted, taking a seat and adjusting the cymbals on his drums.
“Doesn’t matter, practicing beats sitting around and doing nothing.”
“Doesn’t Jeno do that anyway?” Jaemin teases, picking up his guitar and sliding the strap over his shoulder.
The drummer responds with his signature smile and his middle finger raised.
“Let’s make things easy for Markie,” Donghyuck grabbed his mic from off of the stand. “Start with Déjà Vu?”
Jisung starts with the bass line, the familiar weight of the tune soothing his head as the others join in. It was easy to get lost in their music, rock was always his safe space.
The music built up, Donghyuck’s vocals filling the space around them. They’d rehearsed the song so many times it came to them all like muscle memory at this point, the five of them having some of the best musical chemistry ever.
The bridge was coming up when Jisung’s mind blanked. His fingers faltered over the strings, not enough to make the others stop playing but enough to garner questioning glances. He came in once again right before the ending chorus, all of them playing as if he hadn’t just ruined the entire practice performance.
He tried to stay focused on the music but as the song neared its end it only broke the illusion Jisung had put himself under. There was really no way he could keep up with the rest of the guys if he kept on letting his mind wander.
“Jisung buddy, you okay man?” This time Jaemin was the one to ask. Great that meant his internal struggles were already becoming more obvious.
“Yeah, sorry, guess you’re right about a few things.”
“I told you Ji,” Donghyuck says far too loudly as he speaks directly into the mic. “If you need something I know plenty of women ready to be at your beckoning call.”
“Once again,” Jisung sighs, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not interested.” Donghyuck shrugs.
“It’s not a problem this is just a practice anyway,” Mark says as leaderish as ever, “Let’s take it from the top.”
Jisung knew Mark was probably a bit more stressed than he let on, this whole gimmick had been happening way more often to call it a stroke of misfortune. He wouldn’t ever let the man see that though, he already knew just how hard Jisung was on himself. Could you really blame him, though? Now was not the time for mistakes, the band themselves were booked and busy for the next few weeks. If he kept tuning out and fucking up simple songs that he could play in his sleep, he’d be responsible for the reputation of the band.
He bit his bottom lip, closing his eyes to clear his mind before starting up the same bass line as before. He’d have to hurry up and fix whatever limbo he was stuck in. And hurry up fast.
☆ 💫 ☆
Dinner went about as great as you’d expected. Lots of awkward moments up until the drinks started pouring in, and only then after almost zero persuasion you took the drinks and joined the rest of them in the fun drinking games you hadn’t played since you were all sneaking sips of your mothers expensive wine. It wasn’t alcoholic in the slightest, but that hadn’t stopped your young minds from acting drunk anyway.
It had been almost a week since then. And you were no monster so you had already come clean about your whereabouts to your grandma who, after lots of convincing, agreed to not tell anything to your mother under the condition that you would visit her in the time you chose to stay here before leaving again.
You weren’t exactly sure when that would be, after all you still had too much on your mind and according to Aeri, lots of catching up to do. That included, checking out the newly remodeled venue thirty minutes away and having drinks with everyone.
Unfortunately for you, no introvert was safe from your friends' shenanigans. So tonight you were expected to show up, no excuses. Not even the ‘you don’t have my foundation shade’ that used to get you out of going most places when you were all younger. Turns out having a friend who worked as a beauty consultant took some getting used to.
You took in the scene around you, low lights that were full of color. There was a subtle fog that filled the room you were sure was there to add to the aesthetic appeal.
You’d been sipping on drinks for what felt like hours just waiting for the main performance to begin. Some band was running late for the past thirty minutes.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a performance?” You click your tongue in annoyance, speech slightly slurred.
“I think they might just move on to the rest of them, probably gonna end up being a hefty fine.” Renjun replies, gulping down the last of his mocktail.
“How many bands are we here to see?”
Ningning giggles, just as tipsy as you. “As many as we can! Who doesn’t love live music?”
You groan, “Well i’ll be right back then,” You scoot off of your seat, pulling down your dress fabric that had risen just a bit too high for comfort as you were seated. “Anyone else want another drink?” Your friends politely decline, choosing to stay behind and keep your section open for when you come back.
The bodies around made it a bit more difficult to find your way around, but anytime you were tipsy you’d gain enough confidence to convince yourself you could run a marathon in ten minutes, so there was no way you were backing out. You chose to try a different route, heading closer towards the stages in the back since there were less people and crowds weren’t exactly your scene.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here right now.” A low voice sounded from behind you, startling you into turning around.
“Do I know you?” You take in the appearance of the man in front of you. He was handsome but that didn’t really mean anything considering that he was a stranger, and you were alone.
He chuckled, his smile only growing larger. “Guess not.”
You nodded awkwardly, turning away from the guy and praying he wasn’t some creep.
“If you’re here for the show then I’m pretty sure the stage is that way.” He calls out, pointing from where you just came from.
“Not where i’m headed but thank you.”
“Hey look I promise i’m no creep,” He says and though the words are meant to be comforting your drunken mind can’t help but take it as a threat. “You should really be careful out here though, if security finds you they’ll kick you out without even hearing you out first.”
You’re not really sure what to say so you nod. This guy was kind of annoying, it was obvious enough you didn’t want his help. You looked at him again, your brow raised this time actually taking in his appearance. He had blond hair, his eyes were big enough you could probably spot him from a mile away, and his smile seemed genuine yet all the more unsettling.
“You like what you see?” He jokes, his smile growing wider.
You pretend to gag, causing the ladder to laugh. “Okay okay fine i’ll leave you alone.” He looked down at his watch like he’d lost track of time. “Oh by the way, the bar is that way!”
He pointed in the direction you had already planned on going in before running off into one of the many rooms that confused your tipsy head.
When you’d appeared once again with your friends this time with a drink in hand Aeri was the first to speak up.
“Where have you been? I told these guys you have zero sense of direction who gave them the bright idea to go by yourself.”
“His name is Jack Daniels.” Ningning blurts out.
“I’m serious, you missed out on a lot, Renjun’s friend Chenle is some dude who owns this place. He invited us for more drinks later when the show ends.”
Renjun nods happily, “He also offered us rides home so I can actually drink now.”
You smile, “Don’t worry, I met some weirdo but he kind of helped me find the bar so he wasn’t so bad after all.”
Aeri’s eyes widened with worry, “He didn’t try anything did he? I’ll find whoever the creep is and kill him.”
“I’m fine, really.” Before she can argue the crowd erupts in cheers, five silhouettes filling the stage. It was hard for you to even make out their faces with all of the fog and distance between you and the main stage.
The first few chords strummed, the low notes of the bass powerful enough to cloud your mind before the rest of the ensemble joined. Whatever song it was was captivating. The entire crowd swayed to the heavy sound, your friends following suit.
The next few songs went by almost too quickly, and it was safe to say that whoever these guys were on stage were something special. The crowd cheered loudly after every performance up until the final song.
The lead singer stopped for a moment introducing the last song by title. Once more to see you.
The final song began, a slow bass line that felt so familiar. You took in a sharp breath, the vocals were different than they were before. This time a low voice took the mic. You felt as if your heart stopped beating, your friends were distracted staring up at the stage not having noticed your pale complexion.
You couldn’t breathe. What ever made you think you could come back down and avoid him? The lead singer had taken the mic again but it was much too late. You knew exactly who it was on that stage. You’d spent your childhood with him. You helped him find his voice. You were there when he first began composing his own music.
You were there, until you weren’t.
☆ 🎸 ☆
Jisung took one long breath, soaking in the applause from the audience before looking up as the final chorus ended. His heart sank for a split second, staring out in the distance he swore he saw–
“Come on,” Jeno called out, his figure covering his view. He moved over, looking into the crowd again to see nothing. He must really be out of his mind these days. He followed the rest of the group off of the stage, the cheers fading into the distance.
“That was fucking amazing!” Donghyuck shouted excitedly, “Did you see the way the girl in the front row kept looking at me? I threw her a wink and she got all shy.”
Jeno rolled his eyes, “Yeah I'm so sure that happened even through the thick ass fog.”
“What was the deal with that?” Mark added, taking a sip of a water bottle that Jisung was almost sure appeared out of thin air if it weren’t for the mini fridge in the break room they’d noticed earlier. “Swear I could barely see where my own guitar was.”
“I for one could see perfectly,” Jaemin sighed, “The girl with the black dress.”
The rest of the guys collectively groaned in annoyance, it was so like Jaemin to pick out a random girl from the crowd to offer his entire soul to for the night. The hopeless romantic surely had a weird way of envisioning his future.
Jisung scrunched his face, deciding to take a water bottle from the fridge as a means of cooling off. He wasn’t exactly interested in the other guys sex lives, so he found himself wondering back to what he thought he saw. There was zero way that it was you. Like it had to be scientifically impossible, you made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with him anymore so why would you be back in town?
He had to be losing it or something because seriously what the fuck. First he was spacing out now he was suddenly seeing shit? Seeing you of all people too?
“Jisung!” Jeno shouted, no anger in it whatsoever but it was enough to make Jisung jump anyway, “Dude what’s up with you lately?”
He had no answer to that.
When he didn’t reply Jeno started up again, “Look I don’t really understand what the heck is going on and clearly you’re just as lost as I am, but how about you join us after this?”
Ah of course there was always the post performance clubbing his band mates would go to for drinks and more specifically, the warmth of another in their bed. Honestly he should say no. He always did anyway, but he figured that if for even more than a second he was left alone with his own thoughts he’d certainly lose his mind for real.
“Okay.” Jisung agreed, not completely confident in his decision but the other guys seemed happier than he was at the answer.
“Finally!” Donghyuck buds into their conversation, poking his head in between the two as he hangs off of Jisung’s shoulder. “I met this girl a few shows back and her friend couldn’t stop asking about you! I promise you, you will get some tonight.”
Mark laughs, “Yeah i’m sure that’s exactly what Ji was worried about, going home without some groupie.”
Donghyuck shrugs, “You never know, Jaemin could die if he doesn’t get his dick touched after every show.”
Jaemin smirks, “Good thing I don’t ever have to worry about that.”
Jisung knew he had made a grave mistake the second they had entered the building. For one, most of the bodies filling the room stank of cheap cologne and alcohol. And the second he even made his way in every single one of the guys disappeared into the abyss.
This was seriously not his scene. He let out what felt like the hundredth sigh of the night, making his way over to the bar. He ordered rum and coke, hoping that was good enough to get a little bit of alcohol in his system so he wouldn’t feel like dying until the rest of the guys gathered up to get back home.
As time went on he’d grown bored, the drink was seriously not helping him get his mind off of anything. Some woman tried flirting with him about half an hour ago who was obviously not in the right mind when she confessed to forgetting her name. Her friend popped up right behind her apologizing and leaving with her.
He contemplated another drink as he scrolled his phone once more, a few texts popping in from the Oblivion group chat.
Donghyuck:
Im out
Don’t bother me
I’ll be back in the morning
Of course the dude had left on his own. If Jisung knew that was the case he would’ve left a long time ago. He set down the empty glass in his hand, going straight through the crowd to find the exit door. His phone began to ring, he was sure it was Jeno or Jaemin calling to hook him up with a random person he’d never met. It was annoying how often they’d pull that, even when he was already settled in his bed at home.
He locked his screen, ignoring the call as he spotted what looked like a door out. The crowd was really getting to him, even if his height was an advantage between all of the people, he didn’t particularly like the feeling of someone standing so close to him. He was a bassist for crying out loud, that didn’t mean he had to be a people person. That was all Hyuck’s job, anyway, as the lead singer.
As he finally reached the door he felt like a weight lifted off of his shoulder, reaching out to open the door when from the other side someone pushed it forward. He muttered a quick apology before looking up.
Right in front of him you stood, in a black dress that didn’t do enough to hide your figure from everyone else’s eyes. Paired with a huge fluffy puffer jacket he never would’ve imagined you’d buy for yourself. Though his imagination proved to be very inconsistent since he would’ve never imagined you’d be back here of all places.
It hit him then. The anxious feelings he’d been experiencing for the past weeks, the girl who could’ve bet his entire life on being in the crowd. So he wasn’t going crazy, not yet at least.
☆ 💫 ☆
You should’ve trusted your gut. That’s the only thing that you could think as you met face to face with him. He looked even better up close than he did on the stage. Only where he looked comfortable and free playing before, it was nowhere to be seen now. Now he stared back at you. For just a second as you opened the door you thought you could see a hint of relief. It was all gone now. Now you looked into the eyes of the man you knew so well before. Now you looked into the eyes of your best friend who eyed you back with…
Well, honestly, you couldn’t even pinpoint how he felt, all you knew was that it was definitely not a happy feeling.
“Jisungie?” Ningning called out from behind you, completely oblivious to the dense atmosphere that surrounded the two of you.
His expression changed in a quick moment, a smile masking his features as his attention shifted to greet hers. You weren’t sure why it hurt so bad to see the two of them interact that way, but it did.
“Hey,” His voice was as deep as you remembered, goosebumps erupting on your skin as you moved to the side, offering up space so the two of them could talk more easily.
“I haven’t seen you in like forever!” She rested a hand on his shoulder, “You look great but out of place, I don’t remember you being much of a clubbing guy?”
“Jeno dragged me out tonight but it seems he made himself pretty busy.”
Ningning laughs, “Seems just like him.”
You felt like an outsider, not knowing any of the people the two of them were referring to. You shrank into silence, hoping the two of them would end up distracted enough that you could make a run for it. Surely there had to be at least one late night flight back to France, or Portugal, or Spain, or really any European country that could hide you for the rest of your life.
“You could join us where we’re sitting? We’re in a vip booth, supposed to be meeting some of the bands from earlier.”
Your eyes widened, there was no way she really asked him that. It wasn’t completely known to the rest of your friend group what really happened between you and Jisung but it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out either.
“Ah,” He looks down awkwardly. You held back a smile, he was never really one for direct eye contact, not with anyone but you. What were you talking about, that was in the past. “I actually played earlier, I'm the bassist for Oblivion, the last ones that played.”
Ningning’s mouth was in the shape of an O, “Really! I would’ve noticed but it was pretty foggy where we stood!” She knocked on her head, scolding herself for not paying enough attention to who was actually on stage. “You should come by anyway! I’m sure the others might be just as surprised seeing you now.”
Things couldn’t get more awkward. It was fine though, Jisung was obviously pretty occupied before you bumped into him, so clearly, he wouldn’t want to stay here longer when he’s busy.
“Sure.”
It was not fine.
“Great!” Ningning smiled, “Y/N can show you where the rest of the group is i’m going to order us a round of drinks!”
It was definitely not fine.
Jisung nodded, prompting Ningning to leave the both of you alone. You barely let out a small “This way,” before even more uncomfortable silence filled the air around you two.
You knew your friend certainly didn’t mean to make things weird, she just happened to be a very talkative drunk. You could forgive her in the morning when she would apologize to you profusely just as she always did after a night of drinking and bad decisions.
What plagued your mind now wasn’t that, it was why Jisung would even agree in the first place? He didn’t seem to want to talk to you at all. Or had you been imagining things? You did have a habit of making things out to be what they weren’t. Perhaps he was actually happy to see you? Perhaps he was interested in catching up with the others? Maybe he wasn’t mad at you for leaving him hanging the last couple of years and dropping off the face of the earth.
Jisung was always a sweetheart growing up, he could hardly hold any resentment towards anyone. Some things never changed.
Time changes everything.
You’d told yourself that right before you clicked to confirm your flight, mostly so that when you came back and realized that change was inevitable and happening no matter what, it wouldn’t cause you to panic but instead give you better insight on what to do with your life.
Now, as you sit quietly at the table, Aeri to your left pouring yet another glass for the man seated in front of you. You realized that there was no comfort in change, not when you ruined what left you had to live in your life.
Jisung hardly looked at you, avoiding every fiber of your existence as he laughed along with the rest of the group. You had tried to make a comment somewhere in between the night that he ignored flat out. It should’ve pissed you off more, you were a prideful human being, but you’d figured that was better than him looking at you in disgust, the way he did earlier when you first introduced him to everyone at the table.
He was always one to have his emotions written on his face afterall.
You took another shot of soju, your friends so deep in conversation they overlooked your presence, talking loudly about some things you’d missed out on when you moved away. You were a few shots deep enough to know that you had about one more shot left in you before you completely passed out here on this table, which honestly seemed like the worst fate possible, again because of your pride.
You tapped your finger, absentmindedly, your overthinking soon to be reduced by the thoughts of ‘could I jump over a twenty foot van’.
You weren’t sure how long it’d been of you doing that until you heard the sound of a glass sliding towards you. Looking up, you see the same dark head of hair that had been hard to not notice all night.
“Drink.” Jisung says, his tone flat and uninterested, like he didn’t actually care if you did what he said at all.
You eyed the glass with what you assumed was filled with water since it was clear. “Water?”
