a/n: yeah this had to happen after he STRIPPED ON CAMERA UNPROVOKED??? i got the imagine above from a blog, i cant find it anymore but ty to the person<3
didnt proofread more than once
His breath fans on your skin. Warm. Teeth dig into the curve of your neck, his palms soothing the dip of your waist.
“Hyune…” you hitch at the sting of his canines sinking deeper into the flesh, pushing his shoulders in a poor attempt of creating some brief distance.
To knock some sense into him.
“Should we be doing this here–,” you blurt out, wet lashes fluttering to shake the water off them. The boys had just moved inside, leaving you and Hyunjin on your own, giving him the opportunity to pounce on what was his.
That is, you.
Hyunjin's lips press against the mark swelling red, plump lips gliding to your collarbone in light pampers. He hushes your whines, drinking where water had splashed on the smooth skin. “Who cares?”
You huff.
Who cares?
He should. Considering that no one is aware of this thing you two have going on — especially after they each promised to keep their dicks tucked in their pants, only for Hyunjin to break the oath the second you decided to look at him with those pleading eyes. How could a man refuse such an offer? You did this to him.
“They won't know if you keep it down,” his gaze drifts, meeting yours amidst the heat of his tongue grazing the curve of your breast. He grins, cocky. “Can you at least do that?”
Your eyes roll, pinching his arm with a flush creeping up your neck. He winces, kicking the bottom of the pool to lift himself up. “Don't be stupid… if they catch us then–”
“Then what?” he interrupts, tone challenging. “They find out that you're mine? Good, they were starting to piss me off.” he says and you blink, a question dying in your throat when he steps closer, forcing a proximity where his forehead bumps into yours. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed?” He hooks a finger around the loop attaching your bottom, watching the confidence in your body morph into compliance the closer he gets to taking what he's been craving all night. “You're denser than I thought.”
“What–”
“I thought,” he says, blown out pupils staring right into yours. “That you would be able to tell when a man wants to fuck you…” his palms stroke your thighs, parting them further.
“When he wants to keep you wide open for him.” Hyunjin guides you towards the edge of the pool with his words and your back curves to the shape of it. “Making you arch for him… hand pressed to your spine.”
You yelp when he abruptly pivots you, maneuvering your body with practiced ease. His mouth makes contact with your ear, voice unbearably hot in a whisper, “Bending you over to split your tiny cunt on his cock. Dripping and cum oozing out after he's done.”
“Hyunjin…” you beg, fingers clamping down on the hard border.
“That's how they look at you,” his hand runs lower, teasing the edge of your bikini. “Don't you think it's my right to take you right now, right here. Let them find out, I don’t give a fuck.” He doesn't wait for a definite answer, because your silence speaks louder than simple words, quietly offering yourself to him just how he loves it. “Hm, that's what I thought.” he coos, hand finally gliding underneath the bottom. His fingers find your slit, drawing the cutest gasp from your throat.
“Easy now,” he inches lower, feeling the dampness that isn’t from the ripples crashing against your bodies. Cursing under his breath, he rolls his middle finger over your clit. Teasing, tempting you to whine into the movement. You do, shamefully so, encouraging him to do more. Give you more.
Insatiable.
He holds a laugh, lips wrapping onto your earlobe while his other hand holds your jaw tight, urging soft sighs from you. “Come on, show me how badly you want it,” his words goad you, meek hands gripping his arm, diving him deeper towards your heat. He hums in approval when your hand snakes above his, showing him the spot of your desire.
Hyunjin spreads your folds with two fingers, movement fluid against your wetness. He wastes no time in giving you what you're begging him for, hearing the plates in the kitchen clank and chairs scraping. There's scarcely any time left before you're interrupted. “Arch for me,” he instructs. You obey, perking your rear onto him, grinding onto his erection. He sucks in a breath, the intrusion of his fingers has you biting your bottom lip, two thick digits rubbing against your walls in slick ease. “God,” he slaps a palm over your mouth, muffling your growing moans as he hits the spot that melts the rigidity in your body.
“Hyunjin…” you mumble onto his skin, thighs wrapping themselves around him. He licks your flesh, the sweat cracking at your back sweet on his tongue, sucking the area just above the strap of your bikini. Paying you no mind, the water engulfs the otherwise loud squelches of his fingers ramming inside of your pussy. “Hyun–,” you try to warn, a knot coiling embarrassingly fast. Every simple touch is enough to have your stomach contracting, muscles spasming, beginning to tremble underneath him.
He notices, attention perked. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing small circles and it sends you to the edge. Biting onto his thumb, he pushes it past your lips, amused with the drool that spills past the bruised tissues. “You good?” The smirk is evident in his tone.
You wish you had the strength to punch the smugness out of him. However, he flips you to face him and his dark expression folds you. Heart squeezing almost immediately. The strain in his swim shorts brushes your knee, leg purposely grinding on him. He groans, forehead creasing into a pleasured frown. He brings you closer, nose ghosting on yours, “Open.”
You do. God, you do.
Lips parting just for him, a high pitched noise leaves him, tongue darting out to dance with yours. Obscene. The kiss is lewd and full of need. Throwing your arms around his neck, his fingers entangle in your wet hair, pinning you to the edge of the pool. He takes what he wants, rolling his pants to free himself, he eggs your bottom to the side. “Don't make a sound,” he warns, grinning into the kiss, “–unless you want everyone to know about our dirty secret.”
There's nothing delicate in the way he steadies your hips, grasping you with a barely controlled touch as he forces you down on his cock. Fully bottoming out in one go, stretched beyond limit in a wet burn. Your cry is swallowed by his searing mouth, sharing your moans with your tongues. You're hardly kissing back, mouth wide and open for him to use while he jerks his hips towards you, tip probing at your cervix from how big he is. “s' big…” you sob, tears swelling up your eyes.
Hyunjin gentles you, pampering kisses alongside your cheek, a deep contrast to the harsh pace of his cock into your poor pussy. “Baby don't cry…” he soothes. An act. Mockery hidden underneath the sweet words he reassures you with, great satisfaction filling him the second your teeth bite into his shoulder, trying your best to keep quiet. How endearing.
The door cracks open, a voice emerging from it. “Hey guys, dinner's ready–,” Felix informs, pausing as he realises the strange proximity between you two. “What's going on?” he asks and you freeze. Big eyes lifting to meet Hyunjin's in a panicked daze, ears flushed. Hyunjin blinks, way too slowly for someone in his current position, muscle nudging at the inside of his cheek.
Cock still pulsating inside of your cunt.
He doesn't bother to pull out, merely opting to cradle your cheek in fake concern. “She had something in her eye. I was blowing it out, look at her poor tears.” he says, smiling wide and innocently. “Isn't that right, yn-ah?”
“Huh–” your vision drifts to Felix who is staring, then back to Hyunjin's unbothered expression, involuntarily clenching on him as he decides to pinch your sensitive nub, face contorting to one of brief pleasure before you can catch yourself. “Yes!” you hitch. “My lashes flew into my eye… we'll come soon– ah…” the last syllable fades into a distant moan, praying that Felix doesn't pick up on what is going on underwater.
“Right…” he replies, nodding in a skeptical glance but he doesn't push further. “Hurry up or it'll run cold.” The door clicks shut and you exhale. A huge one, an expression of displeasure washing over you as you hit an amused Hyunjin.
“Are you serious–?!” you scold and he shrugs.
“With what?” he jokes, rolling his hips into yours. “This?”
“Hyunjin, fuck– don't do that again…” you hope to sound threatening. You really do but it's futile, the sentence comes off as a plea. A plea that opposes the threat.
“It sure seemed like you liked it though,” he replies, bumping your clit. “You were clenching down on me like crazy. Think I couldn't feel you getting wetter?” he tilts his head, lifting your chin in a search for your abashed expression. “Don't act coy now, let's finish this upstairs yeah?”
ok so like, as you guys can tell i havent been much active here. honestly I've been wanting to revamp this blog for a while. when i started it, it was pretty much all over the place cause i had no clue how to do any of this. like, this is a secondary blog, my tags, fics that i have up that i dont really like anymore in terms of pacing or general grammar etc.
the thing is, im really grateful for everyones support but im very indecisive whether i want to revamp this blog (new theme, maybe rewrite some fic, change my tags, openly discontinue some series) or move to another blog (where it's my primary blog, ill continue some series here (frathouse, lino fic maybe etc) while starting new stuffs like oneshots etc there). i just really want a blog where i write and its my primary so that i can grow and make mutuals easier etc. SO LIKE YEAH IDK WHAT TO DO
Misconduct case #3: Seo Changbin (s), read case #2 here
Offense: causing disruptions on campus by being outrageously loud, bringing speakers to the gym to force everyone to listen to his 'self-made' music(nobody asked him to), treating facilities such as the gym as a personal space, offered unprovoked coaching to other students, having zero fucking filter
Disciplinary action taken: tie him up while forcing him to listen to his own moans as you push his fat cock between your tits
—
The clock ticks 3 57 p.m.
