Backstage Pass
idols!Hyunjin x Felix x Chan x manager!reader
Hair sticking to his temples, lip bitten raw, gaze bright with effort. He turned his head toward you like he’d felt your eyes on him, and for a second, just a second, he looked right at you. Didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just… looked.
Warnings: short lil sum, fluff, suggestiveness, might make your heart beat a little harder, make ya toes curl, forbidden(?) relationship, poly, dom!Bangchan (has my heart), some I probably forgot
Word Count: 771
Tags: I don't have any yet! Comment or message me if you wanna tag along for the ride <3
A/N: possible series... be nice. we don't tolerate any hate over here.
Enjoy <3
Series
You’d learned how to walk on a tightrope.
It wasn’t in the job description, but no one told you what to do when your artists looked at you like that—like they were starving and you were the one thing they weren’t allowed to touch.
And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t them.
If Hyunjin didn’t move like sin in silk, fluid, unbothered, his beauty so sharp it felt intentional. He was always watching you out of the corner of his eye like he liked catching you slipping. Like he knew he was the one you couldn’t stop thinking about at 2 AM when the schedules were finalized and the lights were off and your fingers hovered over your phone.
If Felix didn’t have that voice. That impossible, low, honey-dipped drawl that made everything he said sound like a secret. And if he didn’t touch your arm every time he thanked you. And smile at you like you’d just done something miraculous for him, even when all you did was hand him a damn protein bar.
And if Bang Chan—God—if he didn’t make it so damn hard to keep your head on straight. If he didn’t know things before you said them, or watched you like you were a blueprint he had already memorized. Like he wanted to be the one to break your rules for you.
You were their manager. Their anchor. The one who kept everything running when they were tired, stressed, and cracking. You were supposed to be neutral.
Unshakeable.
And yet, there you were—shaken.
They were rehearsing for an end-of-year stage—tight choreography at a grueling pace. You weren’t even watching. Not really. Not until someone called “break,” and you looked up just in time to see Hyunjin drop to the floor, chest heaving.
He didn’t look exhausted. He looked alive.
Hair sticking to his temples, lip bitten raw, gaze bright with effort. He turned his head toward you like he’d felt your eyes on him, and for a second, just a second, he looked right at you. Didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just… looked.
And you looked back.
Something in your chest stuttered.
Then he blinked and looked away. Gone.
You swallowed hard and glanced away, pretending to scroll through your tablet. Notes. Tomorrow’s flight. Anything that wasn’t him.
It happened again the next week during a late-night recording.
Felix was in the booth, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, voice dipped into his chest. You were sitting behind the glass with Chan, going over production notes on a tablet. You heard Felix finish a take, and before you could speak, he glanced up.
Right at you.
Not Chan. Not the engineer. You.
His gaze lingered, curious. Soft. Familiar.
Like he liked the sound of your silence more than the beat.
You blinked and looked away, typing some note you’d already forgotten before you finished it.
Inside the booth, Felix smiled to himself.
And then Bang Chan—the worst of them, the one who knew better—he didn’t say anything when it started. He just watched.
Not in a creepy way. No. He watched like a leader. Like someone who saw the way Hyunjin’s voice got low and polite when he asked you if you needed anything. Like someone who noticed Felix was suddenly helping you carry things no one asked him to. Like someone who saw your hands shake when he stood too close.
He saw it all. And he didn’t stop it.
It was only you and Chan left behind, finalizing lyrics before the rest of the boys gathered in the studio to record them.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stared.
Elbow draped over the couch back, one knee propped up, shirt slightly clinging to him. Calm. Still. Like he was giving you a chance to speak first.
But you didn’t.
So he did.
“You need to be more careful.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re watching them too openly,” he said. His tone was low but firm. Measured. Like he was weighing every word before handing it to you.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
He stood slowly, notebook in one hand, the other running through his curls as he stepped into your space. Not enough to touch. But close. Too close.
“You’re making it hard for them to hold back,” he murmured.
Your breath caught.
“What makes you think they’re holding back?” you whispered.
Chan leaned in, close enough to brush your cheek with his breath.
“They told me.”
You froze.
He pulled away, walking toward the door like he hadn’t just cracked the ground open under you.
idols! bangchan x felix (ft. han and hyunjin) x fem!reader
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you flop into the chair, your skirt lifting a bit with the sudden motion.
Then he sees it.
You’re bare underneath.
Warnings: smut HEAVY, very little plot, so 18+, established relationship between bangchan and reader, public play, semi-public sex, voyeurism, third-party watching, mild dom/sub, oral sex (m and f receiving), spanking, mmf implied threesome, light degradation, recorded sex, accidental audio leak, mild humiliation kink, industry setting, non-explicit voyeurism, reader is a brat (and a freak...she is me fr), probably some that I forgot
Word count: 2.5k+
Tags: @chasinghxran @aria-again @skyearby @jinniesgirl @imagine-all-the-imagines @sammhisphere @femaholicc @hpnsfwaddict @ari4ari @trippoverrt @asteria-tsuki @septembr-e @mloversstuff @abishboshofgosh @hannie-lvr @crashmunson @abishboshofgosh @hannie-lvr @crashmunson
A/N: This might be my favorite one yet...Might make it a series cuz I don't think I can let this one go...
Enjoy<3
The studio is dark except for the soft glow of the monitors.
One live mic, one sealed booth, one genius rapping bars like his soul’s on fire.
And one very, very fucked-up producer trying not to lose his mind.
Chan’s got his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, one hand on the pitch wheel, the other gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to splinter it. He’s pretending everything’s fine. Pretending he’s focused on Han’s take.
But he’s not.
He’s focused on you.
Underneath the desk, on your knees, mouth stretched around his cock, tongue flicking cruel and slow like it’s your favorite fucking toy.
And maybe it is—because you’ve been like this for ten minutes now. Teasing him with this push and pull, edging him to the brink.
His foot nudges your thigh once, like a warning, and you smile around him.
“And I never needed luck, got the pressure on my back—”
Han’s in the zone, voice tight with an insane flow.
Chan, though? He’s dying.
His jaw is clenched with sweat beading at his temple.
He hits the reverb key too late, misses the drop, and stutters something weak into the mic:
“Yeah, real clean. Let’s do it again.”
Your nails graze up the inside of his thigh, and he twitches.
You hum tight vibrations around the base of him, and his breath catches so hard you think he might choke.
He nearly does.
His hand slams to the desk, hovering over the mute button but not pressing it.
You glance up, cock still heavy and leaking in your mouth, and see his eyes—dark, wild, begging.
So you do what any good little menace would do.
You take him deeper.
All the way down until your nose brushes his skin, throat tightening around him.
That’s it.
Chan comes violently—hips jerking forward, back arched off the chair, teeth sinking into his lip to keep from groaning. His thighs tremble, his free hand flies to your hair, not to push you away but to hold you there as he empties into your throat in wave after shaking wave.
“Shit—fuck—” He doesn’t say it aloud, just mouths it. Silent and breathless.
You swallow, slowly. Twice.
“That was fire, right? Wanna stack the hook now or wait for Seungmin?” Han’s voice cuts through the earpiece like nothing’s wrong.
Chan clears his throat. It sounds like gravel.
“We…uh. Let’s run it one more time. Tighten the sync.”
His voice is wrecked.
Raw and hoarse with frayed edges.
You pull back finally, lips dragging off him slowly and filthy, licking your lips with a smug little grin as you wipe the corner of your mouth and pat his thigh gently.
Your whisper floats up, too low for the mic, just for him:
“Bet you don’t last five minutes when we get home.”
Chan doesn’t respond.
Just stares dead ahead, fingers trembling on the board, still trying to look professional while he’s sitting in his own post-orgasm mess.
And Han?
Han just nods from the booth, blissfully unaware: “Cool, cool. Sounded good on my end.”
You barely make it through the front door.
The second it clicks shut behind you, you’re pressed face-first to the wall, your cheek against the cool paint, one of Chan’s hands around your throat, the other yanking your hips back against his.
“Thought you were cute, huh?” His voice is low, still wrecked from the studio. You swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.
“Slobberin’ on my dick under the desk like you run the place. Thinkin’ I wouldn’t fucking snap?”