He sighs, as if replying to you physically hurt him. “What else would it be?”
You shrug, holding the glass with both hands and taking a few large gulps of the cool liquid. It was definitely water, and for some reason it was really hitting the spot. You set the glass down, wiping your lips from where at some point it spilled. If you were sober enough you would’ve seen the way he looked at you, the shaky breath he let out when you wiped your mouth.
“It could’ve been tequila.”
His patient demeanor is back, “Do you really think i’d offer you more alcohol in this state?”
You shrug again, this time not really knowing what to say. You felt shy all of a sudden. Those were the only words he’d directed at you and you only the entire night. A selfish part of you knew that if you let the conversation die now he, rightfully so, would probably never talk to you again and go about his own life. You felt like that was the worst possible outcome, so you opted for another.
“Where’d everyone go?” You ask innocently. Truth be told you hadn’t even noticed the empty chairs around until now. Damn did you really drink that much?
As if he read your mind he replies, “Did you really overdo it? They left for the dance floor a few minutes ago. They invited you but you claimed your feet would fall off if you stood up for more than a minute.”
Well props to your drunk self, you at least knew your own limits. Jisung scrolls his phone, the silence somehow louder than the music playing throughout the place. When did things become this way? You knew why, but that didn’t make it hurt less. He could hardly even look at you, but when he did he looked at you like it hurt him to. He looked at you like you were the bane of his existence. Of course, after a certain point you were also an emotional drunk. You’d learned of it back in France when you had too many rounds of champagne at your mother’s Orca release and rescue charity gala event and bursted out crying as the slide show segment took place.
It was embarrassing then, the last thing you needed was a repeat of that time. You swallowed down more water, hoping it would ease the cry in your throat from fully forming.
Jisung’s phone began to ring. He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. You thought maybe he wouldn’t answer when he proved you wrong, sliding the answer button and lifting the phone to his ear.
He answered softly, “Hello?”
Ah it must be his girlfriend if he’s answering so kindly. That makes total sense, he was always a subtle charmer. You’d look into his eyes and fall deeper and deeper without realizing it like he was some sort of black hole.
“No it’s okay,” He spoke again, making eye contact with you again and tapping the table for you to finish the last of your water. You groan but obey, sipping down the rest in one last gulp.
“Yeah really hyung i’m fine, just got things to take care of.”
Hyung?
You ponder for a moment before realizing that it wasn’t a girlfriend he’d been on the phone with. Wow what a way of jumping to conclusions. You’d laugh at yourself if doing that wouldn’t result in a psych evaluation.
He seemingly ends the call, typing something into his phone before setting it down.
“What was that about?” He raises an eyebrow in what seemed like he was offended that you’d even ask. He was about to give you an answer when you cut him off. “Fine then I didn’t want to know!”
You had enough of whatever game he was playing. Since he hated you so much he could leave. There wasn’t anything holding him hostage here. You were done being a sad drunk now you were just annoyed.
You pout, refusing to look at him when a low chuckle sounds from his mouth. You turn towards him again, scowling in annoyance. “Stop laughing! You’re being such an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole?” He scoffs playfully, “Why?”
You roll your eyes. He couldn’t be serious. “You’ve been looking at me like i’m stupid all night!”
“We haven’t even been together all night.” You roll your eyes, making him laugh more. “Okay, i’m sorry I was joking.”
You refuse to speak now, staring off at some random painting on the wall like it was an official Van Gogh exclusive.
“Darling,” His voice is low as he calls for you.
Darling.
You hadn’t been called that since before you left. The nickname has always been his for you, an exclusive that nobody but him could ever call you.
“Why do you do this to me?” You question him, your cheeks growing warm as you fiddle with your fingers. “I understand you must want nothing to do with me after...” You trail off, not knowing how exactly to word anything but continuing anyway, “after everything, but if you hate me so badly then you can just leave.”
He’s silent for a moment too long, making you grow more embarrassed at your sudden outburst. Only Park Jisung was able to drag this kind of reaction out of you. You hear him shift in his seat, the music on the dance floor not anywhere near as loud as the way your heart thumps when he approaches you.
He’s right beside you, standing what you can only assume is straight and tall when he clears his throat. You lift your head up on instinct to meet his gaze, only this time the playful glint from before is gone. He’s nothing short of serious when he finally speaks, “Is that it? You thought I wanted nothing to do with you?””
You’re so close in proximity now, closer than you’ve been in years. He looks behind you but for just one moment before his eyes are back on yours again. You suck in a breath as he leans in close, making sure that you’d be able to hear him over the loud chatter around.
“I wish that was the case.”
Your brows furrow. What the hell does that mean? “What–“ You don’t have any time to ask, the tall man had already stormed off.
“What’s up with him?” Aeri asks, taking a seat next to you.
You don’t even know how to reply. If anything his reaction only made everything more confusing. You leaned your head in your hands, groaning in frustration. This was not at all what you had been anticipating when you left, but one thing was for certain, this was only the beginning to your problems.
Part Two: Early December
What difference does it make?
☆ 🎸 ☆
The atmosphere was warm and comforting. He snuggled into your touch, the soft touch of your hand trailing through his hair. He felt himself drift asleep, the tiredness from school and practice enveloping him as the seconds passed. You whispered something, your voice too light to make out. He was too tired to ask though, deciding he could just ask you about it in the morning. His breathing evened out as he allowed himself to rest.
Jisung woke up with a headache that felt like he’d been shot in the head. Twice.
A part of him knew that whatever drink Jeno handed him was probably going to taste like it was mixed with a horse tranquilizer. In his defense, he really did need it.
Ever since he’d last seen you two weeks ago he couldn’t help but think of you. You overwhelmed every thought in his mind, every dream he had, every daydream. It was a bad idea to stay to chat. It was an even worse one to talk to you. Now you plagued his mind constantly.
He barely had time to explain anything to his hyungs, and lucky for him, they didn’t really ask. They did, however, offer ways of help. That’s how he ended up at parties or bars or clubs after every performance they had. And Mark wasn’t joking when he said the next few months were booked and busy. It seemed like every week he found himself waking up after a night out with a killer migraine, but it beat the alternative.
Mark didn’t seem so pleased, but as long as the partying wasn’t interfering with practice or actual performances, he would let them go about how they wanted to spend their free time. So for some time, he’d hang around with the guys until they found some girl to take back to a hotel, then he’d call a cab and pass out the second his head hit his pillow. It was a controversial way of living, sure, but it at least left him with an empty mind.
You hadn’t shown up to any other performances. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it at first, but he figured it was for the best. He made his way into the kitchen, the guys laughter from the living room sounding like they were screaming in his ear. They didn’t pay him any attention until he closed the fridge, Jaemin calling out to him as his Sonya Blade completely annihilated Donghyuck’s Johnny Cage.
“Yo Jisung! Do you wanna play?”
“We still haven’t finished this round, asshole,” Donghyuck replied.
“Yeah but you suck,” Jaemin teases, finishing the round with a signature Fatality.
“You sleep well?” Mark calls out from the other couch, Donghyuck passing him the remote in defeat.
“Uh,” Jisung’s mind drifts for a second, remembering his dream before ignoring the memory. “Sure.”
“You’re pretty quiet,” Mark says plainly, “Anything happen last night?”
“Nothing fun if that’s what you’re implying, dude couldn’t even stand a chance when Jeno passed him that concoction of his.” Donghyuck answers for him, paying no active attention to anything but his phone.
Jeno smiles to himself in the corner, which sounded creepier than it actually was. “That’s not even my go-to, if you want a real drink next time let me know.”
Donghyuck looks up from his phone, offended like Jeno had punched him, “Dude, what kind of monster are you?”
Jaemin laughs maniacally, having beat Mark’s Sub-Zero in record breaking time.
“Dude? How?” Mark asks in genuine shock, looking over the remote like it had betrayed him.
“He’s a hacker I tell you!” Donghyuck shouts, the sound still too amplified for Jisung’s poor ears.
“I made breakfast,” says Jaemin, ignoring the others' theories. “We already ate so you can help yourself. There’s some pills on the counter too.”
It hadn’t been that long since they all decided to live together, it made getting to rehearsal easier. The only issue was having to deal with multiple roommates bringing someone back home, the walls weren’t as thin as they hoped. A good pair of noise cancelling headphones later though, and living here was really great.
Jisung was sure if he’d been living alone he would’ve ended up starving to death, so having Donghyuck and Jaemin as roommates was like a gift from the heavens above. As soon as he bit into the Kimchi Stew he felt cured of all things evil, devouring the rest of the meal like he hadn’t eaten in years.
Once he finished and washed his bowl he passed through the living room much more energized than he was moments prior. Mark sat alone now, stretched limbs over the couch as he watched the Animated Spider-Man Series.
“Where’s everyone?”
Mark shrugged, eyes glued to the tv, “Jeno’s in his room probably, Donghyuck went out, and who knows with Jaemin.”
“No practice today?”
“Nope,” he replies, popping the p. “Free day today.”
It was the first Wednesday they had off in almost a month. Jisung pondered for a moment, debating how to spend today, before realizing he had things to do.
“I’m going out!” He yells out after switching into a casual outfit, slipping on his shoes at the door. “I’ll be back later!”
Mark shouts back a quick, “Okay man take care!” Right as Jisung shuts the door.
Wednesdays were reserved, for the most part, or at least Jisung tried to keep it that way. It was pretty hard though, this new schedule kept him booked and busy with back to back shows and practice.
He gripped the bag of fruit in one hand, politely knocking on the door and waiting. There was scuffling from inside, someone making their way over to the door. He adjusted his shirt, making sure he didn’t look like he had been run over.
The door twisted open, revealing you. A plain black shirt, partially revealing the bra you had on with the way it flowed over your shoulders. You wore baggy jeans, the boyfriend style that made him short circuit at the idea of you wearing any one of his clothes that’d fit on you oversized. He could smell your familiar fragrance of cherries, one that he’d assumed you’d eventually outgrow but had proven to be false.
You spoke first, his words stolen out of his mouth before he could even get a greeting out. “What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t sure you meant to come off so accusatory, but you did, his headache from earlier coming back.
“Jisungie!” Your grandma called from behind you. A smile reached his face in an instant.
“Auntie,” He starts, “I apologize for not coming by sooner.”
“Don’t apologize!” She cuts him off, “Come in, come in.”
He nods, removing his shoes as he steps inside the familiar home. “I brought you some fruits, as an apology.”
“Ah you didn’t have to,” She smiles, accepting the bag.
Jisung keeps it in his arms, “It’s a bit heavy, i’ll carry it.”
She nods in thanks, heading towards her kitchen. The entire interaction leaves you standing there, mouth agape, in confusion. Looking at the bag in his hands and back up at him.
“Grandma!” You call after the elderly lady, following her into the kitchen.
He can hear you as you try and speak quietly, you really were bad at whispering, asking the woman why the hell he was here. She ignores you, dicing up more vegetables and adding them into the pot.
“Jisungie, you can sit over there.”
He sets the bag of fruits down on the table, “Ah i’m okay, I can help if you want.”
The lady laughs, “Your hands are better for playing, sit, sit.”
“Ah, yes.”
You groan in frustration, your grandmother ignoring you as you try to talk to her, telling you to quiet down and take a seat. After a few minutes of lingering around, you finally decide to oblige, taking the seat next to Jisung.
“I asked you a question,” You observe him, looking over him like he was on the FBI’s most wanted list.
Your grandmother passes him a glass cup that he accepts with thanks. He takes a sip, her banana smoothies were always nothing short of exceptional.
“I always swing by,” He replies, barely sparing you a glance. He knew if he allowed himself to look at you again that he’d be putting himself in a worse position.
Your brows furrow, he holds back a smile, you were always so easy to read. “Why?” You ask plainly, this time with zero irritation.
He looks over at the woman, hoping you were able to put two and two together. Your grandma was a kind woman, but she was also lonely. Her only child left years ago to start a life elsewhere, and though she was so proud of her, Jisung constantly heard of your mothers accomplishments anytime he visited, he could tell a part of her missed having her daughter around.
It was different when you lived there, she would watch over the two of you when you were young. Jisung spent most of his time with the two of you since his parents were always away. He started coming over on his own a few weeks after you moved. At first he wanted to make sure that your grandma was doing well, he checked over her house to see if she needed help with anything. She appreciated his visits, cooking for him and telling him to stop by whenever he wanted to.
He stopped by more often after that, at least once a week when he wasn’t busy filling in for random bands around the area. She had been the first to congratulate him when he joined Oblivion. It was nice being around a place that he held so dear to him, even when he knew he should’ve been trying to get over you. A part of him knew that wouldn’t ever happen.
You understood the message clearly, quieting down after that. The atmosphere became dense again, words left unsaid. It was weird, he hadn’t ever expected your conversations to ever be this frail, let alone you ever coming back.
The rest of the day went by quickly, the sun set by the time all three of you finished eating. Your grandma had asked him about different topics, mostly making sure he was well fed and not just running off of junk food like the kids did nowadays.
“Show him out,” Your grandma turned to you.
“Me?” You ask, avoiding your grandma's hand as she began to swat it annoyed. “Why?”
“You ask too many questions,” She replies, making her way back to the kitchen, “Don’t be rude and show him out.”
“Thank you again, auntie!” Jisung calls out.
“Come by again soon!”
You stand quiet for a moment, sighing and sliding on your shoes before walking ahead of him. “You’ve been here more than me, not sure why you'd need help all of a sudden.”
Jisung barely fails to resist a scoff. It’s like you were trying to make him hate you.
The night air is chilly, your arms hiding into themselves to cling for warmth. He held onto the leftovers your grandmother gave him tighter, the atmosphere proving dangerous to so many of his hidden desires.
You led him outside of the gate, your hand hesitating over the lock. “Thank you,” Your voice was soft and genuine, “for visiting my grandma all this time.”
Jisung paused. He wasn’t sure how to reply, not wanting to ruin the moment but also guarding himself from you. He settled with, “I didn’t do it for you.” regretting it only slightly after seeing your reaction. He bit his tongue, hoping you were too lost in your own pout to notice his smile.
“I know that!” You scoff, obviously annoyed.
The tongue biting does himself no favors, his smile so obvious now, even to you who refuses to meet his eye. Your expression is different now, you’re hiding something, he knows you well enough to notice it.
“Just say it.”
“What?” You’re startled, looking up at him just as you did before. You were seriously so cute from this angle. He clears his throat, “You always make that face when you want to say something, so i’m telling you to just say it.”
You pause, like a deer caught in headlights, shaking your head the way you always did when you wanted to get the nerves out.
“What did you mean when you said you wished that was the case?”
He snickered, it was so like you to replay such a simple moment in your mind, a conversation in which he was sure you knew exactly what he meant. He leans in again, hoping you won’t be able to hear his heart palpitating, “Nothing, I was drunk.”
Your brows furrow, “You’re lying,” You call his bluff. He only laughs again. “Tell me, please.”
That please was almost his breaking point, the idea of you begging for him flooding his veins with want. He turns away feeling vulnerable, heat pooling in his stomach that he’s so desperately trying to avoid. “You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.”
He walks away, heading straight for his car with no disruptions. He barely acknowledges the sound of the lock turning, his mind and body racing to leave now before every hint of self respect was lost.
He sat within the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel with pressure, his head falling forward, a groan escaping his lips. He shouldn’t have come today, he should’ve stayed home and caught up with some very much needed rest.
He needed to forget about you, but it proved to be so much more difficult than just avoiding you. You consumed every fiber of his being, appearing in places he wouldn’t have even imagined, okay maybe your grandma’s house was his fault but you hadn’t been there for the past years so how should he have known.
He felt like he was going insane. Picturing you in the back of his mind after every show, hooking up with a random girl from the bar after his hyungs suggested it just for him to feel like shit after. And finally, when he decided to put all of his efforts into his music, the second he thought maybe he could finally get over you, you came waltzing back into his life.
Even now, as much as he tried to piss you off, he knew. There was no winning, not with you. No, when it came to you, he was at complete mercy to you. The worst part was, you didn’t even know it.
☆ 💫 ☆
You laid in your old bedroom, staring up at the ceiling like it could answer all of life’s biggest mysteries for you. You had texted Giselle saying you’d be staying at your grandma’s for a few days, You weren’t even sure she’d read it with how occupied she was the past few days with some random man she’d met dancing at the bar while you dealt with Jisung trying to sober up.
Speaking of the devil, he was the reason you were even awake this late. You had fixed your sleep schedule the first few days of landing, who knew an awkward dinner with your– Jisung.
He’d left after whatever the hell kind of conversation that was, and he didn’t even say bye! Not that you needed it but it would’ve been nice.
You had been replaying the conversation from earlier in the night in your mind. He didn’t have to be so condescending, since when did he become so.. so stupid!
You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.