He should've been here by 3 p.m sharp.
You close personal meetings after 4 p.m. So, where the hell is this guy?
You sigh, checking your screen a constant since the past hour. Your boss will get angry if those issues persist and those people do nothing but create problems. Well, you wouldn't have a job if it wasn't for them.
"Seo Changbin," you click onto the microphone. Last resort measures, spreading your voice across these hallways is embarrassing enough. "Come to my office now. This is your last warning."
Shortly after, your door opens with no warning knock or anything. Rude. Changbin trudges inside as if this is a street fair. You stare at him, absolutely baffled by the lack of courtesy while, he, munches on the rest of a protein bar.
"You called?" he asks, barely paying you any close attention.
You lick your lips, perplexed. "I suppose I did."
"Why?"
Why???
Lord, gift you patience.
You huff, blinking at him. "Are you aware of the number of complaints that came in on your name this week?"
He nods, a brief acknowledgement, too busy trying to read what's written on your shelves to care. "I guess, what did I do?"
"These boys..." you mutter, nose scrunching in utter disappointment. "Where to start? First, you've been obnoxiously loud on campus, bothering and disrupting the academic environment."
"For real?" he replies, pulling the chair in front of you with a sharp screech, plopping down on it.
"Second, have you been forcing other students to listen to your uhm... listen to your 'songs'?" you aren't sure about this one, he doesn't give off musician type.
"Oh? Yeah yeah! I have, do you want to listen too?" he chirps, glancing at you this time.
"I don't think so," you put your hand up, halting him from picking his phone. "The list goes on, Mr. Seo–"
"Wait wait," he blurts out. "Mr Seo?" he repeats, lifting his brows. "Save the formalities Yn-ah, there's no need."
Yn-ah.
"Yn-ah?" you mutter, face contorting to a grimace. Your fingers twitch on your papers, taking a ragged breath. "Do you think my office is a joke?"
He swats his hand up, brushing off your seeping anger. "Would you prefer Yn-ssi? Where'd you work before this? Kindergarten? Wait no, don't tell me— grade school?!"
This won't do.
You close your eyes, breathe in and visualize yourself on a holiday.
The beach, the gentle waves crashing by, reminding you of the peace life is able to bring you. In the distance, you hear a soft rhythm. It inches closer, the sound getting louder.
Louder. It's louder.
Kind of like an erupting volcano...
"To be honest it's not like I wanted to shout at the guy— but his position was all wrong so I couldn't help myself but be like, YAH! WHAT'RE YOU DOING?!?!?! You get me? Are you listening??? Yn?" he claps his hands before you, a centimeter away from your face and you snap back to your unfortunate reality.
A forced smile tugs at your lips, exhaling through your nose. "Changbin."
"Hm?"
"Show me that music of yours."
—
"Is this your idea of listening to my music?" he asks, perking a brow as you tie his wrists above his head, perched on his thick thighs.
"Hmhm," you hum, balancing yourself with a hand on his chest. You can tell he's trying to keep it cool, play the oblivious unbothered guy but his breathing is heavier, eyes plastered on your chest right in his face.
He tugs at the 'rope' (it's a ribbon. There was nothing else). "I could break free from that..."
"Try it and see what will happen," you reply, sliding your palms up and down his body. Leg pressed against his fattening cock, you feel him pitifully throb underneath you.
He smiles, forcing a laugh out. "I like the sound of that!"
"You do?" you say, staring at him. "Want me to ruin that loud mouth of yours, forcing you to keep shut until I'm done with you?"
He flushes, eyes gaping as he hadn't expected such lewd words to leave the conduct officer's mouth. Still, he nods.
You press a hand to his cheek that he leans into, "You're so eager, binnie. You must've been waiting for this, did Seungmin snitch?"
"I- I don't know what you mean..." he mumbles out, taking hold of your wrist to guide it towards his aching erection. "Come on, yn-ah. Please?"
You lightly slap his hand off you, clicking your tongue and his expression contorts to a dramatically pained one.
How could you deny him like that.
Poor, poor binnie.
"Behave," you remind him. Parting his thighs; dropping to your knees between the accommodated space. A shiver runs down his spine, sitting deeper into the couch — offering himself to you. He's kind of cute, in a funny way. You're not sure why you were mad in the first place.
Your button comes undone, hearing his keen pants every time you show more skin. Sliding your blouse off your shoulders, you let it fall to the ground. Unclasping your bra, the sight of your exposed breasts has him groaning, his ears beaming red.
You roll his zipper down, freeing him with a lack of grace. To be honest, you might want this more than you intended. Licking your lips, you wrap your hand around him, smearing the wetness coating it all over the length. He makes a strangled noise, eyes closing momentarily from the warm softness of your fingers gliding up and down his heavy cock.
"Spit," you instruct, showing him your hand and he does. Reluctant at first but quick to follow your order as his saliva dribbles down your palm. Smearing the liquid across your tits, his lips part, a heavy sigh pausing midway only to contort into a grunt as you push his cock between your squeezed tits.
"God–" he blurts out, hips jerking forward to meet your movements halfway. However, you halt him with a scowl, pinching the muscles of his thigh hard enough to have him jolt.
"I don't want to hear a word from you, understood?" you ask.
"But I can't—"
"Yes. Yes you can and you're going to keep it down for me, aren't you binnie?"
He shudders, lips pressing into a thin line before nodding. Such a cutie, you can't help but grin.
Your tongue darts out, catching the tip in tiny licks while gliding him in jerking motions using the space between your breasts. He bites his lip, perhaps drawing blood with his strength though he couldn't give more of a fuck. This is so good, feels so good. You're so sexy, he wishes he could yell his thoughts at the top of his lungs without facing the consequences.
Or maybe the consequences are exactly what he needs. Feels more like a reward than a punishment. Whatever he did wrong, he'll have to do it again.
"Ah... ah–" he whines out in small breaths, trying to keep his voice on the low the best he can and you reward him by taking him in the mouth. Humming at the salty taste of skin and bitter precum, the muffled sound travels up his stomach in vibrations of pleasure. "So warm... shit. Won't be able to last long—" he tries to whisper although his voice unwillingly raises on the last sentence. He clasps his lips shut before you have the chance to punish him for it, apologetic eyes passing onto the 'sorrys' for his loud mouth. Not even realizing that he snapped the ribbons tying his wrist until your shoulders shake into a light chuckle, assuming that you were making fun of him instead.
He's a pretty funny sight though. All big and flushed, letting you have your way with him because thats his deserved consequences.
He grips the cushions, blunt nails scraping at the leather, throat rumbling with muffled moans. You bring him out, saliva coating your lips and the tip as you press your thumb to the underside. "Close?"
"Yes!" he replies. This time, you don't scold him for it. Instead, swallowing him inside with newfound vigor; your sheer excitement has his thighs begging to close — or part, he can't tell anything apart except for the sweet bliss that coils in his stomach. A mantra of silent pleads escaping his chest until his hand finds the back of your head, gripping down in desperation, keeping you in place, nose hitting his stomach from how deeply inside he is as hot cum floods your throat, decorated by a loud moan from him.
He breathes out, looking down at you with a fucked out expression. A glimpse of a smile break on his face.
Definitely doing this again.
—
repeating offenders : bangchan lee know(#2) changbin(#3) hyunjin han felix seungmin(#1) i.n
Offense: sleeping in restricted areas, entering and leaving building through emergency exits, eating in no-eating areas, bringing stray cats on campus, giving you those big-blank eyes as if you were the crazy one for calling out his 'banal' offenses.
Disciplinary action taken: edge him while he recites what rules he's specifically broken until his cool facade breaks
—
A knock on your door and your assistant mumbles something incoherent to someone on the other side, catching your attention without looking away from your papers, "Come in."
The door opens and two figures slide inside. "Name?"
"Lee Minho."
The name and the voice cracks a nerve just above your nape, a headache occuring before you even address the guy properly. "Let me guess," you say, sighing. "You brought stray cats on campus?"
"Would. But not this time," he replies.
"Security caught you using emergency exits?"
"Not today, he didn't see me."
You raise a brow, lifting your eyes from the documents in your hand. "Ate during lectures?"
He shrugs, "You know me. Still no."
"Then what'd you do?" your tone carries an edge, patience running thin along with your questions.
"Slept in the library after closing hours."
You groan, slumping against your chair.
Should've anticipated this one.
"Why would you do that?"