You smirk, even with his hand firm at your neck.
You did want him to snap.
“You liked it,” you whisper.
His grip tightens—just a little. Enough to still your breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, “I liked it so much I almost came with my mic on. You could’ve ruined the whole take. You know what that means?”
You swallow.
“It means you need to be punished, baby.”
He doesn’t fuck you, not right away.
No, Chan makes you wait.
He has you kneel at the foot of his bed, naked, arms behind your back.
Not tied—just ordered.
And when you squirm? He clicks his tongue and says, “You wanna be a brat, I’ll treat you like one. Keep still.”
Then he gets to work.
Two fingers dragging slowly between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to watch you twitch.
Tongue soft, then sharp. Circling, teasing, never where you need it most.
You try to grind down and he growls.
“You think I’m gonna let you cum after what you pulled tonight?”
You whimper, causing him to smile against your skin, mouth hot and devastating.
“Nah, sweetheart. You’re gonna sit here and take it like I did.”
Fifteen minutes.
Twenty.
You’re soaked, clenching around nothing, hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard your arms shake.
And Chan’s still between your thighs—fingering you slow, licking your folds like he’s worshiping and punishing all at once.
Every time your thighs twitch, he presses a kiss to the inside like a brand.
“Tastes like heaven,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “But I’m not gonna let you have it. Not yet. Not until I say.”
You whine. “Chan—please—”
He moans, sits up slightly, drags his thumb over your clit just right, and watches your eyes roll back. “There it is,” he breathes. “There’s my filthy girl.”
You’re so close.
And that’s when he pulls away fully.
Mouth gone, hands gone, warmth gone.
You cry out. “Chan!”
He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking down at you like he’s about to do evil. “Now you know how it feels.”
You try to protest, but he grabs your chin, pulls you up onto the bed, and flips you onto your stomach.
“I didn’t forget how pretty you looked swallowing all of me while Han was rapping like nothing was happening.”
He kisses your spine, your shoulder, your ear.
“Let’s see how quiet you can be when I give you what you want.”
And then he fucks you slowly, cruelly, deliberately.
He holds your wrists and bends you open, whispering every filthy word he’s been saving all night.
And when you finally cum, it’s loud and messy.
Tears slipping from your eyes as you clutch the sheets and beg him not to stop.
And he doesn’t.
Not until you’re limp.
Not until he’s finished.
Not until you’re full, breathless, and ruined.
Then he kisses your cheek and says,
“Still wanna play games in the studio?”
You can’t even answer.
Because your smile says it all.
“Staying late, baby?” you ask sweetly a week later, dropping into the chair beside Chan.
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you flop into the chair, your skirt lifting a bit with the sudden motion.
Then he sees it.
You’re bare underneath.
He flicks a switch on the soundboard, eyes locked on the monitor like he didn’t notice.
But then.. He leans in close.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh, pushing your legs apart.
“Don’t make a sound. Or I’ll stop, and you’ll be stuck like this the rest of the night.”
Then the door opens.
Felix walks in, hoodie slung low, hair still damp from his post-dance shower.
He flops into the booth chair and throws a gummy smile across the room. “Ready to knock this verse out?”
Chan’s hand doesn’t move.
Not even a little.
You try to sit still, heart hammering in your chest.
His fingers are resting just barely over your folds now—warm, teasing, taunting, not quite pressing in. Just…waiting.
“Go ahead, Lix,” Chan says casually. “We’ll punch you in on the bridge.”
Felix nods and adjusts his mic.
The beat starts.
Heavy bass, clean snap.
And Chan’s fingers slide in.
Your thighs clench so hard you almost knock your chair over.
You cover it with a cough.
Felix doesn’t notice.
He’s rapping passionately.
But Chan?
He notices everything.
He curls his fingers just right and leans back like he’s completely innocent.
“Don’t cum,” he mouths.
Your body betrays you.
He adds pressure to your clit, and you jerk—
“You okay?” Felix’s voice cuts through.
You whip your head up, eyes wide.
“Wh-what?”
He laughs. “You spaced out.”
Chan grins.
“She’s good, just tired. Long week.”
His fingers don’t stop.
He draws it out, minute after minute.
Keeps you just on the edge—again and again—until your thighs are trembling, breath shaky, and you’re gripping the armrest like it’s a lifeline.
Then he stops.
Just pulls his hand away, wipes it on a napkin, and smiles like he didn’t just destroy you while one of his best friends sat three feet away.
Felix pulls his headphones off. “I think that take was pretty clean.”
Chan nods. “Real clean.”
You can barely speak.
Chan stands and adjusts the levels.
“Mind grabbing a coffee, Lix? I gotta fix the hi-hat blend before the export.”
Felix shrugs and heads out.
The second the door closes, Chan turns to you.
“Skirt up. Bend over the desk.”
You blink.
“Now?”
He steps close, crowding your space.
“You’ve walked around all day, in front of the guys, in front of my coworkers with your pussy out like that, and you think you’re done getting punished?”
He grins.
“I haven’t even started yet, baby.”
Felix’s coffee cup hits the ground before he says a word.
The hot liquid pools at his feet.
But his eyes are locked on you.
You’re bent over the desk, chest pressed to the soundboard, thighs trembling as Chan delivers another punishing thrust behind you.
His hand is tangled in your hair, the mic light is off, and the studio is not soundproof.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Chan growls. “You earned this.”
Felix doesn’t turn and walk away.
He steps inside.
Shuts the door.
And leans back against it like this was planned.
“She get caught being a brat again?” he says, voice low and amused.
Chan doesn’t look at him—just snaps his hips hard enough to make you cry out.
“Sucked my dick under the desk last week, while Han was in the booth.”
Felix’s eyebrows lift.
His hand drags slowly over his own chest, then down to his waistband.
“He said you sounded out of breath.”
Chan laughs a cruel, soft sound in your ear.
“I told her I’d make her pay for it.”
And then louder, for Felix’s benefit:
“Didn’t I, sweetheart?”
You try to nod—try to answer—but Chan pulls out suddenly and spanks you so hard you jolt. “Use your words.”
“Y-Yes—yes, Chan—I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not,” Felix murmurs, voice darker now, gaze glued to where you’re spread open and wrecked. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be dripping all over the desk.”
Chan pushes back in with a growl.
“That’s what I told her.”
You hear Felix shift—unzipping now, breathing heavier.
Still fully clothed, hand shoved down his sweats as he watches your body bounce with every thrust.
“God, you look so pretty like this,” he says, voice cracked, tongue sliding across his bottom lip. “You always this loud, or is it just for hyung?”
You sob into the desk.
Chan grabs your wrists, pins them behind your back.
“She’s louder when she thinks she’s gonna get away with something.”
“And now?” Felix asks, thumb gliding lazily over his cock, eyes never leaving your soaked cunt. “She know better now?”
Chan leans down, mouth at your ear. “Tell him.”
“I-I know better,” you choke out.
Felix hums. “She sound like she means it?”
“Not yet,” Chan mutters.
And then he slams into you again, dragging your orgasm out like he’s ripping it from your spine.
Felix strokes himself slow, his other hand braced on the wall behind him.
“Keep going,” he says. “She deserves every second of it.”
Felix stays out of it—technically.
Hands down his sweats, cock in his fist, watching while Chan absolutely destroys you.
But when he comes?
When he moans soft and ruined against the wall, breath fogging the glass of the booth?
It’s all over his hand, fingers slick, and trembling.
And then?
Then he walks over, crouches beside the desk where you’re still limp and leaking and shaking from Chan’s brutal rhythm.
He brushes your hair from your face with his clean hand and tilts your chin up. “You took it so well, angel.”
Then—slowly, deliberately—he lifts the other hand, watches you watch the way the mess glistens across his fingers, and asks, “Wanna taste what you did to me?”
You nod, an eager and desperate wreck.
He slides two fingers past your lips.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Suck real sweet now. You earned it.”
Chan watches you take him in like it’s nothing, like it’s your job to be ruined for them.
He pulls out slowly, and you collapse forward, but Felix catches you—still crouched, still smiling, fingers still in your mouth.
“Think she finally learned her lesson?” he asks.