The worst part is the way he said it. You locked the door as quickly as you could the second he walked away, your heart racing at his attitude. Your cheeks were flushed, your grandma pointed out as she asked why you were so red before you ran up to your room to avoid her.
You reached for the pillow beside you, pulling it over your face as you hid yourself in shame. You were very close to screeching in it, stopping yourself because then you’d have to admit seeing him did something to you.
You let out a sigh, disconnecting your face from the pillow, trying to ease your mind into thinking about something else. You still hadn’t spoken to your mom, you weren’t sure what the woman was planning since it’s the longest time you’ve gone without contacting her about your every move since you lived with your grandma. For some reason you had an overwhelming sense of danger, like there was a ticking time bomb that was close to exploding any second now.
Great, what an amazing way to get your mind off of the raven haired man. Who would’ve thought thinking about how terrible the things were that you had left behind could snap some sense into you. What happened earlier meant nothing. It had to mean nothing. There was too much in jeopardy if you were to admit anything you felt about Jisung, and honestly you were already in deep enough trouble.
As you stepped back into Aeri’s apartment, using her spare key to lock the door you jumped at the sight of a shirtless man in front of you.
“I’m sorry!” The handsome stranger apologized, calling out to your roommate who walked into the room like this was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hey.” Aeri walked forward, snatching the bag of leftovers from your hands, peeking into it and observing the food like a vulture.
“Grandma couldn’t help but pack up every last bit of leftovers, said we wouldn’t eat anything otherwise.”
Giselle smiled mischievously, “Send her my regards,” your friend makes her way towards the kitchen, not before eyeing her boy toy who was still standing there, chest out. “Put some clothes on, freak.”
You and Aeri sat down on her table, her fling, that you’d learned was named Eric, long gone as he had some kind of business to take care of. She was scarfing down all of the food you brought back while you sat in front of her with a full stomach from breakfast, a drink in hand.
“What’s wrong with you,” She asked, mid bite of kimchi fried rice. “You look like you barely slept.”
“Nothing,” You regretted answering back so quickly, maybe if you hadn’t then you could’ve hid everything for a bit longer. But your friend could slice you open and dissect you easily.
She set down her spoon, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”
Let’s see, there were actually way too many things that happened. For starters, your best friend made an appearance at your grandma's house where it turns out he’s been visiting since the day you left town. There was also the fact that for some odd reason you felt like your chest was going to burst after the first full conversation that you shared with him in a long time.
There were other things, like France and everything you were so scared to talk about because then it would be put into reality and you’d have to actually face your problems face on. The calls from your mother that were becoming more and more persistent these days and it only put into perspective how much time was running out and would eventually catch up to you.
Sometime during your short existential crisis, Aeri’s expression changed from that of suspicion to worry. “You don’t have to talk about it!”
You nodded forcefully, your brain on overdrive, taking a drink from your glass and hoping that the water would be enough to cool your brain back into its normal setting.
Aeri contemplates for a second and you could practically see the lightbulb light up above her head as an idea sparks through her mind. “I have an idea!”
“I couldn’t notice.” You reply dryly.
“Come with me, tonight.”
That’s right, that Eric guy had mentioned some DJ gig he had at some club across town tonight, inviting the two of you to attend with free drink vouchers he had attained as per agreement with the club owner.
You weren’t so sure going out would help sort your thoughts out, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that a few free drinks sounded very convincing at this moment. You wanted to let loose enough that you could barely count your problems on one hand, and what better way to do that than a night of alcohol? What’s the worst that could happen?
Aeri’s never ending connections never really seemed to phase you these days. The two of you had made it into the club faster than you’d ever made it into anywhere in your life. The air outside was way too cold for you to be in the outfit you had on but Aeri refused to let you go out without either a skirt or dress three inches above your knee. So here you stood in line to pick up a glass of really anything strong, three shots of soju deep that wasn’t hitting hard enough for your liking.
Your friend had been escorted on stage about an hour ago, joining Eric’s side as he played music that was actually not so bad considering he was a man. Your body swayed to the rhythm of the music as you awaited your mystery drink from the cute bartender who had complimented your boots, after which she introduced herself as Heejin.
“Thank you!” You shouted over the loud music as she slid over the mystery glass, earning a warm smile from her before she moved onto the next drink.
You crossed through the crowd with your drink pressed tightly beside you as you tried to navigate through the group of people surrounding the bar to make it back to the front of the dance floor that had become more chaotic than before as the night went on.
The music was loud enough to fill your entire body, the heavy bass sounding through your every cell. You tried squeezing through a couple that were a little over crossing the line of dancing and full on intercourse, catching your balance as you tripped a bit over someone’s foot.
You breathed out a sigh, regretting your choice of drink when the shots had clearly traveled their journey from your stomach into your veins, the buzz taking its effect on you. Aeri waved from above, Eric’s hands around her waist as he back hugged her. You had a feeling your friend might keep this guy a bit longer than she usually did.
You took sips of your drink, trying to get through whatever insane mixture it was, plugging your nose as you chugged it down. Better to drink the rest of it before the buzz wore off and you ended up with a shitty drink in your hand.
More songs passed, time moving on what felt like another dimensional plane. You were just as buzzed as you wanted to be, aware enough to take care of yourself and drunk enough to not overthink it. You danced and danced, until your drink was completely finished, opting to get water just so you wouldn’t die of dehydration.
Before you could reach the bar a random dancer bumped into you a little harshly, almost knocking you over if it weren’t for the hand at your waist catching you. You sucked in a breath, the familiar scent of citrus with an underlying woody aroma masking the slightest hint of smoke, there was no way.
His voice was low with warning when he spoke from behind you, “Watch where you’re going.” He directed towards the man who had knocked into you. Your skin buzzed, his touch warm and comforting even if you convinced yourself the last thing you wanted was to see him again.
The man uttered an apology, leaving you to turn and face the man you had been drinking to forget all night.
“Should I refer to you as my personal stalker now?”
He chuckled though it sounded fake, “A babysitter sounds more like it when i’m the one always having to watch over you.”
You scoff, “I didn’t need you just now.”
“Yeah i’m sure you would’ve much rather fell straight on your ass.”
His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every fiber of your appearance. You resisted a blush, being seen in such a spectacle by him was out of the ordinary, his usual calm demeanor faltering at the result of your mini skirt. There’s a new sense of warmth pooling in your stomach, one you can’t blame on the alcohol, you brush it off.
“What do you want Jisung? Are you here to kill the mood?”
“I’m here because I spotted a lost kitten that needed rescuing.”
The nickname should gross you out more than it really does. You frown, this time really taking in the appearance of the man. On the surface he looked just about as irritating as usual, sporting a grey graphic tee you could successfully guess was a band from the eighties worn atop a pair of distressed jeans. You looked up at him, his face and neck the slightest shade of rose.
“You’re drunk.” It’s not a question, more so a state of disbelief.
“Buzzed now,” He doesn’t even deny it, “sobered up outside about an hour ago.”
He must’ve still been drunk enough to be so willing to share that, regardless you laugh, as if you caught him committing a crime. “Wow, I can’t believe I get to see Park Jisung drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“No?” You raise a brow, stepping closer to him. You were glad to have caught him like this, it was so much easier to read him when he was buzzed. You took notice of every detail he could give you, the way his breath hitched just as you moved forward, the way his eyes trailed over your face falling onto your lips, and the way his brows crinkled with worry as if he was holding onto every last ounce of his sanity.
“Don’t,” He whispered, more so to himself than you. You were having a bit of fun now, the game of cat and mouse the two of you played since the moment you spotted him on stage now giving you the upper hand. You debated playing with him a little more, ultimately deciding to take a different approach.
“Fine.” You smirked, pulling away from him, his disapproval evident in the way his face fell flat as you widened the distance.
You turned away, not really sure where exactly you were going but knowing he was following close behind anyway.
“Where are you going?”
You snigger, “I thought you didn’t want me here.”
He was so easy right now, excuse you if you wanted to keep the upper hand for a while longer. There were less people here than where the two of you stood moments prior, the lights from the dance floor dimmed from this section of the club.
“You’re being childish.” He called out, making you turn on your heel.
“Why?” You're back in his face, this time all fire. “Because i’m doing just as you wanted?”
He smiles, this time approvingly. A sense of uneasiness fills you, second guessing just how much of this interaction was really you having the upper hand.
“Is that what you’re doing?” He asks, his voice a low whisper barely audible over the music if you weren’t so hyperaware of everything he says or does, he gets even closer. “Or are you just being fussy cause I didn’t want to kiss you?”
It was the first time any of you had come so close to acknowledging the tension the two of you built up. Your heart skipped a beat, what you could only assume was the alcohol telling you to lean into him closer.
“Is that the truth?” You finally build the courage to speak, taking note of Jisung’s gaze fixated on your lips. “Cause If I could make one guess right now, I’d say you’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He replies, though he doesn’t sound like he’s even convinced himself.
“Then prove it.”
The last thing you wanted was for him to leave you hanging, but call it an inkling or a gift of the prophecy, a part of you knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away. Not with the way his hand had somehow found its way around your waist again, pulling you even closer than you’d been moments prior.
You were always the impatient type, so it was you who ultimately gave in, leaning into him to finally close the distance that felt like it was holding on by a thread. He reacted slowly, his breath hitching as your mouth met his, the kiss experimental yet powerful. Before either of you could deepen it you pulled away, a part of you waiting for a reaction you were honestly quite terrified of. You were beginning to turn away when you felt him move, his grip on your wrist firm but not uncomfortable as he spinned you to meet his eyes once more.
You barely had a chance to apologize when he kissed you. This time without the worry of the two of you finding out just how much each other wanted this, this time with both your hearts on the line. You kissed each other roughly, all of the pent up anger from before taking its course in the way you tasted each other.
It felt like a zap of electricity through you. The way his palm cupped your face as the kiss became heavier, every second building the very fire you had been fighting against.
You’d never expected any of this, and though you knew in the back of your mind that every part of this was wrong and that you couldn’t stay here forever, you pushed it back into the corner.
The both of you tore away from each other for a moment to breathe, the look in your eyes suggesting that the last thing you wanted was to be apart.
“Bathroom?” You suggested the first place you could think of that wasn’t far enough to give you both time to second guess anything.
He laughed, your heart churned at the idea that he might’ve changed his mind, but that same panic ceased when he spoke.
“I know one place better.”
☆ 🎸 ☆
You had barely given Jisung anytime to shut the door and twist the lock before capturing his lips into yours again. He thought back through the night, the glimpse he’d gotten of you passing through the bar that he convinced himself was a ghost of his imaginations now standing in front of him, tasting of alcohol and something sweet as you kissed him with no worries in the world.
He had brought you to one of the private rooms this club had that he only found out through the guys’ excessive use of them. Every club this big had made for VIP guests and of course musicians, though they weren’t that famous enough to have access to that begged the question of how Jeno had secured access to this place. A thought that slipped his mind the second your tongue swiped against his bottom lip for permission to deepen the kiss.
He accepted, your mouths clashing in what was all desperate in a drunk frenzy. You let out a low moan, one that only made his pants grow tighter.
You pulled back, all confidence from earlier gone, your eyes hazed and cheeks flushed as you finally took a moment to soak up the surrounding area. He held back a smile, you looked like you were trying your hardest to stay on this plane of existence, trying to calm your heavy breathing.
“What’s this place?”
“Exclusive VIP room.” He regretted the words the second they left his mouth. Your face slipped for just a split moment. He thought maybe saying that would give you ideas, ones he didn’t want you to have of him. He opened his mouth to speak again but you cut him off, a shimmer of mischief in your eyes as you noticed the couch sitting against the wall of the room.
“Well since you know this place so well,” You tugged his arm towards the couch, giving him space to take a seat before climbing on top of him. “Why don’t you let me take the lead?”
Jisung knew his ears were hot to the touch, hoping it at least came off as the alcohol even though his body told enough to point out that you were the reason alone for his current state of disarray. His hands found their way around your hips as you connected lips again, this one building up to be heavier than the ones before.
The needy sounds you made before pulling away just to kiss around his throat, you wanted to mark him as your own, not knowing just how much he had already been yours. He let out a groan when your hips rocked against him incidentally, or maybe not when you smiled so proudly before grinding down again, this time with much more intention.
His voice came out breathy, “You’re drunk.” He repeated your words from earlier to you. His grip on your hips tighter, trying to keep you from pressing down against his growing erection.
“So are you.”
There was another meaning to the excuse, the both of you knowing internally how much was on the line. The last thing Jisung wanted to do was to let you go, it had been a century since he last felt your touch and he couldn’t imagine going through it all over again, but the last thing he wanted was for you to change your mind in the morning.
“I don’t want you to regret this,” He spoke probably the most honest that he’d been with you in a long time.
Your palm cups his face, staring into his soul when you reply. “I’ve never regretted any moment i’ve ever shared with you.”
You kiss him again, this one short yet burning with the shared promise that he accepts. His breath is knocked out as you both find the same quick rhythm as before. It’s all breathing and taking in each other with every suck of skin now, bruises forming on your delicate neck that he couldn’t resist but to taint just as you did to him.
You shift above him giving enough space for him to slip your petty excuse of a skirt up, your panties soaking with your arousal. He pulls you directly on his fully hard bulge in his pants, a loud moan pulled from your lips as you feel the stimulation to your clit even through the fabric.
“Fuck–“ You curse loudly, his strong hands forcing you to move harder against him. “Sung please.”
Jisung wasn’t sure just how much harder he could get, the plea in your voice going straight to his dick. He loved just how needy you could get, even though you refused to admit it every time he pushed you to that point. You were full of pride, that’s why it was so fun to play with you, to see that facade break and to get you to admit every truth you had hidden, one by one.
He wanted to test your limits now, and what better way to do that than talk to you just as you really wanted. “Come on darling,” he reused the old nickname that always worked on you, “I thought you were the one taking the lead?”
You groaned out in part annoyance and pleasure, “F- fuck you.”
“Maybe next time,” He smirked, capturing your lips again, sucking up your moans while helping you chase your high. Your thighs felt like fire, grinding faster and rougher against him, his groans matching yours as the both of you felt your climax approaching.
Jisung’s mind slipped into imagining another scenario in which you were riding his thigh all by yourself. He couldn’t help but think about how lucky he’d feel being used by you to get yourself off almost coming in his pants just thinking about it.
“Ji please i’m so close,” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts and instead to take in the you who was right in front of him. Your panties proved you right, wetter than before and soaking up all of the juices that fought to come out of you.
He knew he wasn’t that far from finishing either, the last time he jerked off being a month ago so the dry spell wasn’t helping him last longer anyway. “Me too darling, come with me.”
The nickname triggered your orgasm, your juices spilling out of you as you clenched around nothing, wishing you could have come with him inside you and not just from the pressure on your clit. Nonetheless your body felt like you had just reached nirvana.
“I’m sorry my darling girl,” Jisung whispered a quick apology when he heard your whine, the last few movements overstimulating you but enough to get him off untouched. He bit his lip, holding in his sounds as he came in his pants, feeling all kinds of relief with a mixture of embarrassment now since the last time he came in his pants was back in high school.
“Fuck,” he sounded breathless, looking down to see the wet mark you left on his jeans, his cock firming slightly at the sight.
The room was silent, except for the muffled music from outside where the club was still in full swing. Your body was warm, slumped against him in an almost domestic way. His hand found its way to your hair, scratching your head and earning a small purr of comfort from your lips.
He’s not sure how long the two of you sat like that, time had lost all meaning when he was surrounded by you. Your voice trembled out almost regretfully, “We shouldn’t do this again.”
He knew it was coming just as it did before, the memories of the shared night between the two of you right before you completely disappeared springing into his mind again.
“I wouldn’t ever hurt you.” He whispered to you, oblivious to how your fear never stemmed from him hurting you. You stopped yourself from crying, knowing everything that he didn’t.
You kissed him over and over again, as many times as you could hoping it would convey your deepest affections to him.
His heart beamed, every single moment of happiness in his life could never result to the way he felt now. And when you pulled back this time, you met his eyes so full of love that you were so scared of admitting yourself. He always wore his feelings for you so open and honest.
“I want you,” You spoke slowly at first, hoping that he’d understand what you meant without having to finish the sentence. He sat there innocently, brows furrowed. You let out a shaky breath, “I want you to be my first.”
The night that almost felt like a dream now, one that he could never forget. One that he was aware of that ended with you never speaking to him again and not coming back for five years.
With that he sighed, “You’re right.”
And though the two of you seemingly didn’t want whatever any of this was, none of you took the initiative to leave. Clinging onto the silence like it was the only way you could keep time frozen, and keep hold of one another.
Part Three: Mid December
Stained Glass Eyes and Colorful Tears
☆ 💫 ☆
You really did mean it when you said you shouldn’t do this again, it’s not your fault that somehow for the past few weeks the two of you ended up meeting up more than once.