He shrugs again, staring at you with those 'it's obvious isn't it' eyes that you can just tell what he's about to tell you. "Because I was tired and wanted to sleep. They claim that the library is opened 24/7 on the school website which not true." He breathes in, smacking his lips before that infuriating tiny smirk appears. "Isn't this like— a scam, ma'am?"
"Lee Minho," you exhale through your nose. Deep, grounding and relaxed. Relax, yn. "Are you serious?"
His smirk widens, shrugging again.
Your eyes twitch.
"As serious as it gets."
"Minho-ah..." a voice interrupts on your left, reminding you that you aren't alone with him.
Yet.
"Chan," you call to your assistant's gentle coaxing. He winces under your stare, falling back into silence. "Leave us for a minute, won't you? Go take a break and enjoy yourself."
"But–"
"Go."
He nods, grabbing his belongings before making his way out. Clicking the door shut until the man in front of you is your only company.
"So," you begin. "You don't think you've done anything wrong because... it's a scam?"
"You sure know me well," he replies, egging you on.
"Okay," you nod. Just once. "All right."
"Huh?" he voices, slightly confused by your lack of reaction. "Is that all?"
You hum and he glances at the door.
"Can I leave now?"
"No. You aren't leaving until you figure what you've been doing wrong for the past few weeks."
He scoffs, disbelief washing over him. "That's not how it works, I'm not a kid."
"You sure aren't. That's why we'll be doing things my way from now on."
—
"Move, please." his tone is stuck between trying to order around and a beg, as if he couldn't choose which side to pick with your pussy sliding all over his aching cock, stopping right before he starts to twitch.
He tries to grind upwards but you clamp down on him, hips locking him in place until he's a breathy mess falling back onto your office's couch. "Tell me, have you been breaking very obvious rules on campus?"
"I won't call it breaking–" he replies but it quickly morphs into a broken sound with how the tip nudges against your clit. His shirt is ridden up, leaking precum across his stomach. "Must– must you do that?"
You hum, nail digging into his cheek. "Want me to stop, again?" you ask, smiling wide as he shakes his head left and right, his mouth agape into ragged pants.
"Don't stop. Never." he replies, face scrunching as you do exactly that.
"That's too bad," you coo. "Maybe if you actually listened to me, then I'd listen to you. You know, basic respect between adults?" you state the obvious, mimicking his tone from earlier and he nearly cries, holding onto the last bits of dignity and pride left in him.
He never cries, he definitely wouldn't for you...
But then you take hold of him and tease his way inside — he can't help the airy sob that flies from his parted lips. "Ma'am, this ain't funny–"
"You say? I find it quite amusing." you reply, rolling your hips in circular motions until he's trembling. "Come on, show me that smirk of yours."
His brows pin further at your words. Your fingers moving to pinch his cheek and force his lips into a poor attempt of a grin. You can tell he ain't finding shit funny from the grip on your waist. However, it's quick to waver each time you give him a bit more than the last, self control crumbling along with his resolve. "You're much cuter like this, you know?"
His face reddens, shame kicking in although he has no time to dwell on it as you slide out again. Robbing him from his orgasm again. As many times as he shrugged earlier, because you kept count. "Oh? Are those tears I see?" you call out, thumb brushing the corner of his eye with a wicked smile. He shakes his head, you chuckle out. "Sweet Minho, are you crying for me?"
"Stop–" he begs.
"That's what I'm doing," your hand brushes his neck and he shudders underneath you. Never having anticipated such wickedness from you. "I don't think stopping is what you want me to do though, isn't that right...?"
He nods, violently. "Please, just go on. I'm sorry–"
There it is.
"For?"
How cruel you are.
"Breaking the rules, shit– mgh," he whines as you apply some more pressure on him. "Won't do it again, please."
You smile. Sill not enough, you're just beginning to have your fun. "What rules have you broken, enlighten me."
"Are you serious?" Desperate.
"As serious as it gets." Merciless.
The throwback has him actually crying this time. You brush the hair from his face, treating him like an animal you have to calm. Has he ever been more turned on? This is insane.
"For sleeping in the library after closing hours..." he mumbles.
"And?"
A beat passes. He can't even look above, shame dominating his senses. "Bringing stray animals in, eating during lectures... entering through emergency exits and– and staying in restricted areas." His words come off as weak and pathetic.
"I wasn't aware of the last one," you remark and he panics, immediately gripping you closer in fear that'd bring further punishment. "Aww, don't worry. I'm proud of you for admitting, but... will you do it again?"
"No!"
"Good, good boy." you whisper, movements resuming and he falls backwards with a small moan, cocking throbbing heavily. His eyes are plastered on yours despite the humiliation, learning new things about himself everyday.
He snifles, unable to hold his reactions in the faster you hump your cunt against him, the wet glides drawing him closer and closer. Legs barely able to keep up, they hold a tremor that tells you that the coil is tensing beyond limit. Gripping you from above your clothes, he bites onto his cheek as warmth spurts from his length, cumming all over his stomach with a heavy sigh.
"Learned your lesson?" you say between the silent pants. Satisfied from the reaction that he gives you in return, though, you're sure that you'll find him in your office by next week itself.
—
repeating offenders : bangchan lee know(#2) changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin(#1) i.n
In office for: interrupting lectures, initiating crowd distraction, witty and snarky remarks done to lecturers, acting like a little bitch (not on report. personal experience speaking.)
Solution: brat taming
—
You thought that being promoted from a high school disciplinary officer to a university Student Conduct Officer would lessen the stress on your shoulders and the dark circles beneath your eyes.
It made perfect sense. University students were adults. Adults were supposed to be responsible, mature, and well-mannered.
Alas, you were wrong.
It was as though not a single one of them had ever formed a thought that didn't revolve around their own shenanigans. Talking over lecturers, entering restricted areas, misusing university facilities(the gym. you know who you are), littering, filming in the hallways and blocking pathways by attracting a crowd (specific. the target, again, knows who he is), improper use of university property, repeated negligence, and finally general tomfoolery.
You believe you haven't had a peaceful day ever since you stepped foot in here and eight random men decided to ruin your life as a civil servant. The first offender standing right in front of you.
"You again," you mutter, a palm sliding across your forehead in growing frustration. "What did you do this time?"
He clears his voice, preparing for a speech that you're sick of hearing. "Do you want the full story or a résumé?"
"Kim Seungmin," you frown, recognising the edge of sarcasm in his tone.
"Mr. Kim," he corrects. "It's impolite to address someone by their name like that, Miss."
Seriously, you wish you could be calling somebody's parent right now.
"What? It's basic etiquette." he shrugs, big eyes staring at you. "Miss yn."
You scoff, finger tapping against your desk. "Mr. Kim?"
"Hm?"
"I think that you should worry yourself of the PILE of complaints that keeps coming, all mentioning your name." Your emphasis on 'pile' curls his lips into a tiny, amused, smile — unable to hide the pick of his eyebrows and shakened kept-laughter. You sound so cute, all upset and everything that he can't help but tug at your nerves.
"Really? Are you guys planning to put it on the campus newspaper? I'd like the sound of that – 'the conduct officer can't do her job properly, offenders continue to repeat their offenses.'"
"Mr. Kim!" your palm slaps over the wooden surface, leaning forward.
Just a little more.
"I have a question." he asks, you don't reply but he continues. "Are you always this angry?"
A brink further.
"Is it because you come from a high school? You can't put me into detention–" his breath wavers on the word 'detention', shoulders rigid from trying not to laugh. "Or call my parents because you know that I'm an adult, right?"
You stand up, your chair screeching behind you. "Adult? You?"
You're on the edge.
He gulps.
"Yes, I'm twenty five." he replies, lifting his chin in defiance. "And you, Miss? I have to say, all those mad-dog wrinkles make you look old. Do you want skincare advi–"
"Shut the fuck up," you grit out, fists balling in the collar of his shirt. He's about to reply, lips parting for a sneaky comment about how you aren't allowed to hurt him — but his eyes land on your heated ones and the words die in his throat.
"You want me to treat you like a functioning adult?" you ask, a huff leaving with the sentence. Chest heaving in ragged pants from the sheer irritation traveling throughout your limbs to the fingers pulling at his collar. "Are you deserving of that?"
"I–" his face flushes, a heat creeping from his neck painting his ears red. "Ma'am..." it slips out and you both pause, confusion replacing your anger for a second, an idea kicking in.
You smile, not the flashing kind. "Fine then," nodding, you let him go and he stumbles briefly. "I'll treat you like a proper adult, if thats how you'll understand." patting the dust off his collar, you fix it for him and he blinks, mouth agape as you sit back down on your chair, lighting your laptop.
Your leg slides over your knee, your sudden calmness leaving him perplexed. "My office, six p.m sharp. Don't make me wait."
—
What he hadn't expected for your six p.m sharp rendezvous was that you'd be bouncing on his leaking cock for hours to end.