Chan’s voice is rough as gravel. “I think for now.”
The next afternoon is just like any other workday.
Felix drops into the booth chair, iced americano in hand, kicking his feet up as Chan scrubs through the timeline.
“Found the take,” Chan mutters. “Timestamp from last night.”
Han leans over the desk, sipping his banana milk.
“The one we recorded after coffee?”
Felix smirks. “Yeah, that take.”
Hyunjin’s sitting on the floor, sketchbook in his lap, half-listening.
Chan hits play.
At first? It’s fine.
The beat’s clean, bassline thumps.
Felix’s voice cuts in right on tempo.
“Pressure in my chest, can’t breathe—”
But then.
Then.
There’s a tiny crack in the mix.
A strange, muffled sound beneath the beat.
“Fuck—stay still. You don’t cum ‘til I say.”
Hyunjin’s pen stops moving.
Han blinks. “Wait, what the hell was that?”
Felix chokes on his drink.
Chan goes stone still.
Because that’s his voice, and it’s not part of the track.
He lunges for the pause key, but it’s too late.
“That’s it—good girl—take it—”
Han freezes.
Hyunjin looks horrified. “Is that—wait—”
“No fucking way,” Han mutters, jaw slack. “That’s—Chan—bro. That’s you.”
Felix is covering his face, turning red down to his chest.
Chan just drags a hand down his face and mutters, “Fucking hell. The mic wasn’t muted.”
“WHAT MIC?!” Han screeches.
Hyunjin’s in a full-body cringe, hands over his ears.
“I can’t—this is so much. I need bleach. I need therapy.”
But they don’t stop listening.
Because the playback keeps going.
You’re moaning.
Felix is groaning.
Chan is commanding.
And then—clearly—Felix’s voice, close to the mic:
“Wanna taste what you did to me?”
“Good girl. Suck real sweet now.”
There’s a thud as Han falls out of his chair.
Hyunjin actually gasps.
“I knew you were freaks,” he hisses, pointing wildly between Chan and Felix.
“But recording it?! In here?! Seriously?!”
Felix is wheezing. Chan looks ready to combust. “Delete it. Burn it. Pretend it never happened.”
But Han’s smiling now. “Oh, I’m not forgetting shit. I’m gonna tease the fuck out of you for the rest of your life.”
Felix finally speaks. “…She sounded so pretty, though.”
Three heads snap toward him.
“Dude.”
“Bro—what the fuck—”
“Are you serious right now?!”
Chan buries his face in his hands. “I’m gonna kill you both.”
“You should kill the mic first next time,” Hyunjin mutters, traumatized.
“And what happens now?” You asked, tilting your head. “You bring fans back here all the time?”
Chan shook his head, quick. “No. Never.”
Your smile widened.
“Lucky me then.”
Warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+, power imbalance, mirror sex in a semi-public space, obsession, mild degradation kink, light dom/sub elements, praise kink (duh), unprotected sex (don't do it, wrap it up babes), probably some that I forgot
Word Count: 2.1k+
Tags: @chasinghxran @aria-again @skyearby @jinniesgirl @imagine-all-the-imagines @sammhisphere @femaholicc @hpnsfwaddict @ari4ari @trippoverrt @asteria-tsuki @septembr-e @mloversstuff @abishboshofgosh @hannie-lvr @crashmunson
A/N: this is truly my own personal fantasy <3
Enjoy <3
He couldn’t look away.
Not even when he was supposed to be moving to the next mark on stage.
Not even when the lights flashed across the crowd, blinding and bright, casting shadows over faces he should’ve ignored.
Cuz there you were.
Dead center, floor level, leaned on the barricade like you owned it, laughing with your friends, throwing your head back like the world was yours. Your hair shimmered under the lights, your skin glowed like gold, and your lips—God, your lips were painted like trouble.
And then you looked at him.
Right at him.
He nearly missed his cue. Nearly fumbled the lyrics. Nearly showed the world that a single look could knock him out harder than any beat drop ever had.
You didn’t smile, not yet.
You just watched.
Cool and calm, head tilted, like you already knew what you were doing to him.
Chan bit the inside of his cheek and kept dancing. He played it off, let the music guide him, let his body move like nothing was wrong, but—
Every time he looked up, you were already waiting.
Eyes on him.
Mouth curled.
Flirting without a single word.
He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Felix bumped into him during the bridge.
“Hyung,” Felix hissed, laughing behind his mic. “You’re staring like she’s the only person in the crowd.”
Chan didn’t answer.
Because maybe you were.
By the end of the show, he was sweating. Not just from the performance. Not just from the lights or the heat or the way adrenaline still pulsed through his veins.
It was you.
Still there, still watching, and still burning holes through him with those eyes like they knew exactly what he was thinking.
So he did the only thing that made sense:
He told security to find you.
Escort you backstage.
Tell you Chan wanted to meet you.
And now he was pacing.
Backstage, hoodie haphazardly thrown on. Towel around his neck, and hair sticking to his forehead. His muscles were still tense, still humming from the show—and now? Now his heart was pounding like he was about to walk on stage all over again.
“Relax,” Minho called from the couch. “She’s just a girl.”
Chan shook his head.
No.
You weren’t just anything.
And when the door opened—when you walked in, soft smirk still in place, eyes glittering with mischief—he felt it.
That rush. That spark. That full-body burn.
“Hi,” you said, soft and smooth, like velvet on skin. “You looked good up there.”
Chan swallowed thickly.
Then laughed, low and awkward, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I—uh… you stood out.”
You raised a brow. “Did I?”
He nodded, eyes dragging over your frame, stopping at the necklace glinting at your throat, the way your jacket hung just off your shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
You stepped closer, toeing into his space with bold eyes and a knowing smile.
“And what happens now?” You asked, tilting your head. “You bring fans back here all the time?”
Chan shook his head, quick. “No. Never.”
Your smile widened.
“Lucky me then.”
Chan’s heart was racing, but he was trying to play it cool.
“Seriously, you don’t mess with fans,” he said, voice low, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.
You smirked, crossing your arms, eyes sparkling like you knew exactly what effect you had on him.
“Who said I’m your average fan?”
He swallowed thick, glancing around the cluttered backstage room—the couches, the gear, the faint smell of sweat and perfume mixing. Here, away from the stage lights, the crowd, the noise—things felt smaller, more intimate.
You took a slow step closer, and Chan felt his knees go weak.
“So, what’s it like?” You asked, voice playful. “Being the guy who’s got the whole arena singing along, but you can’t take your eyes off one person?”
He laughed, low and breathless. “Not something I’m used to admitting.”
“Maybe you should get used to it,” you teased, tipping your head like you were daring him.
Chan’s gaze flicked to your lips, full and perfectly curved, then back to your eyes—bright, bold, and unapologetic.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want?” he challenged, stepping even closer, until the heat from his body was impossible to ignore.
Your smile softened, but the mischief never left your eyes.
“I want to see if you’re as good at talking as you are at performing,” you whispered.
Chan’s breath hitched. “Is that a challenge?”
“You tell me,” you murmured, closing the last few inches between them.
The air was electric.
His hand brushed yours—a casual touch, but it sent sparks shooting up his arm.
You tilted your head, lips just a breath away.
“Bang Chan,” you said softly, “you’re trouble.”
He swallowed, heart pounding so loud it echoed in his ears.
“Maybe,” he admitted, voice husky, “but I’m your kind of trouble, right?”
You grinned. “We’re going to find out.”
Before he could say anything else, you pressed a light, teasing kiss to his jaw—a promise, a dare, a spark.
Chan’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
He wanted to pull you close, kiss you properly, drown in that daring smile.
But for now, he just smiled back, cheeks burning.
“Next song’s on me,” he promised. “After the show.”
You winked. “I’m counting on it.”
Three shows.
You’d been at three of them now.
And Chan was spiraling.
The first time, he thought it was a coincidence. Just dumb luck that someone so magnetic, so impossible not to notice, had ended up front row, dead center. He remembered the moment—sweat dripping down his temple, chest heaving from a dance break, when his eyes locked with yours.
You didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look away.
You held him there. Smiled, slow and dangerous, like you knew exactly what you were doing.
He almost missed his next cue.