His hands made towards your shirt, removing the garment with a swift motion as he pinned you against the door. You caught his lips, biting down enough to make him wince before wiping your tongue over the spot.
He pulls away chuckling, wiping at his mouth with his thumb. “You’re impatient today.”
You don’t deny it, instead further proving his point by removing his shirt. He smiles and you can’t help but want to wipe the stupid cockiness off his face. Instead of biting his face off you kiss him again, hot and heavy. There was nothing you needed more than him right now.
He seemed to feel the same, or at least understand how badly you’d been wanting him since the second you showed up unwarranted at the Oblivion practice room. You knew he was going to be busy all week, so why not stop by for a quick greeting in holiday spirits.
“You’re busy aren’t you?” You reply to his earlier statement, unbuttoning his pants as he kissed down your neck. You can feel him laugh from where he stands, pulling away from you ever so slightly making you pout. Why did he always have to drag it out? You could probably show up with nothing but his T-shirt on and a pair of panties under and he’d probably still find a way to make you whine before giving in.
“No, not for another thirty minutes until the guys come in.”
You shrug, “We have enough time then.” Your hand reaches into where you undid his pants, pulling a sharp gasp from the raven haired man.
He groans before grabbing your wrist, “You’re really going to regret starting this.”
Maybe you were, but it’s not like your mind was fixed on how this arrangement would ruin everything and only create more chaos, right now you just needed to touch him and preferably get off some time within the next half hour.
He gave in, lifting you up where your legs wrapped around his waist as he brought you to the relaxing side of the room filled with a mini fridge, bean bag chairs, and finally a couch that he set you down on.
“Are you gonna fuck me now?” You said blatantly. It wasn’t that you both hadn’t gone the whole way, for fucks sake you’d fucked before you even left in the first place, but you knew for some reason he was holding back from completely giving in. The last few hook ups were mostly handjobs or his tongue and fingers but you were starting to grow a little more desperate. Clearly.
He ignores your question, pulling your pants off of you and eyeing the set you had slipped on with no ulterior motives, truly. You were only trying to see if maybe lingerie was more his style, who were you to decline him if he finally decided to get you off with more than just his fingers?
“Darling,” His voice was laced with want as he took in just how much you were dolled up for him. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“That depends,” you muttered, “is it working?”
He dives back onto your lips, answering with his tongue because talking was overrated anyway. You moaned into the kiss, gripping onto his back, the muscular muscle was admittedly not what you were expecting when you first saw him without a shirt but it was not something you were opposed to either.
You whined into his mouth as he pulled away again, all frustrations bursting as you cried out, “Are you fucking serious?”
He giggled, like you were a damn comedian and not two seconds away from pinning him down and riding him until you could finally feel relief. The bastard would probably find a way to make you beg even if that were the case. That was a great tactic for another day though.
“Relax,” He uttered, kissing down your neck and chest all the way until he reached your lower belly, to which he liked a stripe just over the hem of the fabric. You sucked in a breath, he was so close to where you needed him now, his breath fanning against your clothed cunt that began clenching down on nothing, just desperate to be touched.
“Fuck Darling your thighs,” He sucked down on them everywhere that he could. “You don’t know how many times i’ve imagined them, how much i’ve been holding back from leaving them without any marks every time you showed up in front of me with your legs on full display.”
His fingers smoothed over your skin, the redness blooming against your thighs where the bruises had already begun to form. He lifted your legs up sliding off your panties before throwing them over his shoulder. Your heart raced, was he finally giving in?
He pulled his hard length out of his jeans, pumping his huge size twice for good measure. You salvitated at the sight, it was long with a slight girthiness, a long thick vein passing through the middle just barely meeting his pink tip. You’d gotten a taste before and could barely wrap your whole mouth around it without gagging let alone the whole length. You imagined taking it now with zero prep.
“Wait!” You called out, “I don’t think it’ll fit just like that sungie.”
It definitely wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to kill the vibe when you’d been begging him to fuck you for days.
He chuckled, “I know baby, so keep your legs closed tight for me alright?”
You didn’t have time to ask, you felt his size squeeze between your thighs, the wetness of your arousal being the only form of lubrication as his cock slid against your cunt. You let out a high pitch moan as he made contact with your clit.
He holds onto your legs, keeping them from moving as he slowly begins to thrust. You felt the air knocked out of your lungs, the feeling so pleasurable and despite the fact that he wasn’t fucking you it felt like he was.
“Fuck–“ You whine as he built a pace, the slide rough and desperate. You hardly had any control with how good it felt, your entire body was like putty.
He groaned, “Come on darling, keep your legs tight it’ll feel better.”
You nodded, closing your eyes as you tried your hardest to keep your voice quiet which proved to be harder than you were expecting with how insane every movement rubbed your clit. Jisung was out of breath, probably using up what was the last of his control to make sure not to completely slip inside you.
His hand came forward suddenly, undoing the clasp of your bra. Before you could ask, you felt as he began to fondle your breasts, teasing his thumb against your sensitive nipple. You were about to moan when you heard it. The muffled sound of his phone ringing from wherever the fuck he’d left it in this room.
He let out a groan that you only assumed was annoyance, choosing to disregard the call to focus on getting the both of you off. You were close, you felt it in the way your legs shook and the pressure in your stomach threatened to snap. Jisung didn’t look like he was going to last much longer either, his hold on your legs faltering as his thrusts became sloppier.
“Ji- jisung please,” Your body was threatening to release at any moment now, when suddenly you felt him slip, the tip of his cock sliding ever so slightly into your pussy. It stung but it was enough to finally trigger your orgasm, a desperate plea of his name over and over again until you finally came down from your high.
His ruts continued this time at a faster pace as he reached his own peak, the cum spilling out of you helping him slide against you faster. “Fuck baby i’m gonna cum.”
You nodded, a whine leaving your lips as he finished, a few final movements to milk out his orgasm. You fought to keep your eyes open, watching the way his warm liquid covered your stomach, clenching at the thought of it filling you instead.
He tried to steady himself as he came down, bringing one of his hands up to run through his hair where small beads of sweat had formed. The room was silent save for the two of you trying to catch your breaths. A few seconds later you felt him move followed by a piece of fabric on your stomach.
“Sorry,” he whispered shyly. You almost laughed, the cuteness of his just too adorable to go unnoticed.
“It’s okay, I liked it.”
The tips of his ears had gone red, and you knew he was embarrassed because he avoided any eye contact with you, instead cleaning off the, honestly impressive, amount of cum he’d left on you as well as what was dripping down your thighs.
When he finished he helped you slide your clothes back on, the act being a bit intimate if you thought about it too much. So you didn’t, instead paying all of your attention to his body that you wished you appreciated more in the moment. He was fairly sculpted, his abs detailed, you wanted so badly to run your hands against them.
“Are you already imagining round two?” He broke the silence, the shyness from earlier replaced with his same old cocky demeanor, only this time instead of it making you want to strangle him, you found yourself smiling.
“Hmm. Maybe,” You fake a thought, “now i’m thinking about the next time you’ll be free.”
He smiles, and for the first time in a long time you feel your heart beat faster remembering just how happy it made you to make him smile. You allow yourself this moment now, being close enough to him that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. It wouldn’t last long that’s for sure, but you knew this time at least he wouldn’t be the one with his heart on the line.
“There’s a festival we have booked next week, a Christmas one,” He starts, voice low, “I’d want you to go.”
You don’t even allow yourself time to think about it, already having known about the festival since Aeri had brought it up a few weeks ago, granted at the time you didn't know that their band was part of the performing list but it made the decision to go easier.
“Then I will.”
It was a simple answer, one he appreciated a lot by the way his cheeks reddened. He was about to speak when there was a knock from the door. His eyes widened in horror, picking up his phone from where it was long forgotten on the floor to check the time.
He rushed forward to throw on his clothes, the frightened hamster look on his face getting worse with every knock. You had to hold in a laugh, the situation just too awkward to fully process.
You stood up as casual as you could look with your hair tussled, skin slick with sweat, and a subtle shake in your legs. Jisung ran towards the door with you following right behind him to take the exit as soon as he opened it.
He opened it, revealing a tan skinned man who looked not at all happy. “Hey,” The guy you now recognized as the lead singer from up on stage spoke, “What the fuck took you so damn long, i’ve been waiting here in the freezing cold!”
“Don’t you have a key?” Jisung replies.
“I lost that shit two weeks ago,” he pauses, “don’t tell Mark.”
It’s only then that the man registers you, not having noticed you standing right behind Jisung’s tall frame. His brows raised, like he was trying to decipher who the hell you were and why you were in their practice room when Jisung wasn’t really the type to bring a fan into their spaces. He runs his eyes over the two of you, noting the disheveled hair and clothes.
Right when the guy was about to speak to you, Jisung grabbed onto your hand, and with a quick kiss to your cheek, he helped you sneak around the other male, muttering a “See you soon, darling.” As you did your best to scurry away before the man could ask you any questions.
“It was nice meeting you?” The man yells almost like a question.
You find yourself laughing the second you’ve put enough distance, what should’ve felt way more embarrassing felt ecstatic. One thing was for certain, you would never regret him.
☆ 🎸 ☆
“Alright everyone, we can take a break now.” Mark uttered, setting down his guitar to begin stretching his arms.
This practice had lasted roughly two hours so far. Usually Jisung would be dying for a break when they hit the hour and half mark but this time he was anything but happy about it.
“Yo Jisung Park,” Donghyuck set the mic down, running towards Jisung in record time speed, stopping him as he made his way over to the mini fridge. “You gonna come clean now? ”
Jisung rolled his eyes, Donghyuck had been dying to get more information out of him he knew it because throughout practice after every song the brunette would stare at him with an uncomfortable smirk on his face. He was only able to avoid it because Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin all came in a minute after you left. When Jisung refused to acknowledge the singer he only added, “Or maybe you already did that.”
He was seconds away from shushing him until Jaemin joined the conversation. Poking into Jisung’s arm, “What’s this guy on about, huh? You keeping secrets now?”
Jisung barely had time to speak when Jeno suddenly spoke from beside him, “Ah ah we don’t allow secrets here.”
“Didn’t you keep a secret about hooking with Mark’s noona?” Jisung spat towards Jaemin, his wide smile never leaving his face.
“Anymore,” the lead guitarist replied, “We don’t keep secrets anymore.”
“I forgave him a long time ago,” Mark shrugged, an apple in his hand as he took a seat in one of the bean bags. “So what’s got Hyuck on your ass?”
Donghyuck answered before Jisung could, not that he would’ve since he’d recently gotten really good at stalling, “Jisung brought a girl here.”
Jaemin gasped in his typical dramatic flare, “When was this?”
“Earlier today!” Donghyuck answered, earning a scowl from Jisung that he ignored, “She left right before you guys showed up.”
“What about it?” Jisung retorted, patience waning, “You guys bring girls over all the time.”
“That’s true for most of us, but what’s surprising is that it was you.” Mark answered, biting into his apple.
“That’s not all either–“
“Donghyuck don’t–“
“A hunch of mine tells me she’s more than just a friend or a fan.”
That got Jeno’s attention, “Oh? Do we know her?”
Jisung rolled his eyes. Out of all of the people in this room that could’ve found out, why did it have to be Donghyuck?
“We’ve definitely heard of her, my guess is it’s that friend from highschool. Ning, was it?”
“Couldn’t be, i’ve met her and I'm like ninety-nine percent sure her type is not Jisung.” Mark adds.
“Jisungie wouldn’t just sleep with anyone, this has to be someone important to him.” Jaemin pondered.
Jisung groaned, “Who said anything about sleeping–“
“Quiet, hyungs talking,” Jaemin fluttered his lashes, “So if I were Park Jisung and i’m bringing a girl back that I don’t want my hyungs to see then it would have to be—“ He turns around, facing everyone as he snaps his finger, “Mark’s noona.”
“Man?” Mark frowns from where he’s sitting.
Jisung resists the urge to argue when Donghyuck speaks again, “Wasn’t her, I saw the girl. She’s hot alright, might even be a bit out of your league.”
“Who would it be then,” Jeno asks aloud, taking a shot in the dark with his next answer, “Y/N?”
Jisung knows just how obvious he is when the sound of your name alone is enough to make him freeze.
“Y/N?” Donghyuck practically shouts, “the same y/n that disappeared half way across the world?”
Jisung knew one of these days he’d regret going out for drinks with his friends and showing up back at the apartment wasted. Unfortunately for him, he becomes quite the chatterbox after one too many drinks, and his favorite topic is you.
“No fucking way!”
“When did she come back?”
“Can we meet her?”
He ignored all of the questions they asked, looking to Mark desperately for some help, since he was the only one who they all really listened to. Mark cleared his throat, “Guys come on don’t pressure him if he doesn’t wanna talk about it then he doesn’t need to.” Jisung smiled, thankful for Mark’s effort to back him up.
Mark stood up from his seat then, tossing the core of his now finished apple into the trash, “But I am curious on what she was doing here.”
Jisung shut his eyes in disbelief but mostly just acceptance, the rest of the guys starting over with their round of questions until he finally decided to shut it down. “Fine. Yes, I was with y/n. Yes, she did come back and it was a few weeks ago. And no you can not meet her if you guys keep acting like this.”
Donghyuck points and laughs at the others, “I already met her.”
Jisung’s face goes red, he turns away trying to avoid any and all eye contact as he walks towards the mini fridge, Mark really made that apple look good.
“Uh Oh he’s hiding something!” Jaemin cackles maniacally. Jisung still wonders what makes women attracted to him and not just want to file a restraining order on him, he was clearly insane.
“Wait.” Donghyuck thinks for a moment. Looking back on when he first ran into Jisung and you, the way you both stood like deers in headlights, how protective he was of you, the way you wobbled away. “Oh my god. You guys were fucking in here weren’t you?”
Jisung took a second too long to dismiss the older’s claim, the others collectively gasping as they realized Donghyuck was right.
“I knew it!” Donghyuck cried, “Oh my god Jisung. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“We didn’t fuck!” Jisung replied since technically it was true, you both hadn’t gone all the way.
“Man please don’t tell me it was where I was sitting.” Mark’s frown grew worried.
“We didn’t have sex on the bean bag Mark,” Jisung reassured the guitarist, him sighing in relief.
“But you did have sex.”
Jisung groaned, if he had to admit it just to get the rest to shut up then perhaps what was the harm. He thought back to you. If he admitted that the two of you had a sex life and that wasn’t something you wanted everyone to know, he would never forgive himself. In the end he let the guys do what they do best.
Theorize.
“If they did have sex it would’ve had to have been on the couch.” Jaemin concluded like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
Jeno shook his head, “Gross man, I nap there sometimes.”
“Alright guys that’s enough, break is over.” Mark called, the rest of the guys groaning as they walked back to their places, tuning and adjusting their instruments.
Jisung was about to walk back with the group when Mark stopped him, “Look, i’m not going to bug you or anything but I just want to make sure that you know what you’re doing. You’re not just my bandmate you’re all like a family to me, and I know things didn’t end too well with y/n the last time so I just want you to know,” He took in a breath. “I’m here for you.”
Mark always meant what he said, and though he wasn’t the type to meddle as the others did, he only took a step in when he wanted to make sure everything was okay. He cared a lot about the guys, and in the same way he said it, Jisung always viewed him the same way. Growing up an only child they were the closest thing to brothers that he would ever have. And since he didn’t really have his family around, all he had was them.
He nodded at Mark, “Don’t worry, I have a good feeling about this time.” Mark hummed, making his way towards his own place, Jisung following right after him.
☆ 💫 ☆
“You’ve been suspiciously busy lately,” Aeri stated as she observed you from where she sat in the living room, eyeing your body from head to toe.
“Good afternoon to you too?” You said, unscrewing the cap from the water bottle you stopped at the kitchen to grab, gulping down the liquid because running away after sex really did make you dehydrated.
Aeri scrunches her face, “You had sex with Jisung didn’t you?”
You choke on your water, coughing and surprising the girl enough for her to get up to pat your back. Once you finally regain composure you look at her again, contemplating how to answer when your own body practically gave it away. “I—“
“Was probably never going to tell me right?” Aeri rolls her eyes, “you and your darn secrets, have I ever kept a secret from you?”
Right as she says that, a woman you aren’t sure you’ve ever met steps out from her room, a baggy t-shirt on with splotches of red and purple marks on her neck, waving a quick hi before asking where the restroom is, to which Aeri points to the down the hall door to the left.
Your eyebrow arches at your friend, no question needed since she understands exactly what you’re trying to imply. “Yoona isn't a secret!”
Yoona emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, now without the marks on her neck being visible, the power of makeup. She offers a quick bow to the two of you before waving at Aeri to call her later. You make a face as in, hello there’s your secret right there.
Aeri tries again, “Yoona isn’t a secret, she's a new edition!”
“I didn’t even know you were into girls.”