"F-fuck," he can't even think straight, head spinning and incoherent after his first two orgasms. It hurts and you aren't stopping!
"Ah! Wait– wait, slow down!" he whines, fingers digging underneath your shirt, nails marking crescents on the skin. "Shit, shit. Too much–" he tries to warn you, palms running over your back, tugging and hooking at the strap of your bra as warmth floods your inside. His cock somehow releasing so much after cumming this many times.
You pause for a second, giving him the idea of a break only to rob it from him with a slow grind on his pelvis. "Come on Mr. Kim, I haven't orgasmed once. Isn't it your job, as a functioning adult to be able to pleasure a woman? I'm not quite seeing that right now..." your tone is condescending, rolling your hips on him enough to throw his head back with a thud, mouth agape into a whine.
You're driving him nuts. Pussy tight and warm, his cum oozing out and dribbling on his length. "Please, a break—" you hush him, index pressing against his wet lips.
"You sound adorable when you're just whimpers and whines. Where did the Seungmin from earlier go, is he still in here?" you ask, knocking at his skull with your knuckles.
"The Seungmin from earlier wasn't balls deep in yo—" he begins but you're quick to shut him up by clenching around him, voice cracking into a slurred noise. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, facing planting on the swell of your breasts.
"Hm? What'd you say?" you question even though you heard it. It's his fourth sorry since you got him down on this couch. You wonder how many you could pull out of him. "Tell me," you order, yanking his head back by the hair. He winces, neck exposed to your mistreatment.
Your hips lift, jumping on his already-hardened cock and genuine tears form at his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, so sorry! Won't do it again–"
"You won't?" you ask, grinning in a way that has him throbbing. "You sure look like would though."
That might be the truth, because he's drooling all over your thumb the second it breaches his mouth. Sucking and lapping onto your skin with little to no hesitation. Insane how these guys only think with their dick? Promise of pussy and suddenly they're obedient.
"Come on then, give me one more."
He sobs despite the small jerks of his hips towards you. "Mr. Kim, I know you that got it in you after running that smart mouth of yours for so long. Make me cum at least once, won't you?"
He nods, falling back onto the cushions to grab your waist properly. Positioning you on top of him, his legs tremble but he thrusts upwards. Desperate, vulgar and unethical. Fucking your offenders might be the solution if they get this pliant and putty as soon as your hands land on them.
The angle finally has him hitting your sweet spot, your palms laying flat on the backrest as he pounds you from under the best he can — wanting you to be proud of him. Fuck, how did it even get to this? He sure is glad though, after working you up on every chances he's got. This is hell of a jackpot. He'll do it again, that's for sure if you punish him in this way once more. "Ma'am, ma'am–" he blabbers, drunk on the sight of you on top of him. your heavy lidded eyes meet him, he wants to kiss you badly but you've refused him on each try.
Immature boys don't deserve no kisses.
Will he be a mature one if he you cum on his cock?
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing quick circles on the bud. Applying just enough pressure to punch a moan from your chest, relief washing over him as you become louder by the seconds. Pathetically pulling you closer, pushing in so deep that he refuses to draw back at all, kicking in eratic shallow thrusts under he's nudging at that spot inside of you with his tip only.
Your breath quickens, eyes falling shut to the sensation in your legs, playing with his hair at the back of his head until he's unraveling you completely. cunt squeezing him tightly till he's also sputtering watery cum within your walls. Both of you falling into a seamless silence before he throws in a stupid fucked-out smile.
He's definitely telling the others about this.
—
repeating offenders : bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Hyunjin is the type of guy to call you late night, aware that he hasn't been able to meet you often lately because of your clashing schedules. just thirty minutes, he needs at least thirty minutes of your time.
Hyunjin is the type of guy whose voice is sluggish, every word sounding like an almost groan from how tired his body aches. still, it doesn't stop him from asking you about your day, keeping the conversation innocent as long as he can until his cock starts to throb in his sweats at the melody of your voice.
Hyunjin is the type of guy to turn a ten minutes call into you parting your legs for him, camera focused on the mirror in front of your bed, putting on a show by spreading your pussy open with two fingers.
Hyunjin is the type of guy to throw his head flat against the pillow from the sight alone, a moan escaping his bitten lips. "spread them a little wider for me, doll. hm, just like that– fuck."
Hyunjin is the type of guy to shove his fist into his sweats, palming his already fat cock with a heavy hand. letting his sighs and gasps blur with yours, lazy eyes fixed on your fingers rubbing small circles on your clit. coaxing dirty spews from him when you stick your fingers inside, but they aren't enough. the pleasure never matching the one he brings you.
fortunately, Hyunjin is the type of guy to guide you through it.
"s-shit, pretty. put one inside, just one. like that, yeahh." he'll say, cock fully out and leaking in his hand. thumb pressing the underside, a moan chokes out of his throat as you follow his order. your pout the cutest when you're hit with that uncomfortable drag within your walls. "patience, listen to my voice–"
Hyunjin is the type of guy to revel in how frustrated you quickly become. muttering about how easy it is for him and that your fingers don't do it for you anymore! he just spoiled you beyond limit, now you can't cum without his help, less able to even spark an ounce of pleasure through your body. tears brimming when his light laughter echoes through your speaker. "do you want to try something else then?"
Hyunjin is the type of guy to have you ride your pillow. finally, finally drawing those cute moans and whines from your chest as your clit desperately hump the edge of the cushion. nails digging into the mattress while he controls your pace, telling you exactly how better it'd feel if it was his cock hitting all your softest spots instead. tip proding at your cervix with each thrusts, his thumb gliding across your clit until you shake and beg for him to slow down even when you're on top.
Hyunjin is the type of guy to moan into the phone like a porn star. you look so desperate, so keen to face your impending orgasm. he can tell from how you tremble, thighs closing around the pillow like a vice, eyes squeeze shut with pants flying from your parted lips. he's got the perfect view, he could paint it later.
Hyunjin is the type of guy to be able to tell the exact moment you convulse and lose yourself. squeezing his cock in tight-quick jerks, he comes undone all over his stomach. face flushed, his lashes flutter from the lingering tingles in his limbs. voice ragged, he smiles. "we should do this more often, yeah?"
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Four simple words, Jisung's heard it a few times by now. However, the weight of it remains constant.
Even when he couldn't hear your voice.
He was confused that day, having acted rather rudely if he had to be honest. He just couldn't understand, his brain too immature to fully comprehend the meaning behind your strange gestures. Perhaps he realised late — too late.
It's been what? Five, seven years?
The memory stuck. He barely remembers that fan-event except for your face. The sparkle in your expression as you communicated your truest feelings to such a dumb boy. Surely, he'd recognised you anywhere regardless of the time that went on.
So, he knows that his senses wouldn’t be wrong and that it's really you standing on a bus stop in Busan. A soft breeze flows through your scarf, holding the strap of your bag closer as if it’d fight against the biting weather. You await for a transport that you probably already missed.
His fingers twitch on his sides, blinking once and twice, making sure you aren't a product of his imagination. The product of endless nights where he dreamt of meeting you again to apologise, and then, maybe ask you how he had exactly saved your life. The question is insensitive, but he dwelled on it for so long — what is music to a deaf person?
What is his music to you?
He steps closer. You don't react, you can't hear the thud of his shoes against the ground. Staring ahead, your lashes flutter underneath a swoosh of air, breathing out with a huff. “Uhm, hi–” he blurts out, quickly acknowledging how stupid he's being right now. He chooses to pat your shoulder instead, a perplexed crease adorning his normally-perfect face. He smiles awkwardly at your gaping eyes, staring at him with slightly parted lips.
He waves hi. You blink, glancing around for anyone else. No one — he's addressing you. Still, you point at yourself and he nods. “Hello,” he mouths, briefly squeezing his eyes shut trying to remember something important. His hands lift, hesitant and clumsy — shaping something, talking a language that you understand. “Do you… remember me?”
Your lips press, standing as a deer caught in a headlight.
He mumbles something, a sigh escaping his mouth. “Is this how you do it…? Man I swear I've been practicing–” he whispers to himself in frustration from your lack of response. Shaking his head, he looks at you again with deeper resolve. “Hey? We know each other. It's you, right?” His desperation speaks volume in his gestures, ears flushing in light embarrassment.
You nod, tentative palm sliding upwards to greet him back, taken aback by his sudden actions. There's no one else nearby, not even personnel. It's just him.
And you.
“Ah, good then.” he replies, fist tapping his palm. “Actually, this might seem strange but there’s something… that I wanted to tell you.”