The second time, he’d nearly convinced himself you were just another fan.
But you wore that same red lipstick, same sharp liner, same curve of amusement behind your eyes like you were waiting for him to crack.
Tonight was the third time.
And Bang Chan was unraveling.
—
You were there before the lights went down, leaning on the barricade like you belonged there. This time, you wore a cropped black tank top that clung to you like sin and silver hoops that caught every bit of stage light.
Chan tried to focus.
He danced.
He rapped.
He sang.
But every time he looked down, there you were—biting your lip, throwing him the tiniest wink, swaying to the beat like the song was yours, like he was yours.
By the final set, his mic hand was shaking.
“Thank you for coming out tonight!” he shouted, chest pumping from the final chorus. “You’ve been amazing, truly.”
The fans screamed.
But his eyes—his eyes—found yours again, and stayed there.
And this time?
You blew him a kiss.
The crowd roared.
He nearly tripped over his own feet.
—
Backstage was a blur.
Staff buzzing. Members shouting over each other. Towels thrown, water bottles opened, shirts sticking to sweat-soaked skin.
Chan moved on instinct. Through the halls, past the dressing rooms, ignoring the noise until he turned the corner—and there you were.
Same smirk.
Same confident stance.
Backstage pass clipped to your pocket like it had always belonged there.
“You gonna keep staring, or…?”
He didn’t even answer. Just kept walking, chest rising and falling, stopping only when he was standing toe-to-toe with you. The hallway felt too quiet, too tense.
“You’re following me,” he said.
“Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe I just like the view.”
He laughed—dark, breathless. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
You took a step forward. “You look like you need it.”
His back hit the wall with a thud. You followed.
Close. Too close.
“This is dangerous,” he murmured.
You hand brushed his abdomen, sweat-soaked through his shirt. “Is that why you’re shaking?”
Chan grabbed your wrist, firm but gentle, breath catching in his throat. “You can’t just show up like that, look at me like that—”
“Like what?” You interrupted, brushing your fingers up his chest. “Like I want you?”
His head dropped forward, forehead nearly pressing against yours. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”
“Good,” you said, smiling like sin. “Then lose it.”
The dressing room door slammed behind him.
Lock clicked.
Silence thick.
He didn’t speak.
Just stared.
You were still smirking, calm like you hadn’t just pulled the soul from his chest onstage and dragged it backstage in stilettos and sin.
Chan didn’t move—not right away. His hands were fists, his jaw locked, sweat still clinging to the dip in his collarbone. You swore his eyes were black.
“I should tell you to leave,” he said.
You leaned back on the vanity, crossing your arms, dragging your gaze from his boots up to his face like you knew he couldn’t handle it.
“But you won’t.”
That was all it took.
He lunged.
Mouth on yours, rough and needy, hands finding your waist like a lifeline, like he’d been starving for weeks. You gasped into it, fingers curling into the soaked fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t stop—not to breathe, not to think.
You tasted like heat, like control, finally surrendered.
His hands roamed, greedy and shaking, gripping your hips, lifting you onto the vanity like you weighed nothing. He stepped between your legs, lips dragging down your neck, teeth grazing skin.
“You wanna play games?” he growled, voice low and breaking. “Keep showing up like that—looking like you want me to lose my mind?”
You smiled. “Worked, didn’t it?”
He pressed his palm between your thighs—right over your center.
You gasped.
“I haven’t even started yet,” he whispered.
Clothes disappeared in fragments. His shirt half-pulled, yours tossed aside, your bra snapped open with shaking fingers. His mouth was on you instantly, kissing down your chest, sucking soft skin into his teeth until you moaned.
“Say it,” he murmured against your breast. “Say you wanted this.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“I wanted you the first night.”
His head snapped up.
You pulled him back into you, whispering right against his lips, “You kept looking at me like you were gonna devour me.”
“Yeah?” he rasped. “You ready to be eaten, baby?”
Then he dropped to his knees.
Right there.
On the dressing room floor.
Chan spread your thighs and groaned—like he saw something sacred.
And he devoured you.
Tongue hot and frantic, mouth so skilled it felt like a weapon. He licked you slow, then fast, then deep—groaning like every sound you made was a drug he needed more of. When your hands flew to his hair, he moaned into you, gripping your thighs tighter.
You were gasping, squirming, trying to hold it together.
But Chan didn’t stop, didn’t let you go.
He dragged you to the edge, over and over, until you were breathless and dizzy, until—
“Chan—”
Your voice cracked, and his name turned into a whimper. He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like a man possessed.
You barely saw him shove his pants down. Only felt his body between yours again, heavy and hot, his tip pressed right where you were dripping for him.
“You want this?” he whispered, forehead against yours.
“I want you.”
That was it.
He pushed in slow, deep, and devastating.
Your breath caught—his did too. The stretch, the slide, the fullness—you’d never been taken like this, and god, he knew it. His hips rolled once, deep and sinful, and you clawed down his back.
“Fuck,” he moaned into your mouth. “You feel—baby, you feel like heaven.”
He set a rhythm—brutal, deep strokes that had your eyes rolling, your name falling from his lips like a prayer and a curse. He kissed you through every thrust, hands tangled in your hair, moaning against your mouth like he couldn’t believe you were real.
The mirror behind you fogged.
The vanity shook.
Your name, his name, whispered, gasped, and cried out.
When you clenched around him, close to the edge, Chan lost it—slamming deep, fingers bruising into your hips, growling, “Come with me. Wanna feel it. Wanna—fuck—wanna watch you fall apart.”
And you did. Together.
Crashing into each other like gravity wasn’t real., like time stopped.
When it was over, he stayed inside you, chest heaving, nose pressed to your cheek.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You…you’re trouble.”
You smirked, brushing his curls back.
“Then stop looking for me in the crowd, Bang Chan.”
He laughed, soft and wrecked, still inside you, still holding on.
“Can’t help it,” he whispered. “You’re the only one I see.”
Backstage Pass pt. 5
idols!Hyunjin x Felix x Chan x manager!reader
Felix didn’t say a word, just looked at you like he could devour you where you stood. His freckles were kissed pink from the sun, his curls still damp from the pool, and he didn’t need to say a thing to let you know exactly what he wanted.
Hyunjin saw that look and pulled you closer, possessive now. “Felix, don’t start.”
But Felix just tilted his head. “I didn’t even touch her yet.”
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, 18+, poly relationship, light bdsm, dom-sub undertones, sub! reader, sub! felix, switch! hyunjin, dom! chan, group sex, threesome, mmf, and mm interactions, jealousy kink, possessiveness, oral! m and f receiving, consensual rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, pet names, they call her angel, mild breathplay, cockwarming, edging, semi-public, slight voyeurism, emotional intensity, probably some that I missed
Word Count: 2.8k+
Tags: @chasinghxran @aria-again @skyearby @jinniesgirl @imagine-all-the-imagines @sammhisphere @femaholicc @abishboshofgosh @hannie-lvr @crashmunson
Extras: established relationship with rising tension, vacation au, Chan is in Charge™, Felix is sweet but filthy, Hyunjin Is A Menace (and He Knows It), reader gets wrecked in the best way, everyone is down bad, reader is so loved, it hurts
Enjoy<3
Series
After finally wrapping up a grueling world tour and delivering back-to-back promotional content, the label finally greenlit a much-needed two-week break. The catch? They had to stay together, off-grid, and technically still under “brand-safe” guidelines. Cue Jisung casually throwing out “What if we went somewhere warm? Like, stupid warm?”
Chan floated Bali, expecting it to get dismissed, but to his surprise, the group jumped at the idea.
So now here you are—manager on vacation, which is ironic because you're still managing. Hotel bookings, sunscreen reminders, and making sure Seungmin doesn’t pick a fight with a sea turtle.
The villa was split into two wings: one for the chaos (Han, Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin) and one for the “peaceful, responsible ones’ with Bang Chan, Hyunjin, and Felix.
You ended up in a suite right next to the one that housed your boys, and it was meant to be relaxing.
But now you're dodging lingering stares over breakfast, shared poolside glances, and late-night knocks that aren’t exactly “professional.”
No schedule, no press, no stage lights.
Just Bali sunsets, sweat-slick skin, and three men who promised to wait for you—now with nothing but time.