“Yeah well neither did I until I volunteered at the meat association and met a girl named Hazel.”
“What?”
“Not the point,” Aeri changes the subject from her back to you because the two of you had been friends for long enough that she knew how much you loved to deflect. “You’re keeping secrets, you have been since the beginning and usually I would let you just come to me on your own time but now i’m really worried about you.”
You sigh, “Aeri, there’s nothing for you to worry about I can handle this on my own—“
“Really?” She cuts you off, her tone is far from angry and more so coming from a place of worry, “Cause you’ve been ignoring any and all calls from your mom for the past week that she even somehow found my number and tried to ask if I knew anything about where you were.”
Your heart stopped, suddenly feeling sick. It was stupid to think that your mom would just let you leave, she wasn’t the type. She was calculated, she knew how to handle things. Of course she wasn’t going to just allow for you to leave without knowing exactly where you were going. The call to Aeri wasn’t really her asking, it was a warning to you.
“Hey,” Aeri calls out again, “I’m not mad or anything I’m just worried. Jisung is my friend too, and I know that if you’re getting involved with him again and this ends up the same way as before then— I really don’t know how he will react a second time.”
You take in a breath, thinking over her words. Your leaving wasn’t going to affect Jisung, the two of you barely started hanging out together you were sure you meant at most, nothing to the guy other than someone he felt comfortable enough sleeping with. The only one who was going to end up heartbroken was going to be you, and you’d make sure of it.
“Jisung doesn’t like me, not like he used to.” You respond flatly, though now a part of you isn’t sure how true that is anymore.
“Okay,” Aeri sighs in defeat, “If that’s what you think.”
You stand still for a moment, your friend taking her seat on the couch once more as if the conversation had never happened, because Aeri was like that. If you weren’t going to come clean then she wasn’t going to force you to, but she sure as hell was going to make sure you thought things over a bit.
The festival was much more packed than you had expected, with loads of trucks and vendors surrounding the place targeting any and all visitors who were awaiting their favorite bands' sets to begin. You took a deep breath, the anxiousness in your body only getting worse since you first started getting ready with Aeri earlier in the day.
You were a bit nervous, but more specifically shy to see Jisung perform. He mentioned that he would more than likely be busy most of the day, but he’d definitely find you after the show because there was a lot he needed to tell you. So now you stood here, Aeri having escaped from your grip to go check out some candy apple stand that honestly you should’ve gone to check out with her but the idea of eating anything right now only made you feel like you’d vomit.
It didn’t help that you dressed up with a skirt, the pair of linen tights were the only thing keeping you from freezing since you had forgotten to bring a thicker jacket. The sun would be setting soon, so you hoped that the crowd would be able to produce enough uncomfortable heat that would help keep you from freezing.
You let Aeri know that you were going to be waiting around, maybe checking a few early performances before Oblivion had to go in, scheduled about an hour from now. So you did, squeezing through a few people to hear this newer up and coming band called Cosmic Love.
By the third song you felt a sneaky hand wrap around your waist, a gasp pulled from your throat at the contact before you noticed who exactly it was. Behind a stupid black cap that barely hid his eyes, and a black mask that at least did a little better at not giving the man’s identity away if it weren’t for you being able to recognize his tall lanky figure in an instant.
“You’re cheating?” He teased, looking over at the band that were still performing on stage.
“It’s a girl band i’m cheering for, is that still considered cheating?”
He nods as if it were obvious, making you erupt in giggles that you were lucky weren’t loud enough to drag the audience's eyes onto you both. Jisung wasn’t exactly unknown, the band had a pretty solid fanbase now so people noticing the Oblivion’s bassist out in the crowd would definitely pull a reaction.
You can tell he’s smiling through his uncovered eyes. He leans in closer, pulling the mask down slightly to whisper, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”
You agree, holding onto his hand as he drags you away, music fading into the background. The two of you make it to what you assume is the artist's rooms, groups of trailers with different names written all over the place, leading you to the one with Oblivion written on it.
The room is silent, except for the distant music that you could hear from the stage being only a few feet away. You looked around, taking in the room around you. The heater was definitely on, since it was warmer than outside, other than that it was pretty empty. Most of the space was taken up with the band's equipment and a random table with uno cards left all over it.
You raised a brow, grabbing onto one of the cards and turning your attention back over to Jisung, who stood coolly, his eyes already on you before you even turned around.
“You brought me here to play uno?”
He laughed, “Yeah, picked you from the crowd just to make you eat four cards.”
“Hey,” you argue playfully, “I’m actually really good at uno!”
He hummed, walking towards you steadily, urging you to continue.
“I’m serious!” You grin just as he finally makes it straight to your face, his hands coming up around your waist again making your heart flutter.
The two of you stay like that for a moment, breathing in each other's scents as he pulls you into his hold. You pray that he couldn’t hear how hard your heart was beating, or if he did that he at least wouldn’t ask. He smelled the same he always did, only this time slightly of cherries.
“I missed you.” He broke the silence, his voice barely over a whisper.
You were thankful for the position now, his face in your neck allowing your body to be a bit more vulnerable, warmth spreading on your face with just how intimate the moment felt.
You didn’t have time to respond when the front door slammed open, a group of men walking in with one who you recognized in as the guy who definitely knew you and Jisung were fucking since he had caught you guys a week prior, the other being that dude with a creepy smile. Jisung had already moved away from your hold, well not fully, as his hand still held onto you in an almost protective way.
“You?” your eyes widened, the creepy smile guy making the same expression as you only with his wide smile on display. “You’re that one guy from the hallway!”
“You’re Y/N right?” The lead singer answers, assuming he was the one you were referring to. Your brows furrow, “It was just a hunch, i’m Donghyuck.” He says cutting you off again.
Jisung groans, “What are you guys doing here, I thought you guys were busy sneaking around and grabbing food!”
“Yeah well we did too,” The quiet one with a mole under his eye interrupts, “Until we turned around and noticed our only bassist had disappeared.”
Jisung doesn’t respond to that. You try to hold back a smile, wondering if he had left the group after he spotted you.
Smiley dude sighs walking towards where the two of you stood, “Look it would be different if it were Mark who disappeared, I could cover his parts.”
“Dude?” A man replies who you could only guess was Mark.
“But we don’t have another bassist, so try not just escaping without letting any of us know,” The guy says, patting Jisung's shoulder. “Hey there by the way, long time since I last saw you.”
Jisung turns to you in confusion, “You know Jaemin?”
He doesn’t seem angry when he says it, but you panic anyway hoping there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, “No! I mean no not really, remember how I told you one of the first days I came back I met some creep who was way too talkative.”
The guys laugh, mostly at Jaemin while Jisung puts two and two together. Jaemin rolls his eyes at the group, “I met her first technically so I’m not sure why you guys are laughing so hard.”
Donghyuck laughs, “Yeah and almost scared her away!”
Jisung tugs you a bit closer, leaning close as the other guys are completely distracted with bullying Jaemin, “He didn’t make you uncomfortable did he?”
You shake your head, “No, I mean he just kind of talks a lot.”
Jisung chuckles, “Yeah unfortunately that’s just how Jaemin is. A man of too many words.”
“I’ll have you know,” Jaemin defends himself to the others, “Many women love how free spirited and confident I am!”
“Oh i’m sure,” Donghyuck replies sarcastically, ignoring the other to look closely at the proximity between you and Jisung. He walked forward, ignoring Jisung who’s obviously trying to play body guard with how close he’s standing next to you, Hyuck could laugh, Jisung was always so obvious.
“Hello!” Donghyuck starts, “You remember me right? I’m the cool lead singer, i’m sure you at least remember my voice right?”
You’re about to reply when Jaemin starts, “Ugh can you be any more conceited. Na Jaemin,” He introduces, this time he seems pretty chill without the whole wide smiling in a dark hallway, “amazing guitarist. Have heard a lot about you, didn’t think Jisung was your type.”
“Hey don’t be rude,” Mark warns, taking the time to introduce himself simple enough you think he might be the only normal one. “Mark, i’m the leader. It’s nice meeting you—“
“Darling?” The last one responds, provoking Jisung to get a reaction.
“Jeno—“
“Ah,” you nod in understanding, “so then you guys must already know a lot about me.”
“No not really, we’ve just heard Jisung sleep talk and call out to a Darling a looooot— Ouch!”
Donghyuck earns a slap to his arm.
“That one is Jeno, our drummer,” Jisung hurries the introduction, “Are you guys leaving now?”
“Why would we do that, if you haven’t noticed buddy okie preshow is currently on stage and we’re going up in the next hour, we found you to tell you that you need to hurry up and tune your shit.” Donghyuck replies.
“I would’ve said it in a nicer way,” Mark says, “but he’s right.”
Jisung groaned, it was so like the others to jump in just to tell him to hurry up, if anything Jisung was always the first to get ready, he’d already tuned his shit how was it his fault the guys still hadn’t done their duties.
You smiled, patting on his shoulder. “Hey it’s okay,” You say, “I’ll be in the crowd waiting for you.”
He contemplates for a moment, before coming to an obvious decision. “Go with me, I promise it won’t take long.” You frown, looking over at the others wondering how they’d feel about that. “they won’t mind.” Jisung assures you. He knew you so well that he could practically read your thoughts straight from your head.
“Okay,” you whisper. He smiles, relieved by your answer.
“Alright then,” Mark coughs, bringing all attention to him, “Let’s make this quick, the sooner we finish the sooner we have free time for ourselves.”
The group nods at the guitarist, hurrying out of the trailer. Jisung’s hand never once leaves your own, dragging you with him to be a part of something you never thought you’d ever be in the position to see. Your stomach churns, the wave of anxiety from earlier threatening you as you try to distract yourself from it.
💫/🎸
The guys finished up quicker than you’d thought, well at least most of them did. Jisung had already tuned and did a few practice sessions before he went out with the guys. Now as all of you stood backstage in one of the smaller practice areas, he ran up towards you, “How is it being back here?”
You fake contemplate, “Hmmm, I don’t know, I guess I can see the appeal of groupie life.”
His brows raise, “I’d hope that you just mean me.”
“Who else would it be? The other band from earlier?”
He rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand once again and tracing his thumb over your palm, “Do you wanna get out of here?”
“Ji,” You start, looking behind him to see the guys in their own world doing a few practice warmups on their own, “You have like thirty minutes until you have to be on stage.”
“Yeah but what can I do,” He comes in closer, his lips tracing barely a centimeter from your neck, “I want you so badly.”
You bite your lip, hoping to stifle to gasp you almost let free, your neck always so sensitive. He shifts his head, looking into your eyes with his pupils wide, his desire so obvious and enchanting. You couldn’t say no even if you wanted to, and right now you wanted him just as much.
The slightest breath of a yes is enough to have him pulling you out from the room, the other guys asking where he’s going to which he ignores since he’s clearly a man on a mission right now.
He led you to a room that was fully empty and a bit crowded. The sound of the pre performers could be heard so clearly from here. “Where’s this place?” You ask, curious.
“Crew room,” He replies coolly as he twists the lock. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly unoccupied since they built the new one on the other side.
He doesn’t give you much time to ask anymore questions before he’s pulling you up into his arms. You yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you onto one of the last few pieces of furniture in the discarded room which happened to be a counter.
“How do you know this?”
He lets out a small breath, his hand coming to your face to admire you. “I made sure to look around before running to get you.”
Of course he did, you could almost laugh now. It seems like the two of you were on the same page of where things were going for tonight. You placed your hand over his own, leaning in to kiss him deeply. Jisung immediately let in, groaning into the kiss needy as ever.
You pulled away to catch a quick breath, Jisung already kissing down your neck to repaint it from the ones he left last week that were already fading. Your hips shift on their own, body begging to be touched.
“Jisung,” You moan his name, he hums, the vibration adding to your arousal with how sensitive your neck was. “Fuck—“
He cuts off any of your previous thoughts, his hands sliding through the thin sweater of yours, through the scrappy shirt you had under to discover you wearing no bra underneath. He groaned, his huge hands cupping your breast to feel you up, thumb tracing over your sensitive nipple making you stifle a moan.
“Ji–“ He pinched, the pain quickly fading into pleasure, your legs wrapping around him tighter, craving any and all kinds of proximity.
“You never told me,” He starts, his other hand moving to lift your skirt up, sliding the fleece tights down, the sudden open air grazing your hot skin. “You never said anything about meeting Jaemin, why?”
His fingers trace over your soaked panties, refusing to fully come into contact with where you needed him most. “What?” You call, voice high and dry and mostly confused.
“You didn’t say it was Jaemin, why?”
“I–“ you squeak out, your brain short circuiting as he pushes his knuckle against your sensitive clit. “I dont–“
He clicks his tongue, “Come on darling,” his knuckle rubs against you with slightly more pressure, “use your words baby.”
“I– I didn’t know his name.” You whined, “Please– Fuck please Jisung.”
Jisung hums in response, “He was trying to impress you earlier, he’s always been an attention fiend,” You felt your heart race, not having expected Jisung to be so overprotective over you. It was super hot. “I guess he’s also trying to get back at me.”
You let out a cry, the pinch to your nipple this time felt stronger, his voice low as he disconnects his hands from where he cupped your tit, "Since I'm the only one who gets to have you like this.”
“Please–“ you beg again, earning another click of his tongue.
“What did I say about using your words?”
“Please Ji I only want you.”
His pupils dilate at your confession, “I know baby, so why don’t we let him know that.”
You let out another sob of pleasure as he moves to undress you, your sweater discarded onto the floor as he lifts your shirt to uncover your chest. He pauses for a split second, “Color?”
“Green– fuck.” You groan. When either of you would take on a rougher play you’d both make sure to have your safe words ready. As much as Jisung seemed mad, he wasn’t, but he knew how much you liked when he pretended to be, taking control over your body and leaving you begging for more.
He yanks your panties down, giving you barely a second to breathe before he’s plunging two of his fingers knuckle deep into your soaked cunt. You moan, the stretch is a bit rough but pleasurable. He stretches them a bit, trying to diminish the pain from the abrupt invasion, your wetness offering enough lubrication for him to push his long and slender fingers deeper, reaching parts of you that you on your own never seem to reach.
You fight a string of curses from leaving your throat, one hand of his pistoling his fingers in and out of you, the other rubbing circles around your tit. You feel like you could cry, the stretch hitting you just right. Your hips raise up, struggling to stay still with how fast he was fucking you with his fingers.
“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, adding another finger. A rush of pleasure running through you with how full you felt, his thumb coming to rub around your clit. “Jisung–“ You cry out, feeling your orgasm coming any moment now.
“Come on,” He says, “cum for me darling.”
With a few last rough thrusts, you squeeze around him, his fingers continuously fucking you at the same speed, milking your orgasm until it’s overwhelming.
You whine, the overstimulation becoming almost unbearable as he continues his movements. “Jisungie please I can’t—“
“Yes you can baby,” He coos, “one more on my fingers, you can do that for me, right?”
There’s tears streaming down your face when you nod, already feeling your second high approaching just around the corner.
“Color?” He asks, his breath heavy like he’s been holding himself back the entire time.
“Green—“ You scream out, cumming for the second time around his fingers.
“There baby I knew you could do it,” He encourages you, his fingers coming to a stop once he notices your face scrunching in discomfort, he slips his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck on the arousal you coated them with. He hums, “You taste so sweet, like cherries. Do you wanna taste it?”
You whimper, nodding softly. He kisses you then, this time the heaviness from earlier is all gone. He kisses you like you're delicate, like if he kisses you any harder you will disappear. You can taste yourself on his tongue, sucking on it pulling a groan from him.
“Come on baby,” He says after pulling away, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He’s about to reach down when you hold onto his arm.
“What about you?” You whine, lifting your shaky knee to rub against where his bulge is visible through his pants.
He winces at the touch, “I’ll take care of it on my own.”
You bring your arm forward, cupping him through his pants, “But I want to help you,” you pout, “please baby can I help you?”
Fuck having any self control, Jisung nodded. You pulled him into a deeper kiss, unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out from his boxers. You pumped it slowly twice before bringing his tip to your entrance, he winces again wrapping a hand over your own to stop you, “Fuck– are you sure about this?”
You hum, “Please Ji,” You call his name like it’s a prayer, “i’ve wanted you to fuck me for so long.”
He groans, “I don’t have a condom.”
“Please?” Your bordering tears, still fucked out from your two orgasms and yet deperate for more. Ready for him to take you however he wanted. “I’m on the pill, you can finish inside.”
Jisung’s breath catches in his throat, fuck you were not making it easy. He’d wanted you for the longest time, but a part of him was worried that if he gave you this then he’d have to come clean. He looked into your eyes, contemplating his next choice.
He’d been wanting to confess to you, the fear eating him up all this time. He needed to tell you how you never once left his mind, that even for the five years you were gone he couldn’t move on, countless women and yet none of them were you. The way he looked at you now told him enough, your eyes looking into him just as he always looked into yours.