Your skeptical expression flusters him, the flush creeping up his neck intensifying. “First– well, that day… you remember, fan-meet?” he begins, lips moving in a stutter that you try to read. He stops, sucking the inside of his cheeks in. Everything that he wanted to say — the secret practicing sessions for a ‘just in case’ you happened to cross paths again — all of that and he didn’t think of learning how to apologise. He curses, rubbing his temples in self-disappoint while you stand in confusion.
“Wait! Wait, wait. I got this.” Jisung mutters, pocketing his phone out to type something in. “Okay so,” he says, setting the device down the public bench. He brings a hand to his chest, closing it loosely to rub small, gentle, circles against the center of his chest. “For that day. I was rude, I apologise.”
“Oh,” you mouth or noise, you’re not sure but your fingers click. Lips curling into a smile, tapping your flat palm against your chest.
“It’s okay,” he breathes out, feeling embarrassingly giddy. He picks his phone, typing in to show you the screen.
Are you going somewhere?
Yes.
You point at his phone, watching him hand it to you with foolish trust.
“I’m… going home,” he reads above your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your neck. His lips pry open, probably with an attempt to ask for some of your time; only for a soft rumble to arrive from the distance. You look in the direction, feeling a tremor where your hand rests against a metal bar.
You type in. “My bus. I have to go.”
“Wait no,” he replies, though you can’t hear the whine in his voice. You aren’t even looking at him, attention spanned to the approaching vehicle. It stops right in front of you and you turn to face him. Finally, waving him off with a closed fist with a smile that reaches your eyes. “Goodluck,” is the gesture you give him before disappearing from his eyesight once again.
He exhales, shoulders dropping in chagrin.
He couldn’t ask you, the question continuing to dwell on his mind.
Changbin is the type of guy to confuse you because you can't quite recall how your position switched this drastically.
Changbin is the type of guy to allow you control the pace at first, sitting you on top of him, allowing you to plant kisses all over his skin as he takes in breathless gasps.
Changbin is the type of guy to let you mistake this for having the uppderhand. finding delight in the smirk that decorates your face as you cruelly tease him. your warm hand slowly jerks him off, stopping before he cums; letting him twitch painfully from the lack of contact — just to mock his sulking expression? how could you do this to your sweet and gentle boyfriend?
Changbin is the type of guy to flip you over effortlessly once he tires from your wicked antics. shutting you up with a rough kiss, his hands slides your clothes off without much care to the fabric possibly tearing under his urgency.
Changbin is the type of guy to lightly tap your clit the second you run that smart mouth of yours, choosing to instead slap the nub when you don't realise that he's telling you to quiet down.
Changbin is the type of guy to never scream or shout at you in anger, just mimicking the smile you gave him earlier with soothing kisses to your neck and shoulder. "be good," is all he says, fingers gathering the slit pooling at your lips. it drools past your thighs, embarrassed, his shift in behaviour got you soaked.
Changbin is the type of guy to spread your pussy for him to see, keeping your legs firmly open with an overwhelming grip. he relishes in how goosebumps ride on your skin, pressing the tip of his finger to your entrance. "ah, ah. patience baby," he'll tut as you get restless, hips lifting towards him. "look at your mess, haven't touched you properly yet. you like when i take over?"
Changbin is the type of guy to thrust two thick fingers in with the bitter words that flies out of your mouth. "you just love being bratty, don't you? my bratty girl, i love you so." he'll murmur against your ear, nibbling at the sensitive spot underneath. however, his actions speak far from love. setting a relentless pace from the start, his fingers don't give you the opportunity to adjust, immediately probing at your softest parts.
Changbin is the type of guy to neglect your clit at first. you've been mean to him, so why should he be good to someone like you? he'll leave marks across your flesh, wet tongue sucking warmly on your titties, switching sides every now and then to nip and pinch at the buds.
Changbin is the type of guy to sweetly coo at you as your frustrated tears start to spill. the sound of your sniffles hardly muffled despite your attempts at biting your lips. cradling your jaw with his palm, offering you affection which you quickly reject, meek hands slapping against his chest.
Changbin is the type of guy to shake his head in disappointment. though, you're so cute like this, he can't stay mad for long.
Changbin is the type of guy to grab both of your arms to pin above your head, ending your endless squirming with his strength. finally indulging in your spoiled tantrums, his thumb lays on your clit — applying enough pressure to coax a relieved exhale from you.
Changbin is the type of guy to pick his thrusts back up. pressing your parted lips against his just to feel you breathe and moan inside his mouth while he abuses you with pleasure. smiling into your lips as your thighs start to shake, threatening to close with every glide of his thumb across your clit.
Changbin is the type of guy to hit all your sensitive areas, releasing his grip from your wrists to press a heavy palm on your tummy, kicking a wave of euphoria straight to your guts and spinning head. the pressure more than enough to leave you a wet and trembling mess, spoiling the sheets underneath you with your overflowing orgasm. barely catching your breath before he pecks the corner of your mouth, a comforting touch holding you at the hips. "give me one more."
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Jeongin is the type to guy to arrive home welcomed by the sound of the running shower. knocking once, twice. he doesn't bother for a third time, slipping inside the bathroom when you don't shoo him away.
Jeongin is the type of guy to make eye contact with that smile of his as he slides his jacket off, cap following suit on the handle.
Jeongin is the type of guy whose vision rakes over you as he steps inside the shower, being hit with the hot vapour engulfing your bodies.
Jeongin is the type of guy to take his time with you. squeezing soap onto his palms, his big hands glide down your arms without much resistance.
Jeongin is the type of guy to turn you around, your chest flat against the glass as he spreads soap onto your back. traveling lower and lower until he's closer to you, his breathes fan onto your skin, an arm wrapping itself around your waist.
Jeongin is the type of guy to let you feel his hard-on, cheekily pressing himself against you from behind. he kisses your nape with a smile, guiding himself to your slit. "you're so wet, i could just slip inside."
Jeongin is the type of guy to relieve in how you push your hips towards him with a breathless whine, your ragged breathing fogging the glass wall. indulging in his lack of self control, he feeds your greedy cunt the tip.
Jeongin is the type of guy to groan into the dip of your shoulder, palm flat on your stomach just to feel himself moving inside of you. taking in your writhing from the burning sensation, pleasure overriding your senses.
Jeongin is the type of guy to fail to handle things slowly after the first few minutes, ending up choosing a desperate pace. enjoying the sight of you colliding deeper into the hard surface with every slap of hips. the sensation of his ridges and veins sliding inside your soft walls too much to bear.
Jeongin is the type of guy whose voice gets louder, cracking, as he gets closer and closer to his peak. his hand snakes between your shaking legs, fingertips dancing circles on your sensitive clit. you shudder, nails digging cresecents inside your palms.
Jeongin is the type of guy to beg you to cum with him, that you're both right there and that you should let go for him. biting your neck, leaving a print as you convulse around him. gripping him so hard that he can't help but sputter his fill with a whine.
Jeongin is the type of guy to pleasure in how his cum dribbles out of you, drooling to your trembling knees only to get washed up by the running water. tsking under his breath, he squeezes your hips. "this won't do... let's do it again." god.
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Seungmin is the type of guy to invite you to the recording studio out of sincere 'boredom'. he has to record his lines and it's only him, 3racha and some staff in — it's not like he misses you or anything.
Seungmin is the type of guy to fix you as you peek inside, sheepishly greeting the staff and apologising for disturbing the session. his eyes keep track on you despite the glass-wall separating the two of you, already wishing that you could come to his side instead of taking a seat onto the personnel's couch.
Seungmin is the type of guy to give you those big, puppy, eyes during the entire session. idly swinging his arms, he'll drag the recording on purpose just so that everyone gets tired and postpone the rest for tomorrow.
Seungmin is the type of guy to not even attempt to hide his amusement as everyone begins to leave one by one. chan throws the keys at him, telling him to close up when he's done. you're still here, it's just you and him now.
Seungmin is the type of guy to ask you to come to his side, hand motioning in his direction. watching the door click shut behind you, approaching him. "want to try?"
Seungmin is the type of guy whose 'trying' results in him dropping to his knees in front of you, one leg thrown over his broad shoulder to keep balance as he buries his face into your cunt. "hm, look at how wet you are. were you thinking about this?" truthfully — he was. it's obvious that he was.
Seungmin is the type of guy to rejoice at the sound of your moans being loud and clear inside of the recording booth, each sighs and gasps echoing against the walls deliciously. his heart is racing, he didn't even lock the front door, knowing that any of the members could walk in right now, or worse — a staff. but the risk is what makes the overall experience more exciting.
Seungmin is the type of guy to run his teeth softly across your bud or folds just to feel you jolt above him, indulging in the painful pleasure before soothing it with a wet kiss. tongue falling out to tease at your entrance.
Seungmin is the type of guy to pull away the second you're about to reach your high, turning to suck at the swell of your thighs instead. blatant in his mocking with how he laughs at your coiling expression.