They were supposed to behave, but Hyunjin was currently pressed against your back in the hallway of your suite, hands at your waist like he was trying not to lose his mind, lips ghosting your ear.
“You walked around in that swimsuit on purpose,” he whispered, his voice full of bite, heat curling into every word.
“You asked me to wear it,” you shot back, smirking—right as Felix rounded the corner and saw the two of you.
And just like that, you were in trouble.
Felix didn’t say a word, just looked at you like he could devour you where you stood. His freckles were kissed pink from the sun, his curls still damp from the pool, and he didn’t need to say a thing to let you know exactly what he wanted.
Hyunjin saw that look and pulled you closer, possessive now. “Felix, don’t start.”
But Felix just tilted his head. “I didn’t even touch her yet.”
The tension hit like a wave—thick, heavy, dangerous.
You should’ve stopped it there. You knew you should’ve stepped back. It could’ve been any one of the other boys who’d rounded that corner, but Felix’s hand was already brushing your hip, Hyunjin’s fingers were digging in, and your knees were starting to go weak.
“Are you three serious right now?”
Chan’s voice cut through the air like a whip.
He stood at the top of the stairs, towel slung around his shoulders, hair wet, eyes hard with disappointment.
Your stomach dropped.
“Get your hands off her,” he said to Hyunjin and Felix, stepping down slowly. “I told you—vacation or not, you don’t get to be reckless with her.”
They backed off, but the fire was still in their eyes. Felix licked his lips. Hyunjin looked like he wanted to say something but bit it back.
Chan reached you last, standing close enough that your breath caught.
“You okay?” he asked lowly, tilting your chin up with two fingers.
You nodded. Barely.
He leaned in, voice silk-wrapped steel. “Then keep it together. Because if they touch you again without permission—I’ll handle it myself.”
And something about the way he said that made your legs cross on instinct.
Dinner was supposed to be calmer.
It wasn’t.
Hyunjin sat beside you, Felix across from you, and Chan… at the head of the table, watching. The rest of the boys were dispersed in the other empty seats throughout and the villa’s private chef served course after course while the ocean breeze drifted through the open terrace, soft candlelight dancing across the linen.
But you weren’t paying attention to the view.
Hyunjin’s hand slid along your thigh beneath the tablecloth, just enough to make your leg twitch. He didn’t look at you. Just kept chewing his fish like he wasn’t playing a dangerous game.
You pressed your lips together, cleared your throat.
Felix caught the motion and leaned his elbow on the table, resting his cheek in his palm while his foot—his damn foot—began sliding slowly along your ankle, teasing up your calf. The look in his eyes said it all: you started this.
And Chan?
Chan hadn’t touched his wine. He just swirled the glass in slow circles, eyes flicking between all three of you. Sharp and knowing.
You tried to act normal.
You tried.
“Something wrong, manager-nim?” Chan asked across the table, and you could hear the challenge in his voice.
You blinked, heart in your throat. “N-no. Just… the breeze.”
Felix smirked. Hyunjin’s fingers crept higher.
Chan leaned back in his seat, stretching lazily like a lion in the sun, then rested one hand on the table with purpose. He stood, slow and deliberate, then walked around behind your chair and bent down, whispering in your ear:
“Finish your meal, angel. You’ll need the energy.”
Later, in your bedroom, long after the moon had taken to the sky, he didn’t speak until the door shut behind you.
Then, he locked it.
“I told you three to keep it together,” Chan said, voice low and even as he turned to face you, Hyunjin, and Felix. “So what is it? You think I won’t follow through? That I won’t remind you how this works?”
No one spoke.
He pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”
You sat.
“Hyunjin—knees.”
Hyunjin dropped to the floor in front of you, flushed and breathing unevenly.
“Felix—stand behind her.”
Felix obeyed, fingers twitching with the urge to touch you again. But he didn’t, not without permission.
Chan stepped in front of you last, tilting your chin up with that same quiet authority, and a voice soft enough to be dangerous.
“You two want to show off how much you want her?” His gaze never left yours. “Fine. You’re gonna help me ruin her. But only when I say so. Understand?”
“Yes,” Hyunjin breathed.
Felix’s voice was darker. “Yes, Chan.”
Chan’s lips brushed your ear, the words like velvet over steel:
“And you, angel? You’re not getting off easy either.”
His eyes never left yours.
You were still perched, legs parted just enough to tease, head tipped back from where Hyunjin knelt in front of you, looking like a damn fever dream—his lips were swollen already, jaw tight, eyes begging.
Felix stood behind you like a halo of heat. His breath danced against your neck. “You want to kiss her so badly, huh?” Chan said softly, but his words bit. “Couldn’t even wait ‘til after dinner. Couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves.”
No one moved.
“Felix,” he said, voice calm but razor-sharp. “Put your hands on her waist.”
Felix exhaled shakily. His palms landed on your hips, firm and possessive, grounding you instantly.
“Hyunjin,” Chan went on, “kiss up her thighs. Slowly.”
You shuddered.
Hyunjin obeyed without a word. Lips trailing warm, soft fire from your knees up. Not rushed—worshipful. Like he’d been starving and finally got a taste. He kissed just shy of your center, breath ghosting over the wetness in a way that made your stomach clench.
Chan crouched to his level. “Don’t get greedy,” he warned lowly. “That’s mine.”
Hyunjin nodded once, chest rising and falling fast.
There was a pause, the air in the room thickened like syrup.
Chan stepped back, smug and dominant in that calm, methodical way that made your thighs clamp together on instinct.
“You’ll thank me later,” he said, brushing his lips across your jaw. “But for now?”
His hand wrapped around your throat just enough to make you still.
“You’re gonna take every. single. thing. I give you.”
It was chaos in slow motion.
Hyunjin had your legs spread open across the bed, kissing down your thighs like he meant to memorize every inch. Felix knelt behind you, one arm around your waist, the other cupping your breast, fingers teasing over your nipple like he was testing how fast he could make you moan.
Chan paced beside the bed, shirtless, sweat slicking his chest, eyes narrowed with control barely hanging on.
“You really let them touch you in public like that?” he asked lowly, grabbing your chin to make you look at him. “Let them tease you like some little groupie who doesn’t know who she belongs to? What if you’d have been caught? Hm? If Jisung had come down those steps instead of me?”
You tried to answer. You couldn’t.
Hyunjin’s tongue slid over your clit with a slow, devastating stroke and our hips jolted. Felix held you tighter, groaning into your neck.
“She’s soaking,” Hyunjin whispered. “Dripping. She’s so sensitive.”
“She’s greedy,” Chan corrected.
Felix’s hand moved between your legs, his fingers joining Hyunjin’s mouth—slow, practiced strokes in time with your breath. You were unraveling already, hips twitching, thighs trembling.
But Chan wasn’t done.
“Don’t let her come.”
Hyunjin moaned in frustration but obeyed—pulling back just as your thighs clenched around his head. Felix cursed softly against your skin, but moved his fingers lower, teasing your entrance without giving you what you needed.
Chan climbed onto the bed, sliding between your legs. “You think they’re good at teasing? Let me show you what denial really feels like.”
He dipped two fingers into you without warning, pressing deep, curling just right. You choked on a cry, your back arching. Felix held your arms down when you tried to move.
“You’ll take it,” Chan growled, fucking you with his fingers slow, deep, cruelly. “Until I say you’ve earned it.”
Hyunjin’s mouth was back on your thigh, but this time lower, lips brushing Felix’s fingers when he licked over you, and Felix groaned like he could come just from watching.
“You wanna kiss him, Hyunjin?” Chan asked.
Hyunjin nodded, eyes hazy.
“Then earn that too.”
Felix pulled his fingers from you and sucked them clean—loud, wet, and messy—before grabbing Hyunjin by the jaw and kissing him like he’d die without it. Tongue first, raw, desperate.
You cried out at the sight, at the feeling of Chan’s fingers stroking you right on the edge while you watched two of your boys fall apart for each other.
“Beg for it, baby,” Chan said. “Let them hear you. Let them know whose girl you really are.”
You begged.
You sobbed.
And when you finally came, Chan didn’t let it stop there.