Then it struck him, maybe you did want him just as much as he wanted you. Maybe things were different this time. He invited you today to tell you everything. Well more so sing you everything. One of the many songs he’d written about you that he showed the guys who had no problem adding to the setlist.
You called out his name again, this time soft and sweet. He knew then that the order it played out didn’t really matter, he wouldn’t say no to you. Not when you looked at him like you knew how he felt because you felt it too.
He pulled you in for a kiss again, this time hoping you could read his heart with every breath shared. He lined himself up this time, the tip of his cock red and angry, desperate for your touch.
“Are you sure?” He asks once more.
You nod, “Please.”
He concedes, pushing slowly, allowing your cunt seconds to adjust to his size despite the amount of time he spent stretching you out. You wince, his girth feeling much bigger than you remembered.
“You–You’re too big—“
“It’s okay, darling,” He coos, praising you as you take every single inch of his until finally his hips meet yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, your cries winding down as you adjust to his size.
He lets out a shaky breath, your walls gripping him so tightly. You look at him through tear stained eyes, nodding at him to try moving.
His first few thrusts are agonizingly slow, dragging moans from your lips without even trying. You clench around him causing him to wince in pleasure, “Please go faster”
You feel as his thrusts become sharper, every slide enveloping your entire body in what felt like a higher ground than the one you were on now. You couldn’t even hear yourself only registering the sound of skin slapping skin and his own groans.
And when he angled his cock deeper you screamed out, every thrust hitting your sweet spot.
“Fuck– your taking me so well,” He groaned, “Your pretty pussy was made for me, huh?” You nod. “Come on say it baby,” He thrusts even harder, your voice cutting out as you try to moan.
“‘Was made for you, you croak out. Your body feels numb, completely cock drunk, saliva pooling ever so slightly out of your mouth as he makes you see stars. You feel your orgasm coming too late, clenching down on his cock as you finally cum.
Waves of pleasure hit your body, the sound of knocking not even registering through your brain as you come down. Jisung is quick to follow, his warning coming out just as quickly as yours. You feel as his cum shoots inside of you, soaking your walls and filling you to the brim.
He groans, his final thrust sloppy, pushing his cum in deeper and causing you to whine. Silence fills the room for barely a second, the knocking at the door hard to ignore with how loud it is.
“Yo Jisung, we gotta be out in less than five minutes!” The leader shouted out.
Jisung sucked in a breath, looking at you like a scared hamster. You shook your head like ‘I don’t know I just got fucked to next sunday’.
He cleared his throat calling back to Mark on the other side, “Yeah, I’ll be out.” He cringed, making you laugh.
“Okay yeah just like,” Mark pauses awkwardly before adding, “Clean up fast and hurry the fuck out!”
You laugh, hearing the footsteps leave in quick steps. Jisung looks absolutely horrified.
He gulps, “Do you think they–“
“Heard everything?” You ask rhetorically, “Yeah probably.”
He groans, his head resting on your shoulder for a quick second before he’s quickly moving off of you. He slides out of you, the two of you groaning at the slight sting.
His cum is dribbling out of you, the sight is hot and if he didn’t need to be on stage within the next three minutes he would definitely ask for another round. He shakes the thought off, panicking and reaching for the first piece of fabric on the floor, using it to wipe his liquid off of your thighs and cunt where it keeps slipping out of you.
“Ji, just give me back my panties, leave it.” You say, sitting up. He passes you the fabric, you slip it on hoping it’ll hold it enough until you’re back home. You look up, Jisung helping you put your clothes back on until you notice the fabric in his hand.
“Ji,” He hums. “That’s my sweater.” You say, staring at the now cum stained piece of clothing.
He goes red, profusely apologizing for using it and not realizing that it was your sweater. You laugh, he was always so cute. Guess that would never change.
“This isn’t how I wanted things to go.” He sighs, the two of you looking fairly more composed than you did a minute ago.
“What do you mean?” You ask.
“I mean that I wanted to tell you something before all of this,” He trails off. You tilt your head, waiting for him to further explain. He takes a deep breath before finishing his sentence. “Just, watch me on stage. I can help you understand better then.”
You nod your head, ignoring the way the anxiety from before was beginning to creep up again, this time the feeling barely able to be ignored. You hope he doesn’t notice it.
There’s another strict knock at the door, calling him to hurry up. His eyes shine as they look at you, pulling everything you feared back onto the surface as if it never left in the first place.
“I’ll see you,” He says, kissing your cheek before running to go follow the guys onto stage.
You suck in a shaky breath, giving yourself a moment to breathe. It’ll be fine. It has to be, you promised it would be.
☆ 💫 ☆
You spotted Aeri early on in the performance, she was a few feet away with a candy apple in her hand dancing along to the music with a guy right next to her that you didn’t recognize at all. She called out to you in between the third and fourth song where you said hello to the new guy she introduced as Johnny.
You were lucky enough that since the music played you had something to put your entire focus on while avoiding Aeri’s gaze that later turned into a smirk once your hair shifted while dancing revealing a brand new purple bruise there. She winked at you, before turning to the guy and dancing along with him.
The performance was going well, though there was still a part of you full of anxiety you at least were able to tune it out and focus along with the loud music, more specifically the bass. It didn’t help that after every song, Jisung was looking into the crowd, eyes landing directly on you like it was muscle memory to just find you through thousands of others.
It was during the last couple of songs when they changed a few things, instead of their regular garage mixed sound they shifted for a more soft rock melody. You heard the opening keys, Jaemin having swapped from guitar to a keyboard, the first few chords producing such a sweet and melodic sound and right as Mark strummed the first few notes, Jisung began to sing.
Every lyric flowed nicely, his vocal tone had always been one that you appreciated, the deep voice of his felt so comforting, transporting you back in time to when he first started singing. You remembered those days so clearly, coming home from school and he would sing to you, or even on your sad days when you missed your mother and she would decline every one of your calls. Those times he’d make sure to sing you your favorite songs, and at some point he’d even started writing songs for you.
Most of them you weren’t allowed to listen to, he told you it was because they weren’t ready, but a part of you knew it had to be because of a different reason. There was the time on his fourteenth birthday, you’d saved up all of the allowance your parents had given you to buy him the bass he’d wanted. He looked the happiest you ever saw him, then.
As the song progressed you listened to each and every one of the lyrics directed towards you, his eyes never once shifting from where you stood.
‘I would take the chance to live the rest of my life alone just if I could see you once more.
Cause I couldn’t live a life without you, not when everything I do is for you.
Not when you’re the only one for me, so please don’t leave me lonely.’
You took in a harsh breath, feeling as if your world would collapse.
Fuck.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. Aeri wasn’t supposed to be right.
Almost as if she sensed you thinking about her she called out to you, your phone in her hand as she gave it to you. “I forgot to tell you, your phone has been ringing since earlier.” That’s right you had given her your phone earlier since she was the one with a bag.
You glanced down at the caller ID, and suddenly it felt like your entire world was falling apart. Aeri looked at you worriedly then, her eyes running over you head to toe and asking if you were okay. You could barely hear her over how hard your heart was beating.
The last thing you could remember was telling her you had to go, then running through the crowd before she could even try to reach you. You breathed out, debating answering the call at all. Away from the music there’s barely any food trucks open, about two or three people are actually in line but even then you still feel paranoid.
The phone keeps ringing, only this time you choose to answer it.
“Miss L/N?” You almost broke down hearing his familiar voice. He must’ve heard you enough that he started again, “Ah, Your mother told me I should communicate with you since you’ve been too occupied to answer her. She was wondering if we could push up our wedding date.”
Wedding Date.
Of course, because no matter how long you thought you could run from everything you still had your duties to attend to for your mothers sake, even if it was to marry a man that you didn’t even love.
☆ 🎸 ☆
When Jisung finished his song to you he noticed your absence immediately, but before he could allow himself to succumb to any anxious ideas he stopped himself, because maybe you had snuck backstage to see him after the show.
By the last song, he knew it wasn’t the truth. He could even spot Aeri from the crowd, trying to call someone through her phone. A part of him wished that this wasn’t exactly what was going on. Maybe you had stopped to go get some food? There were still a couple of trucks left behind, he forgot to mention that afterwards the guys were planning on going out for dinner. He was going to mention it after talking to you, he was hopeful that he’d get to introduce you as his girlfriend as you all were seated at the table.
The guys sensed it. He could tell by the way they quieted down as they all stepped off the stage noticing your lack of presence. Jisung should be mad at you. You left him, again, but even when he tried to be angry the first time you’d left, he couldn’t be mad at you. This time though, unlike before, he couldn’t even find a reason to be mad at himself.
He allowed himself a breath, the guys had left him to himself in their shared trailer for a moment, so now every possibility was flooding his mind. In the end it didn’t matter. There was no other way to look at this situation. He should’ve listened to Mark, or even to Donghyuck of all people. But he didn’t, and in any other timeline he was sure he wouldn’t have either.
Because everyone else were assuming that he’d fallen into a trap he’d so cautiously been trying to avoid, what they didn’t realize was that he went in fully content with the outcome.
Part Four: Late December
You
☆ 💫 ☆
It had been a week since all things went to shit. You’d hung up the second you heard the words wedding date, choosing instead to grab and pack as many clothes from Aeri’s place to run away. You were seriously going to leave again, but then you thought about Jisung. Every word he spoke through the song. You couldn’t leave him, not again.
So here you laid in complete isolation, staying in your old bedroom at your grandmother's. She stopped by to bring you food every so often, but other than that even she had a feeling that you wanted to be alone.
Your mother had called a few more times, probably expecting you to have already booked your flight back to France. But you hadn’t, and you still weren’t sure you were going to. There was too much going on in your head. How everything you didn’t want to happen happened anyway, and again, it was your fault.
It was your fault how you stupidly thought that you could come back home just to leave again like nothing ever meant anything. Because everything meant something, every place, every person, but especially him.
And now even if you were to stay what justice would that do? If you were Jisung you would never want to see you ever again. Judging by his silence, you were sure that he was on the same page. You wouldn’t even allow yourself to cry over him when you were the one who fucked up.
There was a subtle knock on the door, you wiped your eyes making sure that there wasn’t a single tear before answering with a weak, “Come in.”
Only it wasn’t your grandmother with a plate of breakfast, not unless the plate of breakfast had transformed into a pink haired woman who looked way too much like the best friend you had run away from.
You refused to look at her, not when you were already way too close to crying and seeing her look at you pitifully would just be the stick that broke the camels back.
The door shut then, leaving you and Aeri in silence. The sound of her footsteps approaching until she finally spoke, “You left me like a bad hookup.” There was humor in her voice, one that you glossed over with how sorry you felt.
“I’m sorry,” You admitted defeatedly, as if to say she was very far from being wrong, and you should’ve realized it sooner.
She sighed, “Don’t be sorry, I’m not mad I understand. Sometimes I'm too right about everything that it makes me want to leave myself behind.”
You don’t answer, nothing but your faults flooding your brain so much that you could barely register the world around you. She must’ve understood the sort of funk you were in because she moved a step closer.
“Y/N.”
Your heart squeezed at the mention of your name, which was starting to annoy you. You were acting like a kid in trouble for the first time. The idea of how aggravating you must be to everyone right now made it so that you actually made eye contact with the woman, her face full of concern.
“You always were your own worst enemy,” she sighed, before clapping her hands together loud enough to make you flinch. “Okay no more sulking. I, as your friend, am required to be here for you whenever you are sad and I've been a pretty shitty friend that I left you alone in your own thoughts for a week too long.”
You frowned, “No that’s not true all you’ve done is be a good friend. You let me stay with you and I just left without even giving a thank you.”
She rolled her eyes, “Y/N, do you think i’m here for a thank you?”
You pause for a moment, the obvious answer being no, of course not, but one part of you is still faulting yourself for not having given one anyway.
“God, I love you y/n I really do but seriously?” She scowls fully offended, “I’m not here for a little sorry, or for a thank you, I’m here because my best friend needs me and even if she thinks that she doesn’t deserve to be around anyone I know otherwise.”
Your brows are furrowed, her finger shushing you before you could reply, “Shh no no no, you’re just going to guilt yourself more and then want to push away everyone because you think you’re the problem.”
“Aren’t I?”
“Y/N, things happen. Feelings happen. The unexpected happens and you can’t just put the blame on yourself.”
“You don’t understand,” You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, using all the last of your strength to fight them from falling.
“Then help me understand! Help me see it from your point of view because all i’m getting is that you’re sitting here soaking in self hatred when I know you as one of the most selfless people in the world.”
You shake your head, the tears flooding out. “I’m not, i’m far from that. I got involved with Jisung again even when I knew this couldn’t last forever.”
“Why can’t it?”
“Because Aeri,” Your voice cracks, “I have to go. My mother is content with setting me up with some man I barely even know because it’s my duty to her as her daughter. To marry into a wealthy family and play as a puppet for the rest of my life.”
She’s silent, listening to you as you rant on about everything, finally breaking from the amount you’ve held back from telling. “I don’t even get a choice. Not if I want to be heir to everything they built. I never even wanted to leave you all behind the first time but I had to.”
“Why?” Aeri asks, and the question itself is harmless but you shake your head because how could you explain. As far as you knew, your mother wanted nothing to do with your upbringing. Yet she showed up anyway one day. Telling you that there was no other option, if you were to stay behind then she would cut you off.
“She promised to fund my education if I left with her.” You were fully sobbing now, “and grandma was only getting older so I thought it would be for the best if I left with my mother. To come back with a degree and be able to support the two of us.”
Aeri sighs, pulling you into a comforting hug. Those first few months in France had been nothing but stress and pain. Taking on an education in a foreign country where you hardly understood any of what they were talking about. Even as a graphic design major it proved to be more challenging than ever.
You thought after the last years of school you would be able to come back home. To start up a small business and pursue and build your own career, maybe then when you proved to be successful enough you would talk to Jisung and admit just how much you missed him.
Everytime anyone had left you a message you felt a huge lump in your heart. So you began to ignore each and every message, and as the years went on you grew more and more stuck. Your mother had come to you on a random day, inviting you to some dinner with another family, the Lee’s.
Hyunjae Lee was the man you were set to marry as long as both of your families had kept their promises. You’d realized it then. The reason your mother had come back for you was to secure a business deal with this family, and what better option than to a contractual marriage.
She expected it from you, she’d told you repeatedly how you owed her this. She’d given you freedom for more than half of your life that not many other kids get to entertain, so now you must pay it back.
You couldn’t do this, not after you made a promise that you would return home. If you were to marry into the family of a man that you had just met then you were to be tied down for the rest of your life, but if you were to leave now then you were to walk away from the future you had promised to have. To repay your grandmother for all of her struggles, so you had made your choice, though it didn’t last long at all.
A day after brunch with your new fiancé you had panicked. He was a decent guy, actually pretty kind for someone who came from such a high class. You exchanged numbers with the man, hoping he couldn’t read your solemn expression. And the next day when he texted and it wasn’t the man you had really wanted, you couldn’t take it anymore.
You needed time away before you locked yourself in a cage, choosing to book the first ticket you could back home. It’s how you ended up here. A trip that you thought would give you the strength to move on, only leaving you facing everything you thought was over head on.
Aeri held you tightly as you recalled to her every single event, the calls the texts you’d ignored just because if you answered you knew you’d come crawling back home fighting for Jisung to forgive you. You weren’t supposed to see him ever again, it was the best that way, at least that’s what you thought. Now you weren’t so sure.
“Look,” Aeri starts after your sobs from earlier come to a few sniffles, “I appreciate you finally letting everything off your chest, but I think you know that i’m not the one who should be hearing all of this.”
She was referring to Jisung. Of course she was. And you knew you should talk to him but how could you explain everything and expect him to just forgive you? You had played with his emotions, whether you meant to or not. The last thing you wanted was for him to see you again and remind himself of all of the pain you caused him.
“I can’t Aeri not when he's so much better off without me.”
“You can’t say that, it’s unfair. He decided to keep seeing you even when he could’ve avoided you like the plague this entire time, and honestly everytime i’ve so much as spared him a glance this past week I've realized that he never once has appeared that way.”
You hadn’t really seen anyone this past week, but that didn’t stop you from knowing how he was doing these past weeks. Your grandma had mentioned something about seeing him in passing when she was coming home from groceries and he apologized for not making time to visit her. He hadn’t looked too good, maybe a bit like he needed a friend, your grandma had said.
She’s frowning at you now, no longer holding back as she speaks with zero remorse, “The least you can do is try to talk to him, he deserves to make that choice for himself so who are you to decide for him, because it’s clear to everyone else that he had already decided to forgive you. You just took that chance away from him.”
Her words clicked then. Could it have been so obvious? Everytime you distanced yourself from the people around you only because you thought it was for their best interest, in your mothers eyes that was the same way she thought of you. It was in your best interest that you follow every rule she had set out for her.