Seungmin is the type of guy to finally give you a chance as your fingers rush into his hair, a harsh tug that burns at his scalp. feels so good to have you desperately grind against his face, basically riding your clit on the curve of his nose.
Seungmin is the type of guy to moan at your sudden pace, tongue rolled out for you to use at your pleasure. flat as your folds glide over it, pussy throbbing with a threat of cumming.
Seungmin is the type of guy to smile wide as you gush around him, arousal wetting his mouth and chin. cleaning you up at his own accord until you're pushing him off from sheer overstimulation.
Seungmin is the type of guy to get turned on when a knock thuds against the door, a voice asking if there's anyone inside. a palm lays over your mouth, urging you to keep it down as his other hand slides between your thighs. once again, he's not done with you yet.
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Minho is the type of guy to pull you onto his laps the moment he gets home from practice, well used to how fast it takes for you to fold whenever he grabs your wrist and jerks you towards him.
Minho is the type of guy to start with a quick kiss. hand sliding to cradle your jaw, pushing the hair away from your face before going for another kiss. slower this time, letting it linger.
Minho is the type of guy to press his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, and then your neck. teeth nipping and sucking at your sweetest spots.
Minho is the type of guy to chuckle against your skin as your breathing gets uneven, soft whines parting from your lips with every contact on your sensitive skin.
Minho is the type of guy to lay two strong palms flat on your rear, grounding you down fully on him. on his laps, pussy right above his aching cock.
Minho is the type of guy to guide you on him. moving your hips at a torturous pace, slow, almost non existent just to feel you squirm and whine in his hold.
Minho is the type of guy to grin at your desperation, but in reality, he's as pathetic for you. painfully leaking in his boxers, he needs the friction just as much as you do, if it wasn't for his pretense.
Minho is the type of guy to roll your hips on him after a given time, his grip maneuvering you exactly how he knows you both like it. his praises get shakier by the seconds, falling slump against the couch to let you do your thing at some point.
Minho is the type of guy whose lips curl the messier your grinds turn. watching you pitifully try to chase your high despite the barrier of your clothes. somehow, the rustle of clothes feel dirtier than anything else.
Minho is the type of guy to tease you when your face contorts to one of pleasure, pussy throbbing inside your panties. whispering and murmuring things like, "you gon cum like this, jagi? by humping me like some pillow?" while knowing damn well that he's close too with how his fingers tighten on your flesh.
Minho is the type of guy to roll his hips with yours from under, cock thrusting into your clothed folds shamelessly, bumping with your clit on every movement. the two of you a desperate tangle of limbs hoping for something euphoric.
Minho is the type of guy whose voice breaks further the closer he gets. turning to your mouth in an attempt at muffling his loud whines. pushing his tongue against yours, his saliva mixes with yours, escaping and dripping at the corners of your mouth.
Minho is the type of guy who frowns as he comes undone, brows pinching above his tightly shut eyes. feeling the front of his pants soak up, quickly followed by your own. the sound of ragged breathing echoing past the corners of the living room, staring at each other with a dumb smile.
Minho is the type of guy to flip your positions, laying you flat on the cushions to kiss you down your neck to your collarbone. smiling at the chuckles that leaves your chest, he climbs back up to your face, pecking your lips as he undoes his belt with a click. "let's do it properly now, hm?"
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Chan is the type of guy to come home late from the studio just to find you waiting for him, asleep, on the couch.
Chan is the type to feel the most guilty about it. but what heightens the emotion is how he finds himself entranced by the sight of you peacefully sleeping. dozed off, your chest heaves up and down at an easy pace.
Chan is the type of guy to climb on top of you, one hand resting at your hip and the other against the couch's backrest; pressing kisses to your forehead then your cheek while muttering soft words like, "baby wake up. you didn't have to wait for me, let's go to bed."
Chan is the type to try and hide his hard-on as he brings your drowsy figure to your shared bedroom, not wanting to bother you too much. however, you notice rather quickly, the pink dusting his ears catching the dim lighting.
Chan is the type of guy to try to seem shocked as you gently push him onto the bed, but that was the only thing on his mind while he nuzzled his face onto your neck to breathe you in affectionately (no interior motives, he swears).
Chan is the type to take a deep, ragged, breath the second you tug off his pants. cool air meets his aching cock, precum glistening at the tip.
Chan is the type to twitch as you wrap your hand around him, thumb soothing the vein on his side. he shudders, lips parting into a gasp that curls into a praise as you slowly jerk him off.
Chan is the type to throw his head back the moment your wet warm mouth envelopes him. engulfing him to the brim, the sleepiness in your eyes while you choke on his cock has him moaning pathetically.
Chan is the type to get close too soon, the feels of you around him too much to bear. finally getting to unwind after a long day. his legs quiver, tense and shaky around your head. you press two palms on his thighs, calming his tremor.
Chan is the type to curl a hand into your hair, more grounding than controlling. he'll do it because he doesn't know where to keep his hands, and you're so so pretty that he has to push your hair from the view.
Chan is the type of guy that one eye contact is enough to undo him. a broken groan (whimper) flying out of his mouth, shivering as his high crashes down. warm cum spurts inside your mouth, swallowing every last bit of it, just to pull of him and show him your clean tongue.
Chan is the type of guy to chuckle about your dirty behavior, as if he wasn't a flustered mess about it. trying to play it cool by grabbing you up and kissing your saliva coated lips. tasting himself on you, his cock throbs again. really he can't help it when you're this good to him...
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
Felix is the type of guy to beg you to put on a horror movie despite his well-know poor tolerance for them. He'll be convincing, smooth voice promising that he won't back out midway, pecking off the skeptical frown that creases your face.
Felix is the type of guy who uses his cowardice as the perfect excuse to slip under the covers while you're distracted. heart beating faster, you barely notice his disappearance until a warm palm slides down your legs, soothing the arising goosebumps.
Felix who'd ignore the confused questions that leaves your mouth, answering them through his actions by pressing a kiss to the expanse of your thigh.
Felix is the type to hush you, telling you to focus back onto the movie. but it's just impossible when he's rucking your shirt up your stomach, planting slow kisses to your tummy and below your belly-button. nibbling onto the meat of your thighs. the movie fades into white noises.
Felix who kisses you over your panties. a tease before licking a strip of the damp fabric, groaning at the faint taste that hits him. soon growing sick of his own antics, pushing the fabric aside to his meal.
Felix who wastes no time in enveloping his puffy lips around your clit, sucking lightly before laying his tongue flat against your folds. licking a fat stripe off your arousal.
Felix whose confidence spikes with how you grip the covers above him, arm sliding underneath the sheets to take a hold of his hair. the fact that you can't see him turns him on the most.
He'll feel you getting closer, bridging over as he eases you through it with slow, loving, movements of his mouth against you. well, that's how he views it. for truth, he's spreading your folds apart, tongue diving and making out with your cunt. low groans vibrating through your clit as he sucks on it. taking in your shakiness, he'll let you cum all over his face, happily slurping the fluids that leaks out of you.
Felix is the type to heave back up jolly. cute smile adorning his expression while his mouth glistens under the dim lighting of the movie. Pecking your lips while assuring you that you did good. however, he brings your wrist to his bulge, palming the fabric of his pants. relationships are give and take, right? he's scared too, please take care of him.
Han is the type of guy to wake you up in the middle of the night — 2 a.m, 3 a.m? he doesn't care. he tried to, but he's not the most patient man out there.
He'll take in your drowsiness and tired grumbles. murmuring soft apologies in the ears; pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your neck; an attempt at buttering you up. hoping that maybe you'd notice the bulge pressing at your lower back and realize how horny he's been.
Han who shamelessly ruts against the swell of your ass, voice getting breather with each grind. begging you to please let him rid of your pants.
barely registering your answer, a nod is sufficient for him to tug the barrier off. keeping your panties on, he slides his cock between your folds, wetting your cum with his leaking precum.
Han who's a moaning mess just from gliding his cock back and forth on your now-soaked pussy. blabbering about how wet you are and to allow him inside already.
Han whose voice cracks into a whimper as you squeeze your thighs around him, trapping him into quick, shallow, thrusts. he nudges your clit with every jerk of hips, tilting your face towards him so that his mouth swallows your own quiet moans with a messy kiss.
Han who doesn't get the opportunity to slide inside before he's cumming all over your pussy, white stripes landing inside your panties, forming a sticky wet patch on the fabric. he's panting, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to catch his breath.