He just smiled darkly and whispered, “Again.”
You were on your knees now, back arched, head tipped up in obedience.
Felix knelt beside you, flushed and shaking. His eyes were glassy, lips kiss-swollen and bitten.
Hyunjin stood behind you both, the only one still partially clothed, shirt half open, mouth parted in awe and frustration.
“You want to switch places with me, don’t you?” Chan asked Hyunjin, his voice like velvet and fire. “Want to be the one in control?”
Hyunjin swallowed hard.
Chan reached down, and tangled a hand in your hair, tilting your face toward him. “But you don’t get to have this,” he whispered. “Not unless I let you.”
Hyunjin growled.
Felix moaned.
And you? You whimpered, hips rocking slightly for friction that wasn’t allowed.
“Felix,” Chan said. “Use your mouth on her.”
Felix dropped to your thighs like a man possessed. His mouth was messy and fast, tongue relentless, and you cried out as your knees buckled—but Chan caught you with a firm hand around your throat.
“Stay up, angel. Let Hyunjin watch how greedy you get.”
Felix groaned against your skin.
Chan tilted your chin toward Hyunjin, who was palming himself through his jeans.
“You want to help him, don’t you?” Chan asked you.
You nodded, already half-broken. “Please.”
“Then you better make it good.”
He shoved you gently toward Hyunjin, who unzipped with shaking hands—and you didn’t hesitate. You took him in your mouth slowly, lovingly, while Felix licked between your legs like he couldn’t breathe without it.
“Look at that,” Chan murmured behind you.
He didn’t touch you again—not yet, just watched. Commanded. Spoke filth and praise in equal measure.
And when you did finally come?
It was with Felix’s tongue inside you, Hyunjin’s hand tangled in your hair, and Chan’s voice in your ear saying,
“Don’t you ever forget who you belong to.”
You knew it the second Hyunjin kissed you again—really kissed you.
It wasn’t the soft, reverent touch from earlier.
This kiss was hungry.
His hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you forward, mouth crashing into yours like he was trying to drown in it. Felix lay panting beside you, blissed out and ruined, but Hyunjin?
He was still starving.
And Chan saw it.
He stood near the dresser, arms crossed over his chest, sweat still glistening on his abs. Watching Hyunjin slide his hand down your back and press you flat to the sheets like he was claiming you.
Chan said nothing.
Not yet.
Hyunjin’s fingers found their way between your legs again, slick and practiced, dragging a moan from your throat that made his head fall back in pleasure.
“You feel that?” he whispered against your lips. “You’re soaked for me.”
You whimpered, nodding before you could think.
“And who made you like this?” he growled.
You hesitated.
That’s where you fucked up, my friend.
Hyunjin flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up, pressing into you from behind. Not inside—not yet—but enough to feel the heat of him, the pressure, the promise.
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear.
“Say it. Say it was me.”
You couldn’t answer. Your brain was fried. Your body was too busy trying not to fall apart.
Chan finally moved.
And the room shifted.
He walked over slow, like a storm rolling in, grabbed a fistful of Hyunjin’s hair, and yanked him back with no effort at all.
“You done?” he asked, voice low and terrifyingly calm. “Having fun pretending you’re in charge?”
Hyunjin didn’t speak.
You were shaking. Not from fear—from how much the room crackled.
Chan gripped your jaw and forced you to your knees. “You wanna act like you forgot who makes you scream loud enough to echo in every fucking hallway of this villa?”
You blinked up at him, dazed.
He undid his pants with one hand. “Open.”
You did—lips parted, tongue out, tears already welling as he shoved himself into your mouth with no warning.
Deep. Raw. Desperate.
His hips rolled slow at first, one hand on the back of your head, the other tangled in your curls. You gagged softly but didn’t stop—wouldn’t. He tasted like sweat and salt and ownership.
Felix stirred behind you, dazed, but not moving—just watching with wide, reverent eyes. Hyunjin was still recovering from where Chan had thrown him, still flushed and heaving, but now completely silent. Watching, waiting.
“I let you touch her,” Chan growled between thrusts, looking dead at Hyunjin. “I gave you a taste. And you thought you could take control?”
Hyunjin licked his lips, voice breaking. “She wanted it.”
Chan yanked you back by the hair, spit, and saliva glistening on your lips, your throat swollen and raw from how deep he’d gone.
“She wants me,” he snarled. “Even when she forgets, her body remembers.”
He climbed on top of you, slowly, dragging his palm up your spine until you were pinned under him, hips still arched, face turned sideways on the bed.
Your legs were already shaking.
He didn’t warm you up this time.
He didn’t need to.
He buried himself inside you in one sharp thrust that had you screaming—no restraint, no forgiveness. You were already so wet, so wrecked, it sounded like slick honey every time he drove into you, punishing and slow.
“You like being watched?” he gritted, thrusts picking up pace. “Like showing them what it looks like when I ruin you?”
Hyunjin was stroking himself hard now, eyes wide with something between awe and shame.
Felix whimpered into his own arm, unable to look away.
Chan leaned over your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder hard enough to mark.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Say who owns you.”
“You,” you sobbed.
“Say who gets to break you.”
“You, Chan. Always you.”
Felix whimpered. Hyunjin groaned.
But Chan wasn’t done.
He gripped your hips and snapped into you harder, pulling a sound from your throat that barely sounded human.
“You can watch, Hyunjin,” he said without looking back. “But you don’t get to lead.”
“And you,” Chan growled down at you, dragging his teeth over your shoulder, “don’t ever hesitate again when someone else tries to take what’s mine.”
You nodded, tears hot and blissful.
He slowed—just enough to make you tremble, to hear every soft sound you made, every little gasp and whisper.
Then he grinned, cruel and warm.
“Good girl.”
And when you came, it was with Chan’s name falling from your lips like worship.
Backstage Pass pt. 3
idols!Hyunjin x Felix x Chan x manager!reader
Chan stepped back, and you remained frozen.
“I won’t kiss you until you ask me to,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll be here. When you’re ready.”
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, 18+ NSFW, black!reader implied, though not directly stated, fem-aligned, polyamorous dynamics, established emotional tension, unresolved romantic tension, smut, jealousy/possessiveness, light power dynamics, rough kissing, multiple partners kissing reader, partial nudity, lap sitting, breast play, oral teasing, no penetration (yet), but heavy heated buildup, I am indeed an unreliable narrator, emotional vulnerability, reader doesn't choose-she wants them all, probably a couple that I missed
Word Count: 3.5k+
Tags: @chasinghxran @aria-again @skyearby @jinniesgirl @imagine-all-the-imagines @abishboshofgosh @hannie-lvr @crashmunson
Enjoy <3
Series
Two and a half weeks.
That’s how long it had been since their confessions.
Two and a half weeks since they stood across from you in that tiny conference room, stripped bare of their pride and saying words they hadn’t dared to say until everything was too messy to hide.
‘We want you.’
‘All of us.’
‘We don’t want you to choose.’
And they’d meant it; you could see it in their eyes, feel it in your chest.
That was the problem.
You were still pretending you could do your job like none of it had happened.
That first week was brutal.
Every meeting, every rehearsal, every van ride was wrapped in a thick, electric silence—not tense like before, but still heavy, almost intimate, like a secret none of you knew what to do with.
They didn’t push, not with their words, because their bodies spoke loud enough.
It wasn’t flirting, not really. Every interaction was edged in something warm, something soft. Every glance held for just a second longer than it should have, and every touch lingered like they didn’t want to be the first to let go.
And you… You were a mess beneath the surface.
Because now you couldn’t unsee it.
The way Felix looked at you like you hung the moon, or the way Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to your mouth every time you talked. The way Chan… didn’t say anything at all, but moved like he’d always belonged near you.
You found the earrings after a long, hellish day of shoot delays and weather drama.
Gold, dainty, sun-shaped.
They were sitting in a black velvet box on your desk with no note, no name.
But you didn’t need one.
Felix had been beside you that day in Tokyo, so many months ago. You’d paused in front of a street vendor, admiring those same earrings, and said something offhand like “Those are cute.”
That was it.
You hadn’t even realized he was listening.