In a lot of ways, Aeri was right, because if you really loved the boy you grew up with the way you claimed to, then you would’ve allowed him the opportunity to admit that he had forgiven you. The only person left was you who hadn’t forgiven yourself.
What did that mean now? It was simple enough for you to understand. You had to find a way to talk to him, at least after you made a quick pit stop.
☆ 🎸 ☆
Jisung hadn’t spent a lot of time doing anything except for spending all of his time in the practice room. Even with no performances coming up because of the holiday season, he needed a release. The guys had forced him to go out with them at least once, for a quick stop at a convenience store because really he had no desire to talk to anyone let alone deal with any kind of crowd at a club right now. They at least understood that part, though he had a creeping suspicion that there was something else.
He spent Christmas with Mark’s family, they were pretty welcoming and didn’t make him feel like an outsider even though he very much was, with his very solemn stray kitten look that made Mark’s mom slide over an extra slice of homemade lemon cake that her friend back in Canada had given her the recipe to.
Jisung had decided maybe it was best to spend the rest of his time in solitude, mainly because he hated being the vibe killer to everyone around him. It’s why he had declined joining any part of Donghyuck’s New Year celebration, and also because the last thing he wanted was to get drunk and wake up with a hangover on January first.
That’s how he had ended up roaming around the area, bungeoppang in hand as he sat with the thickest sweater he owned at the local park. Don’t get him wrong, he was semi aware that he looked like a weirdo, like what kind of grown man sits on a random park swing in the middle of the night on new year’s eve. This wasn’t just some park though it did mean a lot. It was where he’d first met you.
You, with a pretty bad haircut and a little bit of a thick accent when you spoke Korean that he couldn’t exactly put a name to because as a seven year old the only places he knew were school, home, and space. You must’ve been from the moon, it would explain why you spoke a bit weird and why you’d never tried bungeoppang before.
Jisung smiled at the memory, he ended up being wrong about a lot of things, but one thing stayed true. You must’ve been from the moon at least in another life because for some reason even when he couldn’t see you he felt your presence.
The air was honestly freezing, yet he felt all the more warm with the precious memory. He promised the guys that he wouldn’t allow any of his own problems to affect the band, and with their schedules becoming more and more busy since the festival he knew he had to set his mind straight. So now, he sat with the idea that once the clock struck twelve he would wash every piece of baggage from the past five years, and start a fresh and clean beginning.
“Jisung!” He heard your voice then, his body scrunching up in response because seriously he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol so was he losing his mind. A psyche evaluation was not what he was expecting to take into the new year. But then he heard you again, this time closer than before. Standing up off of the swing and turning around to see you, who seriously looked like you ran a mile to get here, a bag in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other that only made him realize you had been running barefoot.
“Wait give me a minute,” You spoke, clearly fighting for an ounce of air to fill your lungs because you had spent the last of your breath screaming out his name. “Fuck I really underestimated how long it would take me to get here.”
“What are you doing here?” He asked, not in a rude way but because seriously the last thing he expected was to see you.
You had finally caught your breath, gulping down the last of your fears before you came clean. “I had to see you.”
When he didn’t reply you stepped closer, “I haven’t been honest, and for the longest time I told myself it was in everyone’s best interest that I kept it that way because I didn’t deserve any of you in my life. But after a long enough time and really some slaps of courage from Aeri I realized that I never once considered how you felt. So i’m here to tell you everything but mostly to allow you the choice to choose how you still feel about me afterwards.”
Jisung wasn’t really sure how to reply but he did know that you had always been the type to put yourself down, it was always something he wished he could help you see differently.
He nodded, encouraging you to continue. “I love you, I think I always have but for some reason I just was so scared that I would only bring out the worst from you. When I left back to France with my mom I thought space away from you was the best for you.” You sniffled and even with how rough things were Jisung still wished he could hold you close to comfort you.
“That’s not the only thing though, I also needed a good education so I could come back and finally be enough for everyone here, and my mother was going to fund it all as long as I did everything she wanted. So I sat through years of huge galas where I had to learn the names of people who looked at me like I was never going to measure up to my family’s legacy, until eventually my mother had the brilliant idea that the only way i’d ever make it was by attaching a new last name to my own.”
Jisung felt his heart twist, had you really suffered so much being alone? He remembered Ningning mentioning having visited you once on a business trip within the last year. How you had said you were relieved to see a familiar face, especially with how lonely the atmosphere was. She said one of the main things that stood out though was that even as much as you smiled and said things were going well, it never met your eyes.
“I came back here spontaneously but it was because I needed time. I needed to feel like my life was in my control even though it hadn’t been for a long time and wouldn’t ever be if I went through with the arranged marriage.” Your voice kept its composure despite the way your hands shook. “I was never supposed to stay here, but then when I saw you again it’s like I couldn’t leave. I wanted to be around you, in any way shape or form even if you didn’t see me as anything other than a warm body.”
He couldn’t believe it, because never once had he seen you as such. You have always and would forever be the woman who taught him what love was.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to see you sooner and tell you all of this,” You added, “I had to see my mother and let her know that the wedding wasn’t going to happen. I talked to her a bit, she wasn’t too pleased but as long as i’m out of her hair she doesn’t really care. I’m free now so I took the first flight back and got your address through Aeri–“
“Aeri has never once come over to my place?”
“Yeah she said not to mention that because it was a secret, anyway I thought you’d probably be home but clearly I was wrong and it took me even longer to convince the guys to tell me where you went.”
“I didn’t let the guys know though? I shut my phone off just so they wouldn’t follow me.”
“Yeah well Jaemin said he had his ways.”
Jisung groaned, already knowing what exactly that meant in Jaemin’s language. He definitely had an airtag on him.
“I also passed by a small vendor and,” you opened the bag in your hand, revealing a few of the fish shaped bread hidden inside. Jisung couldn’t help but smile, you had remembered just as he did. “I packed one of each, just in case you wanted to try them all and argue about which was the best filling.” Your voice grew quiet then, “That’s only if you want to.”
The answer was obvious to him the second you had appeared in front of him explaining yourself. He was never going to forget you, it’s not what he was planning on doing in the first place. He just wanted for things to be honest, none of the confusion on where the two of you stood, just true and open love. All he ever wanted was you.
He took a few steps closer, his arms coming up around you in a tight hug, “There’s never been anything else i’ve ever wanted more than you.”
You let out a breath of relief, a few tears streaming down your face with how much pressure was lifted from off of your shoulders. Like there was a magnetic field between the two of you that you had no interest in fighting against, your lips met one another’s. The kiss was sweet and soft with all of the emotions you both felt over the years combined into one moment. Both of you accepting this change with each other because that’s what love was.
It was feeling everything all at once but willing for it to consume you. An unstoppable force that left you vulnerable and sometimes wondering if you were deserving, but also proved that you were ready for wherever it took you even if it was unexpected.
And like the sky was a paid actor, it was met with blasts of colors as fireworks went off celebrating the start of what’s to come.
Jisung of course flinched, pulling away from the kiss with an apologetic sorry for ruining what was a perfect scene out of a movie. You laughed, locking your fingers through his hand to stare up into the sky with him. His gaze occasionally falling to you, in pure joy with rose colored cheeks from the cold, something he’d never let go of.
Epilogue:
Francis Forever
Who ever thought that booking a show last minute as a filler band for a canceled performance by some popular band that fans had already bought tickets for would have the domino effect of Oblivion reaching new heights of success.
Not Jisung, but you had always known it was only a matter of time.
Since that show in February, March had become chaotic. Oblivion had regular shows booked back to back, and had even recently just been referred to some guy under Zhong Management, for help to sort out how the rest of Oblivion’s year would go.
There were also an influx of fans, fanpages, fan accounts, fanfics that Jisung definitely made sure to steer clear of considering the fact that he was in a very public relationship that was not hidden from fans in the slightest.
The fans loved you, which Jisung knew they would because who didn’t. They loved the dynamic between the two of you, researching and finding out that you had known each other since childhood which only fueled them to ask more questions about the two of you which Jisung had no problem doing during the last Fans Ask and Answer that you scheduled for each of them.
You took the job as their social media fan club manager very seriously by the way. So when Donghyuck had answered a question asking ‘What are some preshow superstitions you have?’ with ‘I’m not sure about that but we have special rules in place about no funny business before a performance.’ You had quickly ended the online questionnaire, right before running towards Donghyuck at full speed with the first thing you could find on the desk in front of you, a pencil, as your weapon of choice.
Jeno had held you back, because Jisung refused when he had already warned Donghyuck before he clicked post.
Things were going better than ever, even for you who decided to take a break from school after already having completed a two year program.
The only thing left for today was the movie marathon date you and Jisung had planned for tonight, which wasn’t the first you both had since dating, but felt brand new since every other roommate had made plans that left the house empty except for the two of you.
“I don’t understand why people like Jake Sully, he seems a bit conceited.” Jisung muttered from where he sat on the couch, your body resting against his chest as you munched on popcorn, focused on the movie.
“Cause he’s hot.”
He scrunched his nose, “He’s blue.”
You shrug, “It’s an alien thing probably, I always thought Neytiri looked better.”
He frowned at you, pulling a laugh from your lips with how cute he was when he was jealous. “I’m just kidding! Those things are way too tall anyway.”
He sighed, “I don’t wanna watch this anymore.”
You laughed again, setting down the bowl of popcorn and sliding around to wrap your legs around him. He refused to look at you, but you knew he wasn’t really upset with the way his hands found their way around your waist, soothing over your skin. “I’m kidding, no blue alien could compare to the alien right in front of me.”
He let out a snort, finally turning to face you. “As if I was jealous of that guy.”
“Oh yeah i’m sure you weren’t,” you smile, leaning in close to him. His gaze fell to your lips, silently hoping you would lean in closer so he could kiss you. You thought it would be fun to tease him for a little so you stayed there, barely a centimeter apart.
He sighed again knowing exactly what you were doing, choosing to close the distance himself. You never really got used to his kisses, your stomach fluttering anytime the two of your lips connected. You couldn’t help but want more, sliding your tongue through his lips to deepen the kiss. He tasted sweet, more than likely from the candy he’d been eating since the start of the movie.
It wasn’t until you could feel his slight bulge against you that you pulled away, smirking up at him in satisfaction over his disarray, his lips swollen and hair tussled from the quick makeout session.
“We have the house to ourselves,” He broke the silence with a whisper, leaning in close to lessen the gap between you
.“Hmm,” You answered, not even daring to hide your smile when you’ve never felt happier than this moment. “Then let’s make use of that while we can.”
࣪𖤐 the end ── ★ ̟
FINAL NOTES: if you made it until the end I’m hoping you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing! Next up is Jeno’s story so stay tuned for that! also, im wondering just how many of the songs used for every section did you guys know…
Lee Donghyuck has everything. The perfect career, perfect reputation and perfect fiancée.
You have nothing except a dead-end job at his law firm and a hopeless crush that borders on obsession.
When Donghyuck starts paying attention to you, it feels like a miracle. Like being chosen. Like finally becoming someone worth looking at.
The problem is that everyone knows what happens to the girls he notices: they cry, they quit, they disappear.
But you're different.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
haechan (donghyuck) x reader, smut + angst!!!, office affair
words-> 10.6k words (what the helly, my longest fic so far!!)
content-> lots of smut!!!, dry humping, oral (m.receiving), vaginal penetration, breeding, choking, spit + cum eating, slapping, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating, degradation (if u squint), power imbalance, obsession, hyuck is an asshole , unreliable narrator!!!
cami's notes at the end :3
The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.
“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.
You lower the files, and there he is.
Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.
You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong.
In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand.
He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.
“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.
He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”
Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning.
You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words.
You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors.
Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.”
You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture.
But you are clumsy.
You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday.
The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.
Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent.
Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets.
No one ever says no to him.
The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows.
Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories.
The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly.
It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones.
He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it.
And you, you like him.
It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance.
Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something.
It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really.
Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.
You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence.
Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever.
He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you.
His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee.
They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time.
They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.
The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough.
Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.
Maybe you could be.
Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be.
So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign.
You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.
You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little.
You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system.
You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.
You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom.
You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.
After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.
There is no romantic confession, no real declaration.
It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas.
Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.
“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.
Anyway, you nod, wordless.
He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling.
The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.
He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.
The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it.
You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.
You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.
He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go.
“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.
“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.
He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare.
He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.
“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better.
“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.
In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.
He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something.
Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.
He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.
“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.
He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love.
“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”
You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear.
He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.
Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.
This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?
You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.
He doesn’t kiss you right away.
His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.
“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.
But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.
His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.
The kiss hits hard.
Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.
His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.
He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.
Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.
His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.
And you let him.
Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.
Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.
When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.
He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”
Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe.
Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?
He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”
You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.
And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.
When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.
Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.
Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.
“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”
Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”
He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”
You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.
His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.
He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.
“You like that, huh?”
"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.
“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”
You were.
The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart.
He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.
His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”
You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.
His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.
Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"
You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing.
The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.
"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."
He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.
He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.
Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.
He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.
❤︎₊ ⊹
It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon.
“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.”
He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom.
But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.
“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”
The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them.
You accept everything.
He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather.
And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant.
But in his arms, under his weight, you are something.
You are his secret.
That has to mean more than being nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.
The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.
He’s here, of course.
He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.
She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.
She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.
You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.
You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.
He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.
For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding.
Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.
Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.
The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...
"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.
That has to mean something.
You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.
But you don’t. You can’t.
You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.
You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”
Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”
“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”
"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"
He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.
"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.
"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"
You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.
His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.
“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.
He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.
His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.
Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.
"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.
He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.
A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.
He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”
Your heart soars.
Belong.
He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.
You look wrecked. You look wanted.
And you think you feel better than ever.
His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.
He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.
Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.
You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.
His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.
You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.
"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."
Your heart throbs on your bruised chest.
Made for him!!
It needs to be true.
Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.
His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.
"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."
His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."
He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.
He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.
Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.
He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.
But the feeling doesn't last.
He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.
He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.
He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.
He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.
"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.
You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.
He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.
"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.
He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.
"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."
He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.
You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.
But you get nothing.
You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.
The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.
You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.
He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.
And you, you're just a nobody.
You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.
Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.
“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.
Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.
“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"
As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.
Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.
“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”
Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”
"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.
Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.
But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”
You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.
But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over.
For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you.
The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing.
❤︎₊ ⊹
The realization comes after not being called by him all day.
After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.
He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.
No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.
Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.
What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?
Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.
His text.
Open the door. Now.
You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.
He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.
“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.
"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"
"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.
"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?
His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.
Because deep down, you know he's right.
You were convenient. Easy.
He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.
"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."
He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."
He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.
You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.
Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."
Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.
When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.
He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.
He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.
He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."
You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.
He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.
"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."
He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."
And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.
Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.
He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"
"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.
The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.
You'd let him do anything.
He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.
"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.
His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.
His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.
Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.
"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."
A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.
Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.
The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.
You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.
You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.
You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.
"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.
Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.
"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."
You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.
"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.
You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.
Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.
You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"
You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.
"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"
He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.
He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.
He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.
Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.
His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.
Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.
"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"
You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.
Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.
"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.
Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.
Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.
"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.
He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.
"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."
Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.
"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"
The final command sends you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.
He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.
For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.
He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...
But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.
He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.
You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.
Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.
“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”
He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.
He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”
He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.
“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”
And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.
The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.
Utterly, completely alone.
You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.
You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.
You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.
You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.
He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.
You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.
You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.
You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.
This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.
❤︎₊ ⊹
He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.
And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.
But the texts still come. Late at night.
The usual bar. 11 PM.
Or, more brazenly,
Parking level B2. Now.
You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.
The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.
And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.
You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.
In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.
Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...
Maybe he will finally love you.
The screen lights up.
And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.
❤︎₊ ⊹
haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)
ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh
hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3
A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?
⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)
⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.
⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K
READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]
Two weeks later
haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.
hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".
it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.
it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.
that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.
of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.
and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.
maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.
for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.
but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.
“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.
haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”
“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”
heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”
you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.
haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.
but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.
it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”
haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.
"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"
he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?
he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.
haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.
but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.
he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.
it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?
haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.
as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?
he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.
“hey.”
a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.
there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.
physical contact.
that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.
you held the bag out toward him.
haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”
your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.
reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.
had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.
and that terrified him.
he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.
“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.
“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”
you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.
haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.
you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.
“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”
haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”
you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”
there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?
he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”
“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”
haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.
“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.
you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.
“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”
haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.
you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”
haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”
you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”
haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.
“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.
you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”
haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”
you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.
“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”
“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”
you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.
that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.
“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”
haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.
“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”
he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.
because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.
but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.
and the worst part?
haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.
before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.
“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"
the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.
haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?
the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.
he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.
he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.
his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?
he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.
you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?
the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?