Han who thanks you endlessly for this, yapping about how much he loves you and that you're the best in this world. slowly drifting back to sleep, pretending that he isn't going to wake you up again soon for another of his horny antics.
hot steamy sex with hyunjin where he's all breathy in your ear, moaning and whimpering to show you how much effect you have on him...
hyunjin who uses all of his body weight on you, laying you flat against the mattress to show his devotion through the weight of him trying to mold with you.
hyunjin who sinks his cock as deep as he's able to, balls slapping against your skin until he's nestled completely and comfortably. letting you feel how utterly inside and full you are.
hyunjin who pants next to your ear, tongue darting out to lick at your lobe, sensitive flesh getting nibbled by his teeth. his moans keep slipping, he just can't help it when you're this warm in his hands.
hyunjin who kisses your neck, open mouthed drags to your shoulder before lifting his hips to pick the pace back up. teeth sinking into your lower shoulder as he feels the drag of him against your snug walls.
hyunjin curves your spine to bring your lips to his despite the awkward positioning. his tongue laps and licks at every corners of your mouth, unable to maintain the romantic composure for long. he craves you. insatiable even while eating.
hyunjin who pushes two fingers down your wet mouth, spit gathering and dribbling past your chin. he's so close, he needs to hear each little noises that he's able to draw out of you.
hyunjin whose last thrusts are pathetic and slow, taking bliss in the sensation of filling you up. pumping you full of his cum while he sucks on your skin.
hyunjin who despite it all is still an attention seeker for you. asking you for adoration and affection right after using your body to his whims.
pairing: yandere!doctor!bangchan x childhood friend!reader (f)
genre: childhood friends to ???, yandere trope, smut
sypnosis: Childhood promise turned into something deranged, obscure. What will you do when your sole form of support becomes the source of your fear?
word count: 7.09k
warnings: patient and doctor power imbalance, sexual tension, manipulation, allusions to stalking, obsession, infantalization, dumbification, paranoia, gaslighting, toxic relationship, allusions to sex, mentions of blood, swearing, caregiver trope, mentions of vomitting, manipulative relationship
ok so like, this is the exact opposite of my listening to silent cry fic im pissing. dont let the reader there meet this chan... she'll lose her shit. nasty smut next part trust (if anyone comes for me... this isnt a series OK. itll only have 2 parts)
There’s a soft golden hue slowly casting over the park, tiny crystals multiplying under the shadow of heavy spring leaves. The sound of children — giggles, innocent cries, and some quarrel. Children's quarrel.
Pointless, insignificant. It means nothing.
“I don’t want to play anymore!” you snap from where you’re seated, plush grass poking at the skin of your legs. You’re getting pulled up, small hands digging into your arms with the most force they can muster.
“Come on, yn-nie! Just once more, I promise.” Chris whines, his feet clamped to the ground in his endeavour at getting you to stand up.
You shake your head, frown and voice resolute. “It’s always the last time with you, Channie. I’m tired of playing doctor and patient. You never let me be doctor either!”
“Come on,” he pleads, puffing his cheeks with air. To no avail, you won’t budge. His lashes flutter, searching for something. Anything – “Look! A grasshopper!” he shouts, pointing at your ankle. You gasp, rushing to stand up as he successfully yanks you towards him.
The world stills briefly. One second everything is straight; you’re up, standing. Then the world pivots and you’re falling. Stumbling on your footing, he falls backwards with you onto his back. Hearing nothing but a shriek from your throat at a sudden, sharp pain on your knee. “Ow! Ow, ow…–” you wince, shifting to the side. Your knee bleeds, a huge scrape adorning your once untainted skin. Eyes falling to the rock you fell onto then the culprit who stares wide eyed and panicked.
“Yn! I’m sorry!!” he apologises, his tears quick to come as he lurches in your direction. Sniffling, he examines the hurt in your expression first. The disappointment, the anger, the pain. And empathy that sinks in when you realise his tears.
You glance around while he bawls, lips staggering open to force a reassuring smile. “Chan– it’s okay. I’m okay, look–,” it doesn’t work, you try a different approach. “Aren’t you a doctor–? Come on, it’s just a little blood… I’m fine.” you assure, trying to stand up. Alas you slip back, knee twisting.
He breathes in raggedly at your words, vision finally lifting to meet the little blood you mentioned. You aren’t paying much attention to him anymore, his wails having settled. Blowing on the injury with pinched brows, the silence is suddenly unsettling, wondering what he’s up to. A stinging cold hits your back upon his expression. He’s fixing the scrape, the black in his eyes weirdly blown out, his breathing having evened by now. “Channie?” you question, tilting your head in naive confusion. “What’s wrong–?”
Tiny, dainty hands hover your wounded knee till they rest on it. His voice is shaky, wrong. “I hurt you.”
“It's okay, you didn't mean to– wait, don't squeeze that hard it hurts–” you wince through gritted teeth. His touch is freezing, detached and lacking its usual warmth. His grip tightens, drawing more blood out as he inspects it. As if you were a specimen under a microscope.
In awe.
“Chan!” you yell, the sound tearing out of your throat, shoving him off you with much struggle. His strength is sudden, and for the first time — you struggle to shake him. “It hurts, you're being a weirdo.”
He gulps, pupils shaky. He gapes at you with huge eyes, lifting his focus from the injury at last. “It's just– the blood.”
The blood.
As if that explains anything.
“The blood what?” you ask, irritation bubbling at a faster pace, giving him a nasty stare. “Forget it. I'll manage on my own.”
He pouts, thumbs fiddling on his laps anxiously. “I'm sorry, yn-nie.” This time, his tone grazes the softness of a child in trouble. “I promise that one day I'll become a doctor and won't ever hurt you again.”
You sigh, pausing to gaze at him.
He stands out amidst the surroundings, almost like an angel. Naive guilt written all over his expression, you can’t sulk for long. Shoulders giving out, you try to relax. To shake the easiness in your bones, smiling at him tentatively. You hold his hand, curling your fingers together in a gentle squeeze. “Promise?”
If that’s his wish.
He nods, face beaming. “Promise.”
Then let it be.
—
“I can't believe you actually kept your promise,” you say, cutting through the continuous hum of the A.C. Your vision darts around, exploring the sharp corners of the room. “Isn’t this kind of like– a claustrophobe’s nightmare?” you’re joking, smiling at him as you take a seat.
He approaches, steps light against the smooth concrete. Putting his equipment down on the metallic stool, he finally spares you a glance. “Firstly, that’s the whole premise of a promise. Secondly,” he says, pushing his mask off to take a breather. He smiles, patting you like a stray dog. “This is a doctor’s cabinet, not a child’s playground.”
You huff, guiding his hand off the top of your head with a pointed finger. “Mm. I suppose,” shrugging, feigning indifference. “Doctor Bahng’s private cabinet,” you articulate the words, letting the syllables roll off your tongue.
“Hm, are you proud of me?” he asks, crouching down to sit onto the examination mattress. Sanitary paper crinkles underneath the weight of a grown man.
Because he’s grown now.
He’s developed into a man.
Somehow, you still see the little boy who used to cry about every small predicament that would happen to him or to the others around him.
Now that you think about it… was there anybody else but you two?
“Yn?” he calls, catching your attention. “You’re distracted.”
“Oh? Oh, yeah yeah. I am proud of you– very.” you reply, nodding.
He perks a brow, “Not buying that.”
Scoffing, you shake your head in disbelief. “I am! I mean,” you lean forward, pinching his cheeks as if they were elastic. “Look at you! Basking in the smell of latex and sanitizers.”
He groans at the dull ache, grabbing your wrists to bring them to his hair instead, having you run your fingers through his overgrown locks. “I’m happy to hear about me basking in latex and sanitizers.”
You’re almost on his lap from how he inches you forward. Knees touching.
Familiar.
Warmth spreads through your body as you peek down at him from above. Giggling nervously, you tug to free yourself but his grasp remains. Unmoving, deja vu. “Chris,” you whisper, feeling the strength in his hold.
He looks at you, nothing but a breath for a moment before letting go with a playful-innocent grin. You fall back onto the chair. “Are you sure that you don't want to get into medicine? You could be my little assistant.”
You need a moment to catch your breathing, his question processing. It’s not the first time he’s asking you this. Insisting, which you insist back. “No. Blood freaks me out, I couldn’t dream of it.” you say, gliding your palms across your bare shoulders to ease the fake goosebumps. “Imagine all that cutting… spreading. Eugh.”
He hums, cocking his head in skepticism. “Doctors aren't only about dissecting others, you know?”
“This is mainly a surgery cabinet, Chris.”
He nods, pressing his lips together in contemplation. “Touché, but general physician is also written on my papers and on the sign plastered above the gate. If you had paid any attention…”
You slap your hand in the air with a laugh, trying to play it off. “Of course! How could I miss such a big sign–?”
He swallows, gaze softening. Too soft, it’s diabetic. “It's fine, if you worked here then that'd mean my loyal patient would be able to take care of herself,” he whispers, fingers hesitating to touch your cheek. Choosing to go for your jaw instead, a tender affection above your pulse point. Chuckling at your quickering heart rate. “What's a doctor without his patient?”