You found him curled on the studio couch the next morning, hoodie over his head, laptop open in his lap. When you stood in front of him, he didn’t even pretend not to notice you.
“They reminded me of you,” he said, voice soft, like saying it any louder might scare you off. “You don’t have to wear them.”
You did wear them.
Not that day, but three days later, when your hair was pulled up and the earrings were the last thing you clipped on before heading out the door.
And you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his smile lingered when he saw them.
Hyunjin gave you pure chaos.
It was a random Tuesday, and you were juggling two calls, three schedules, and a makeup artist who insisted on using the wrong foundation shade on everyone.
You were already on the verge of snapping when he appeared beside you, arm outstretched.
In his hand was a tall iced coffee, oat milk, and honey — your exact order.
You looked at him, one brow raised. “And what’s this for?”
He didn’t meet your eyes.
“It was on the way,” he muttered.
Liar.
There was no way that drink was just on the way unless he’d sprinted across the street between call times. But you took it anyway, sipped it, and let the sweetness sit heavy on your tongue while he watched you with that unreadable expression.
Your whispered thanks went unanswered, but you saw the way the corner of his mouth tilted upwards before he walked away.
Chan didn’t give you anything.
No notes. No little surprises.
What he gave was worse.
He gave you space.
He didn’t crowd you, didn’t flirt. He didn’t steal lingering touches like the others did. He just watched the way you moved. Noticed when you were overwhelmed and kept Hyunjin from pushing too far. He pulled Felix back when his emotions started spilling into his actions.
You were the manager, but he was managing you in ways you couldn’t admit.
And that made you feel seen in a way that wrecked you.
Chan let you have your little two-week break before approaching you.
It was after a performance—small venue, high energy, adrenaline still buzzing through the air. The others had gone to clean up, but you stayed, checking on mic packs and final counts.
He’d stayed too, because of course he did.
You tried to act like it was normal. Just another post-show wind-down.
But you felt him behind you. His heat, his presence.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just… existed there. Close enough to feel but not touch.
Then—“You alright?”
You nodded. “Tired.” Busied yourself wrapping up some wires before responding, “You?”
“Yeah.” A pause, then, “No.”
You turned, already finding his eyes locked on yours.
“I hate this,” he said.
“Hate what?”
“This waiting, pretending. Walking around like I didn’t say what I said.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. And opened again.
“Chan—”
“I know you’re scared,” he said quietly. “So I’ve been patient, I’ll keep being patient.”
“But it’s messing with your head? Mine too,” you admitted.
He stepped closer.
“I think about you all the time.”
The air snapped taut between you.
“And not just in the ways you’re afraid of,” he added, voice like gravel and silk. “I think about what it means to hold you when you’re tired, or to make sure you eat. To be someone you trust, not just someone you want.”
Your throat burned.
His hand lifted—slow, deliberate—fingers ghosting over your jaw. You should’ve stopped him.
You didn’t.
You couldn’t.
You could feel his breath now.
Your noses brushed.
If you leaned in—
Someone called your name down the hall.
The spell broke.
Chan stepped back, and you remained frozen.
“I won’t kiss you until you ask me to,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll be here. When you’re ready.”
And then he walked away.
And you just stood there.
Still wanting.
Still waiting.
Still unraveling.
And then you slipped. You hadn’t meant to, not really, but another week had passed since your almost kiss with Chan, and your walls were beginning to crumble. You couldn’t pretend anymore.
Couldn’t pretend you weren’t unaffected, or untouched.
You were already in too deep.
But you didn’t confess, didn’t chase them down, and fall into their arms.
You just started letting yourself… show it.
Little things.
Moments that slipped out when you weren’t watching yourself.
Felix noticed first.
It was subtle, very intentional.
You were in the van—he was rambling about a late-night snack he’d made with some weird combo of honey, cheese, and bread. It sounded awful. He was so proud of it.
He was mid-laugh, voice bubbling, when you reached over without thinking, plucked a crumb from the corner of his mouth, and brushed your thumb across his lip.
He froze.
Eyes wide, voice faded.
Your fingers hovered just a second too long.
And then you pulled back like it was nothing.
“Crumb,” you said, voice neutral, like your skin wasn’t still buzzing from the contact.
He blinked slowly, his entire expression shifting—open, reverent, a little wrecked.
And when you looked out the window, you could feel him watching you.
The whole ride home.
Hyunjin wasn’t as easy to throw off.
He flirted too naturally, too often.
But that day, he was painting in the lounge, headphones on, smudges of soft pink across his fingertips. You passed behind him, reading off updates from the new photo schedule.
When he looked up at you, a smear of paint on his cheek, you didn’t stop yourself.
You licked your thumb and leaned in, gently swiping the mark from his skin.
He held completely still.
Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
You wiped it away, eyes focused on his mouth, just briefly.
“There,” you murmured. “Pretty again.”
His mouth parted, but no words came.
You walked off without waiting for a response, heart hammering, palms tingling.
Behind you, his breath hitched audibly.
And you knew exactly what you’d done.
Chan was last.
And with him, you didn’t touch.
You didn’t have to.
It was a rehearsal day, full of stress. One of the choreographers was riding him too hard, pushing for corrections mid-routine. You were across the room, watching him grit his teeth, jaw flexing, patience fraying.
He caught your eye, just for a second.
And this time, you didn’t look away.
You held it.
Steady and calm..
Your expression didn’t say I’m your manager.
It said I see you. I want you to breathe. I want you to come to me when you don’t know where else to turn.
You didn’t smile, didn’t speak.
You just gave him that look.
And something in him shifted.
His posture straightened, his movements snapping back into control, like your gaze alone had steadied him.
Later, when he passed you in the hallway, you let your fingers trail along the hem of his sleeve as he walked by.
Barely a brush.
But he stopped walking for a full two seconds before continuing.
You didn’t look back.
That night, you were barely in your hotel room five minutes before the knock came.
Hard and quick. Urgent almost.
You opened the door to find Hyunjin, hoodie on, jaw tight, breath shallow like he’d sprinted from the elevator.
“You trying to kill me?” he asked without preamble, eyes burning.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“That thing you did earlier,” he snapped. “The paint. The ‘pretty again.’ You think I’m gonna sleep tonight after that?”
You opened your mouth to respond when the door swung open again, Chan this time.
His shoulders were tense, his eyes sharp. When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly calm.
“You two already started?” he said, stepping inside. “Great, let’s all talk then.”
Your stomach dropped. “What the hell is going on—”
And then Felix burst in behind them.
He didn’t speak.
Just slammed the door shut behind him, chest rising fast, curls a mess, lips parted like he was trying to catch up to his own heartbeat.
Hyunjin turned to you. “I want to know what that touch meant.”
Chan folded his arms. “I want to know why you looked at me like you could see through my soul.”
Felix’s voice cracked when he finally spoke.
“I want to know if you’re playing with us.”
Your hands went up. “Hold on. You’re all barging in here like you’re not the ones who confessed your feelings and turned my whole life upside down—”
“You touched my face like I was yours,” Hyunjin cut in.
“You looked at me like I was your anchor,” Chan growled. “I’ve been holding back, and you know it.”
“I’m losing it,” Felix whispered, and his voice made the room stop.
Placed them gently, but firmly, on either side of your face—his palms warm, trembling, framing you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.
His forehead touched yours first.
He didn’t speak.
He just breathed.
And then—he whispered it.
“Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t.
You couldn’t.
Because you were already falling forward, already chasing the heat of his mouth before he even moved.
And when his lips met yours, everything else disappeared.
There was no hotel room.
No Chan, no Hyunjin.
Just the crush of Felix’s kiss, soft and aching, his mouth moving like he was memorizing you, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second he met you.
He pulled back slowly.
Eyes glassy, breath shaky.
“…You didn’t stop me,” he whispered.
You looked at him.
Then at Hyunjin.
Then at Chan.
And said, voice low, and shaking:
“…I didn’t want to.”
You didn’t breathe.
None of you did.
Felix’s kiss still lingered on your lips, and the weight of your confession—“I didn’t want to”—hung in the room like smoke after fire.
Three boys stood before you.
One had kissed you.
The other two?
Staring, shocked.
And then—
Hyunjin scoffed, a low and dangerous sound, almost amused.