"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”
and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.
but he didn’t.
and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.
the guilt clawed its way up your throat.
you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.
jung jaehyun.
a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.
and of course, you weren’t immune.
you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.
your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.
so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.
haechan.
and now you’d hurt him.
you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.
but he didn’t.
now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.
your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?
it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?
still, something was off.
haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.
every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.
now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.
the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.
that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
unknown number.
haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.
“hello?”
“HAECHAN!”
a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.
“…who is this?”
“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”
oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.
“yeah, uh—what’s up?”
“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.
the emergency button in his brain went off.
“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”
“well—kind of?”
apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.
haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.
“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”
haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”
“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”
the line went quiet for a second.
“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”
“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.
he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.
but part of him was already bracing for it.
despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.
you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.
“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”
“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.
“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”
the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.
“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.
after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.
“address?” the driver asked.
haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.
“cute couple,” he said.
“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.
“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”
haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—
“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”
yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.
“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”
haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.
“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”
haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.
and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.
he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.
his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.
“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.
you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.
“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.
haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”
“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”
“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”
you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”
silence.
haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.
but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.
“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”
eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.
inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.
you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”
he froze, slowly turning toward you.
“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”
“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.
“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”
haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.
“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”
haechan blinked. “what?”
“you’re good in bed.”
he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”
you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”
haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”
“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”
his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”
“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”
his face burned red. “how do you—?!”
“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”
“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.
“no, you don’t.”
you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”
“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.
you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”
and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.
he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.
then, haechan stepped closer.
he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.
then, without thinking, you kissed him.
it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.
he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.
“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”
you blinked up at him, breathless.
“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.
he didn’t say anything.
but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.
and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.
that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.
when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.
but he didn’t.
haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.
by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.
you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.
haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.
you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.
your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.
without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.
you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.
he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.
and stupidly handsome.
“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”
he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.
the elephant between you had never been bigger.
you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.
“you okay?” you asked gently.
“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”
you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.
that’s when you noticed something else.
the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.
he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.
painfully so.
and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.
you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.
“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”
the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.
haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.
you froze. unsure.
he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”
your stomach dropped.
just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.
“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”
he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.
you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.
you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.
“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.
but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.
and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.
you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.
but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.
he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.
“haechan…” your voice barely carried.
he didn’t turn around.
you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—
“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”
and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.
you were alone again.
but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.
your phone was still dead.
you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.
you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.
you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.
you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.
was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.
but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.
the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.
haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.
he looked surprised to see you still there.
his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”
you didn’t answer.
he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”
but you were already crying.
your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”
he went quiet.
“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”
he still didn’t move.
“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”
you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”
for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.
then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.
“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”
your breath hitched.
he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.
“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”
you blinked. “…what?”
he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”
your eyes widened.
he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.
“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”
you stopped breathing.
your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.
he met you halfway.
this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.
it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.
but it burned.
and then he pulled back, just barely.
“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”
you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.
“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”
and for now — that was enough.
a few weeks passed.
you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.
but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.
the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.
on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.
"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.
“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.
“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.
“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”
“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”
your brow arched. “curated?”
he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”
you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.
“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”
“what tension?” you teased.
he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”
“feel what?”
his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”
you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.
you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.
and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.
he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.
he felt pathetic.
like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.
and god, those lips.
maybe he should’ve never kissed you.
but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.
now, he couldn’t un-feel it.
behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.
he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.
and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.
he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.
he hated how much he needed it.
he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.
he hated that he wanted more.
you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.
you always found him there these days.
“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”
he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”
“do you?”
“…not really.”
you both smiled.
as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.
“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”
he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”
you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”
“and you’re going?”
you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”
he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”
you gave him a look. “you know what.”
he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”
your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”
you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.
“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”
and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”
his breath caught.
“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”
he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.
“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”
he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”
“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”
and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”
his silence told you everything.
you took one step closer, slow and steady.
“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”
and he didn’t answer.
not with words.
but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.
you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.
but you were getting closer to finding out.
the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.
he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light.
there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.
he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.
you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.
he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.
you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw.
“i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.
you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”
his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”
you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”
he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”
your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.
“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”
his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.
“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”
your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.
“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”
you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.
he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”
his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.
when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.
his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.
“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”
your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.
“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”
his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.
“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”
your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.
you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”
his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.
his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.
“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”
your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.
“h-hyuck...” you cried.
“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.
he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.
you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.
“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”
you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.
“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”
and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.
he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.
“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”
his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.
he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.
“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.
and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.
your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.
haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.
when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.
“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”
the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.
“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”
you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.
“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”
the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.
“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”
you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.
he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.
he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.
still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.
even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.
friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.
the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.
jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.
“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.
you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.
you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.
the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.
after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.
the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.
at first, it’s cinematic.
his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.
“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.
you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.
he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”
that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.
more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.
but none of it happens.
instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.
you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.
but it doesn’t.
what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.
and yet... nothing.
when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.
and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.
because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.
haechan.
you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...
haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.
you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.
and you remember something else.
the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”
you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.
because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.
you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.
jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.
“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.
you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.
you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.
and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.
you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.
you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.
but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.
how empty.
you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.
you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.
before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”
the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.
"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"
you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.
"hey, talk to me. what happened?"
his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.
you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”
he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”
and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.
he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.
and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.
the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.
“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”
“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.
and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.
safe in the way only he ever made you feel.
you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.
you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.
your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.
before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.
“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”
you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.
jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.
“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”
you blink, lifting your head. “what?”
“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”
you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”
jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”
you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.
“it’s complicated,” you mutter.
he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”
“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”
you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.
“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.
“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”
“yeah.”
jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.
“thanks,” you say quietly.
“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”
and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.
on my way. almost there.
you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.
maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.
the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.
haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.
you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.
you don’t think—you run.
you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.
you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.
when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.
he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”
you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.
so instead, you kiss him.
you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.
and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.
he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.
his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.
your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.
it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.
the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.
“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.
“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.
he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.
inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.
“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.
you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”
he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.
"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."
the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.
"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."
haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.
"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"
you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”
the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.
"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”
"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."
the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.
“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”
you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”
“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”
you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.
“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."
a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.
“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.
“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”
“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.
then he said it anyway.
“now i take care of you.”
your breath hitched.
he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.
“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”
you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.
he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.
“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.
he looked at you, eyes burning.
“yeah, baby?”
your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”
he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.
“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”
you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.
he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.
“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.
you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.
“Prepared?” you teased softly.
he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”
your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.
“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”
his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.
“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”
you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.
the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.
“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”
you nodded desperately, clinging to him.
he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.
one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.
sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.
“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”
another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.
by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.
you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”
you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”
he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.
“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”
the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.
“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”
he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.
“don’t tempt me,” he growled.
you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.
“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”
he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”
still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”
that was all it took.
he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.
then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.
you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.
he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.
“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”
“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”
he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.
it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.
“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”
you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.
he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.
“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”
your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.
“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.
“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”
he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.
“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.
and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.
the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.
you locked eyes with him through the mirror.
“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”
you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.
“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”
“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.
“again.”
“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”
the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.
he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.
afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.
“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.
you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.
he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.
and for a long time, neither of you spoke.
because nothing needed to be said.
haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.
“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”
your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.
“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.
“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.
the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.
a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.
your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.
and oh—he did.
he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.
“miss me?” he teased.
“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.
but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.
“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”
you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.
but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.
“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.
“where are we—?”
“shower,” he said. “now.”
you didn’t argue.
the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.
“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”
your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.
you lost count of how many times he made you come.
after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.
he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.
“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”
“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.
“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”
and you did.
he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.
then the kitchen.
you barely made it there.
he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.
“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.
“yes,” you breathed.
“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”
he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.
“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”
then came the dining table.
you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.
you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—
“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”
the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.
it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.
“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.
“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”
you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.
he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.
“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”
the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.
“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.
you nodded into his chest.
“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”
he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.
soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.
the next morning came slowly.
soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.
you didn’t want to move.
there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.
you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.
“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”
“where else would i be?” you whispered.
he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.
“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”
you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.
haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.
there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.
and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.
it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.
it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.
he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:
“you know… i think we’re still us.”
you smiled, heart fluttering.
because he was right.
maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.
it only takes one offhand compliment for lee haechan to decide that you're meant to be his—and he's more than happy to prove it every chance he gets. loud, relentless, and ridiculously devoted, he weaves himself into your days with the kind of shamelessness that should drive you insane. but maybe, against your better judgment, you're starting to realise you don't actually want him to stop.
pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, college au warnings not proofread, mentions of smoking & asthma, profanities, hyuck has OVERLY down-bad behaviour word count 1.6k notes inspired by jinung & doyeon from head over heels :] i looove them & i love haechan. the only smoker id bat my lashes for
the first time you ever speak to lee haechan, you don't expect it to matter. he's your classmate—loud in a way you've always avoided, cocky in a way that seems to demand attention. people laugh when he talks, but more often at him instead of with him. you're not sure he notices.
that day, he's slouched in his seat as usual, chin tilted up towards the ceiling, sunlight glancing off his honey-warm skin. when you look closer, your eyes catch on to the scattered constellation of beauty marks across his cheek that trails down the line of his neck. you don't even think twice before saying, quietly, "they're pretty."
he blinks at you, slow, unsure. "what?"
"your moles," you explain softly, gesturing vaguely towards his cheek, his jaw, his throat. "they look like little stars."
it's a throwaway compliment for you, but something flickers in his expression—surprise, disbelief, a quiet, almost reverent sort of wonder. he opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if the right words won't come. later, you'll realise no one had ever told him they were beautiful before, and for you to say it so casually—to see him in a way no one ever had—makes something in his chest go loose and aching.
he laughs, but it comes out breathless, too giddy to hide.
the first time you realise lee haechan is going to be a problem, he's sitting far too close to you in class. his desk, technically, leaves enough space between yours to avoid suspicion, but his body doesn't seem to care for boundaries. his elbow brushes yours every few seconds, his knees stretching wide and unapologetically, as though he needs the constant reminder that you're real and right by his side.
"could you—" you hesitate, coughing softly into your fist before continuing, "could you sit a little further from me?"
haechan doesn't budge. if anything, his grin only widens. tilting his head so his messy brown hair falls into his eyes. "why? are you afraid of me?" his voice drops theatrically, the teasing lilt a little too practiced.
when you don't answer right away, he leans closer still, lowering his voice as if he's confiding in you. "or… is it because i'm too close and you're getting shy?"
you shake your head firmly, though your chest gives the faintest, most unwelcome hitch. "no, it's not that," you reply, clearing your throat. "its just—you reek of smoke, and i can't stand the smell of cigarettes." another cough breaks through your words, sharp enough to make you wince. "i have mild asthma, you see."
for once, haechan doesn't have a comeback ready. his smile falters as his eyes widen, tracing over your features like he's replaying your words in his head on loop. "so… you're feeling sick… because of me?"
"hm—i guess you could say that."
the silence that follows is odd for him, but only lasts about three seconds before haechan abruptly shoves his chair back with a screech that makes the entire class look over. without a word, he stalks towards the back of the room where the trash can sits, yanks a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and crushes them in this fist. the sound is almost violent, his knuckles white as he tosses the broken pieces into the bin.
then, in true lee haechan fashion, he turns dramatically to the class, poining a finger at the room with unearned authority. "i won't smoke again until the day i die!" he declared, voice ringing through the classroom. "so none of you are allowed to smoke either! if i catch anyone with a cigarette in hand, i'll—i'll kill you."
a pause.
from the corner, jeno mutters flatly, "you're the only one who smokes in this class, idiot…"
the whole room bursts into laughter, and haechan glares, but his eyes flicker back to you almost instantly—softening, almost sheepish. for someone who usually thrives on attention, his only concern now seems to be whether you're still coughing.
that becomes his new obsession.
within a week, you realise haechan has appointed himself your official-unofficial bodyguard against all secondhand smoke on campus. he barges into the boys' restroom mid-break, wagging a finger at freshmen and upperclassmen alike caught lighting up. "put it out! yn walks this way sometimes. what if she happens to breathe in your poisonous air?!"
his antics are ridiculous enough to cause a stir, yet he's unfazed by the mocking laughter that follows him out. he only beams proudly when he catches sight of you nearby, as though waiting for you to pat his head for being good.
you'd be lying if you said you weren't bewildered—maybe even a little touched—by the dedication.
but haechan's devotion isn't always subtle. he has a way of weaving himself into your routine without asking, as though the two of you had already silently agreed to it. he walks you back to your apartment after classes, even when it means going in the opposite direction of his own dorm. he keeps up a constant stream of chatter the whole way—compliments, complaints, insinuations that if you gave him a chance he'd treat you better than anyone else you've ever been with.
once, you told him he was overstepping. he only blinked, thought for no more than half a second, then said, "yeah… maybe. but you're still walking next to me, so maybe you don't mind that much. right?”
you roll your eyes, but your pen stumbles against the page when you feel the warmth of his gaze linger on you far longer than necessary. his compliments may be shameless, but the way he looks at you—as if you've hung the moon—leaves your chest feeling uncomfortably warm.
the real trouble, however, comes when he decides proximity is non-negotiable.
you're in the library, whispering the requirements of your joint assignment to him, outlining what had to be done and when. you were halfway through your explanation when you realised he hadn't taken a single note. his notebook was blank. instead, his chin rested on his palm, eyes fixed on the shift of your lips with an intensity that prickles your skin.
"...are you listening?" you asked finally, shifting uncomfortably.
"yes," he breathes, then pauses. "no." his gaze flicks down to your mouth again. "i mean—maybe i'd listen better if you, um… repeated everything while kissing me…"
your eyes widen. "haechan."
"yn," he parrots back, lips curling into a grin.
and then, out of nowhere, he leans in, lips puckered slightly, clearly aiming for your cheek.
you jerk back. "what are you doing?"
he looks almost sheepish, then bold all over again. "trying to kiss you?"
"wha—you can't just—"
"why not? you're right here… no one's looking…" his eyes dip to your lips, then back to your face, and for the first time, you realise how much he actually wants this. not as a joke, not as a game—he wants you, in his messy, hopeless way.
"no—because we're not…" you trail off, searching for words. "you can't just go around kissing random girls, haechan!"
he tilts his head, genuinely puzzled. "but i'm not trying to kiss a random girl… i want to kiss you."
"but we're not even dating… you—"
"oh." he blinks, thoughtful as if processing a concept that hadn't occured to him even after all these weeks, then brightens. "okay. then i'll be your boyfriend."
your jaw drops. "that's not how this works—"
"but why not? look… i'll prove it." his hand hovers in the air like he's debating whether to take yours, then boldly presses it against yours. his skin is warm, clammy even, but the weight of his palm is steady. he lifts your hands to his cheek, leaning against them with dramatic flourish, fluttering his eyes shut before cracking one open again. "see? we're holding hands now. that's what boyfriends and girlfriends do… right?"
you gape at him, torn between laughter and exasperation. "...you're unbelievable."
"unbelievably in love with you, yeah…" he says smoothly, though his ears are pink, betraying his nerves. "so? can i kiss you now?"
you don't even have time to argue before he's leaning across the table, heart-shaped lips puckering towards your own. mortified, you grab his arm and haul him out of the library, ignoring the amused snickers trailing after you. he stumbles along, completely unbothered, like a puppy thrilled to finally have your attention.
the moment the doors swing shut, haechan spins back to you, excitement sparking in his eyes. "you wanna go to somewhere more private?! ah—i don't think my roommate's home right now. why not we—"
"haechan."
he freezes, blinking rapidly at your tone. "...hm?"
you're glaring, exasperated and flustered all at once. "why do you think i dragged you out of the library?"
"because…" he tilts his head, lips parting in anticipation. "you're more comfortable kissing me out here?"
your jaw drops. "what? no."
his face falls instantly, but only for a second before the smile creeps back in, sly and boyish. "okay, okay. not now. but soon, right? you'll want to kiss me soon." his voice dips low, hopeful, and you realise, with dawning horror, that this boy has absolutely no concept of shame.
it's ridiculous. he's ridiculous. and yet, there's something about his persistence—the way he throws himself headfirst into liking you, no hesitation, no restraint—that lodges itself in your chest. you're not sure when it stopped feeling like annoyance and started feeling like something heavier, something you're secretly learning to crave.
because for all his dramatics and flirtations, you've noticed how haechan listens. he remembers your ailments. he notices when you're too tired to carry your books and takes them without asking. he hovers just close enough to be overwhelming, but never crosses a line that leaves you feeling truly uncomfortable. and for someone so infamously careless, his care for you is startling in its clarity.
and for the first time—somewhere between the cigarettes he swore off for your sake and the way he lights up every time you so much as look at him, you admit—if only silently, if only to yourself—that you find him pretty beyond his beauty marks.