“Oh…” he said, stepping forward, voice dark with something unhinged. “We’re stealing kisses now?”
Your heart slammed against your chest.
“Hyunjin—”
He was already in front of you, hand in your shirt, fist clenched around the fabric near your collar like he didn’t trust himself to be gentle.
He yanked you forward.
Your chests collided.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
Hot.
Mouth crashing into yours with none of Felix’s softness—all hunger, all sharp edges and frustration and ‘God, I’ve wanted this for too long.’
He didn’t give you time to gasp.
Didn’t let you think.
Just took.
His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, gripping—not to hurt, but to hold you there.
Like he was scared you’d run.
Like he’d chase you if you did.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was wrecked.
“You kissed him. You kissed me.”
And then—
A hand on his shoulder.
Not aggressive.
Just there.
Hyunjin froze, breath heaving.
There was Chan.
Still silent, still unreadable.
His fingers curled tightly around Hyunjin’s hoodie, tugging once.
Hyunjin’s jaw clenched.
He let go of your shirt and stepped back, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.
Chan didn’t speak until Hyunjin was clear.
Then he looked down at you.
And oh God—
That look.
That slow burn in his eyes.
Like he’d waited.
Like he’d let them go first.
But now?
Now it was his turn.
His hand rose to cup your cheek—bigger, rougher, and steady.
“You sure you don’t want to choose?” he asked quietly.
Your breath caught. “I—”
He didn’t wait for you to respond.
He kissed you to silence.
And it was devastating.
Not rushed.
Not angry.
Just deep and possessive in a way that made your knees buckle.
His lips moved slowly, like he wanted you to feel every second of it, like he had all the time in the world but no patience left at all.
When he pulled back, you were dizzy.
Your body leaned forward, chasing him without realizing.
And from behind—Hyunjin’s voice.
“Yo,” he snapped, breathless. “No fair.”
Chan’s thumb brushed your lip, smug. “Didn’t see your name on her, did I?”
Felix, from the side—still flushed, still watching with wide eyes: “…I’d like to file a complaint.”
You actually laughed, and it was the only thing that kept you from collapsing right then and there.
Because now?
There was no going back.
Your breath was still shaky.
Your shirt wrinkled from Hyunjin’s fist, your lip still tingling from Chan’s last kiss, and you swear Felix’s scent is still on your skin.
The air feels wet with tension. Heated.
You can’t tell if your legs are trembling from adrenaline or desire.
But then Felix moves, and you forget how to think altogether.
He’s in front of you again, gently shoving past Chan. His hands are curling around your waist, eyes wild with something soft and wrecked all at once.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs.
Then his lips are on yours once more.
And they’re starving.
Not just want—but relief. Like he’s been waiting, needing, holding it back, and finally—finally—he can kiss you the way he’s been dreaming about.
His hand slips beneath your shirt—just at your waist, not going further—but his thumb traces a slow circle on your skin, and your knees damn near give out.
But a warm body presses into your back, holding you up.
Hyunjin’s taller; you feel him before you hear him—his breath on your neck, fingers curling over your hip, grounding you like an anchor tied to a storm.
You gasp into Felix’s mouth.
And Hyunjin laughs. Low and dirty.
“You let him have you first?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s cute.”
Felix growls softly against your mouth but doesn’t stop kissing you.
Hyunjin’s hands slide up your sides, over the curve of your ribs, until he tilts your face back—gently—and replaces Felix’s kiss with his own.
And his is rougher, hungrier.
He kisses like he’s trying to break a rule, with one hand fisted in your hair, while the other traces down your front until you whimper into his mouth.
That’s when Felix shifts—he’s kissing down your neck now, whispering something you can’t hear, but feel all the way down your spine.
You’re shaking, and then Chan’s voice cuts through the haze.
Calm. Dangerous. Full of command.
“She’s mine.”
Before you can blink, Hyunjin’s pulled away, and you’re yanked forward, pressed full against Chan’s chest, his hand cradling the back of your head like you’re precious.
And then—he kisses you.
Slow. Deep. Dominant.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting for the right moment to end you.
And now that it’s here, he’s going to take his time.
His tongue drags along yours in a rhythm that makes your spine arch.
Your hands fist into his shirt, clawing at his chest for something real to hold onto because the rest of you is floating.
You feel Felix still kissing your shoulder.
Hyunjin’s hands are back on your waist, mouth brushing the side of your throat.
Your brain stops, and you can’t breathe.
You barely whisper, voice wrecked: “Wait… who’s—who was—”
Someone groans against your neck.
“Does it matter?” Hyunjin murmurs, biting just under your ear.
Another mouth is back on yours—Felix this time, you think—but it’s getting hard to tell.
Your body sways. Someone’s hand is on your thigh. Another at your back. Another tugging gently at your wrist.
Three mouths. Three voices.
All saying your name in three different languages of worship.
And for the first time—
You don’t want to choose.
You want this.
All of it.
You’re not sure who kisses you next.
Lips blur together, tongues tangle.
Your name becomes a prayer in three different voices—low, desperate, and reverent.
Hands roam your waist, your thighs, your arms—like they can’t decide what part of you they need to memorize first.
You’re barely holding onto reality when a pair of arms suddenly scoop you up from behind.
Strong and solid, and your gasp is swallowed by Felix’s lips.
But your back lands against a firm chest a second later, your thighs pulled over thick legs, your body dropped straight into a lap.
And when you blink—oh, you’re in Chan’s arms.
His hoodie’s already gone, and his skin burns against yours. His thighs are spread wide under you like a throne.
His arms wrap around your waist like he doesn’t plan to ever let go.
“Finally,” he mutters into your ear. “Been dreaming of this since day one.”
Then—
His fingers curl into the hem of your shirt.
And lift.
You let him, and now your top is gone.
You’re bare from the waist up, sitting in Bang Chan’s lap, surrounded by two other men whose eyes go dark with need.
You cover yourself on instinct—but Hyunjin’s already kneeling in front of you, his mouth at your chest, his hot breath grazing your skin. His eyes drag up to meet yours as he grits out, “Don’t you dare.”
He moves your hands away with a growl, kissing you right on your nipple.
His tongue follows, flattening to drag a slow lick across the hardened peak, and it’s filthy.
He doesn’t ask, he takes.
Then Felix’s shirt hits the floor behind you with a soft whump.
He’s pressing kisses down your arm now, murmuring “So soft… so fucking pretty…” between each one.
Chan’s hand slides up your thigh, splaying across your stomach, his voice low and rough in your ear:
“Still want all of us?” he breathes.
You nod without thinking.
“No, baby. I need to hear it.”
You exhale shakily, writhing in his lap as Hyunjin’s tongue flicks.
“Yes.”
Felix nips your shoulder.
Hyunjin moans.
And Chan?
Chan pulls your head back and kisses you like he’s going to make you say it again with your entire body.
Hyunjin groans, unlatching from your breast just long enough to declare: “You taste like everything I’ve wanted.”
You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his curls, nails grazing the delicate skin of his neck, desperate to mark him as much as he’s marking you.
Your senses spiral—skin tingling, lips swollen from their kisses, your chest rising and falling too fast.
You can’t tell where one man’s touch ends and another’s begins; it’s a symphony of sensations, a dance of lips and hands and whispered names.
Hyunjin’s hands travel lower, sliding beneath your waistband, fingertips tracing the sensitive curve of your hipbone, cherishing hearing you gasp.
Felix’s lips find the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing, sucking a bruising kiss that leaves you breathless.
Your hands roam over their bodies—over firm shoulders, along hard arms, under shirts that have long since been discarded.
The heat between you all is a tangible thing, thick and heavy and impossible to ignore.
You’re drowning in desire, in affection, in the messy, beautiful chaos of being loved and wanted by three men who see you—truly see you—in every breath and every touch.
And as their lips and hands claim you again and again, you know, deep in your soul, this is just the beginning.
➦A night of truth or dare turns for the better when one kiss becomes four. Tangled between the boy who’s loved you forever, the one who never got over you, the flirt who won’t stop until you break, and the crush you swore would stay a secret, feelings get messy, lines blur fast, and the real game begins when you can’t decide who you want… and who you can’t let go of.