You give him a look, jerking his hand away. Flushing. “What's with you?”
He says nothing, picking up his medical clipboard in sudden professionalism. “Just so that you’re aware, this is my working hours. Have you experienced anything unusual lately, Miss Yn?”
“You sound more like a paranormal investigator than a doctor.” You deadpan. Coughing in an attempt to gruff your voice. “Have you experienced anything unusual lately, paranormal?”
His laugh returns and honestly you’re grateful. Whenever he puts on his doctor’s act, it unsettles you. You can’t quite put your finger on the reason, but there’s a stillness in his eyes that creeps you out sometimes.
He lifts his head, “What should I do? My patient won’t take me seriously despite my degree.”
“One day I will, maybe.”
“Maybe? When you're hurt and need tending then maybe.”
You nod, “Maybe.”
A bell chimes outside, the front gate opening then the cabinet’s doorway. His actual assistant peeking inside, she sees him then you, offering a light bow. “Doctor, a patient has arrived.”
“All right, note their credentials. I’ll be there in a few,” he replies. The door closes and he turns to you, standing upright. “You should go home. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay, doctor.” you tease, grabbing your purse to leave but he halts you. Face serious.
“Don't forget the vitamins I prescribed, your iron is already low an—”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it, just go do your job doctor. There's patients with harsher medical needs than low iron.” You pat him on the shoulder. His awfully rigid shoulder. Whether it’s the muscles or the tension in them. You pay no mind, staying oblivious to the glare he gives you on your way out.
He sighs, watching you on your way out. He should’ve moved on by now, however he walks. Threading his path towards his laptop, lighting the screen of the CCTV footage. He watches you leave, frozen as a statue till you make it towards a taxi. You glance at the cabinet one last time, probably searching for him by a window.
Don’t worry. He’s here.
You wouldn’t see him even if you searched for him with plain eyes.
But he’s there.
Making sure that you're okay.
That you're safe.
Even if it's for the most insignificant act.
—
The house is hollow, the click of your keys breaking the heavy silence. The house keys drop onto the counter, echoing past the empty hallways. You rid of your shoes, there’s a throbbing ache to your lower back as you bend. Grunting.
Maybe you should’ve told Chris about it.
“Ah, whatever. Next time now,” it’s cold, you turn on the heater and the lights. The eeriness fading with every light chasing away the shades. Walking to your bedroom, the floor is warmer by now. Opening your closet for something comfortable, opting for the nearest hoodie. You pull your top over your shoulders, leaving you in a bra when your phone glows. Buzzing, you pocket it out.
channie:
home yet?
You huff, impressed.
you:
how do u always get my timing right?
srsly, are u stalking me or what
You take advantage of his slow response, setting your phone onto the mattress of your bed — freeing yourself from the prison of your bra in the meantime — exhaling at the grace it brings you. Bare, fortunately warm air meets your skin.
The dot appears, then disappears before appearing again. Weird, your smile falters a bit at the thought of having accidentally offended him.
you:
i was joking
ik u arent, just very digilent
Rolling your eyes from the lack of response, you drop your phone again, wrapping yourself in the security the hoodie provides.
Finally, it rings.
channie:
haha i know don’t worry
i was packing, sorry
you:
ohhh
its okay
channie:
i forgot to tell you earlier
you haven’t been eating well lately, right?
Your eyes narrow, reading the message in growing doubt. “How’d he know…”
channie:
before you think about anything strange. im your doctor, i can tell your eating habits
Alright, surely.
you:
ok u got me there doctor, but its not a crime…
channie:
it is a crime to me
you’re supposed to follow a certain diet with your supplements. im having food delivered to your house, it should arrive at any moment by now
The timing is almost impeccable with your doorbell. Perfect, he’s never a beat late.
He’s always been a control freak about punctuality. But… “Isn’t he kind of overdoing it right now…”
“You shouldn’t have,” you type in on your way to the door, halting before it to hit send. Sliding the door open, you’re met with the dead of the night. A cold air rushing in, deeply contrasting the cozyness you were indulging in. You shiver, glancing around to find the ghost of a figure. No one, zero traces. Not even a bike in the distance, just an animal noise from somewhere. Not here, though. You’re alone. Definitely, “How fast…” you mumble, the porch’s light flickering above your head. “Yeah, nopes.” you say, picking the food in front of your doorstep, stepping inside in haste.
Weird. The food is piping hot despite the containers.
The strangely domestic containers.
You type in, the subtle vibrations of your keyboard vibrating against your fingertips.
you:
did you cook this?
smells like your cooking, i’d recognise those containers from anywhere
You breathe in. Questions arising.
you:
how?
aren’t you at work?
channie:
save the questions for later
just eat it. all of it
im watching you
It’s a joke. You can’t help the shudder that passes through you though.
Choosing to play it safe. Kidding, just like he is.
you:
surely you are, doctor. stalker
don’t worry, im gonna eat all of it.
Pausing.
but since you’re the one who cooked this…
who delivered?
was it your friend i forgot his name
channie:
don’t worry about anyone
finish up and again, don’t forget your supplements
no wonder you’re facing so much limb pain lately
Oh?
You haven’t told him about this part either.
You bite into your lower lip, feeling it dry up under your teeth. Brushing it off, you try to eat. However, your stomach acts up. The food tastes familiar, nostalgic to the times you and Chris used to swap lunch boxes in high-school. His lunch had always tasted better than yours.
You can’t eat.
You force yourself to.
Because there’s this sensation of being watched that you can’t shake off. It’s there, a constant since his last message. The bites are slow, lacking the appetite you had when you first walked in.
Chris…
There’s no way, that’s ridiculous.
He’s perceptive, that’s his job. Plus you’ve known each other since forever, of course he’d be able to tell apart your body language no matter how much you hope to mask it.
Still, it’s hard to swallow.
Your phone rings again.
channie:
anyway, im clocking out now
good luck for your interview tomorrow, im sure you’ll secure the job
He types.
He stops.
He types.
channie:
goodnight
—
You threw up.
Threw up until only bile was left burning your throat. Now left with a lingering, metallic acidic taste scratching at your tongue and the back of your throat. You had brushed your teeth thrice, it didn’t fade at all.
No matter how much you dwell on it, it makes no sense.
Your theories become more illogical and nonsensical on each attempt.
At five p.m, you left his cabinet with patients still incoming. Yes, you went out for a while afterward, but you arrived home around eight. He claimed to be at work, packing. If so, how the hell was he able to cook you burning hot food and have it delivered to your doorstep while simultaneously working a shift?
In barely three hours.
That’s superhuman even for him.
You breathe out. The clock ticks aggressively.
Two in the morning.
Your eyes refuse to close. Laying dead on your bed for the past hours, you’ve been breaking cold sweats. Sheets damp, you lay on your side to no progress. The mattress fails to bring you any form of comfort. Your hair sticks to your skin, you’re tied and your stomach somehow remains disturbed. You persuade yourself countless times, nonetheless, it doesn’t undress the crawling sensation off your limbs.
Thinking about Chris in such a dark light hurts you, especially when he’s being so kind and considerate.
The possibility that he could be stalking you.
You deny it.
Groaning, you curse your body for acting up. Grabbing a pillow and continuously slapping your limbs in hope that it’d make them act right. You thug your head against it, the brusque movement spins your head. A sickening dizziness returning, shoulders and legs prickling. Shit, “the supplements…” you forgot to take them. Reaching for the drawer, you yank it open with a hiss. Rummaging for your bottle of pills, lips perking in relief as your fingers wrap around it. Shaking a handful inside of your palm, they are colourful against the darkness of your bedroom, nearly shining. You forget about water, popping them in dry.
However, as you swallow, the memory of Chris hits you. A sudden migraine kicking in, the pills hit the back of your throat, sticking there. You cough, choking on them. They’re stuck, dread washes over you. Thrusting two fingers down your throat, you gag, spitting them out with a heavy gasp. “My god,” you rasp, eyeing the splattered pills laying on your carpet.
Fuck that, just go to sleep. You think, lashes fluttering in hope of calming your rattled existence.
Today is important, you’ve got an interview.
Forget about the rest.
It doesn’t matter for now.
Just sleep.
—
“Take a seat, Miss Yn.” the interview encourages, waving a hand towards the chair resting in front of his mahogany desk. It’s polished, to the extent that you’re able to catch a blurry sight of your reflection, concealer poorly hiding the bags underneath your tired eyes. “Make yourself comfortable.”
You nod, smiling stiffly as you lower yourself onto the chair, the cushion flattening under you. “Hello,” you greet. Cringing, a chill runs at your sweaty neck from the crispy-artificial air running off the air conditioner. A stark reminder of the doctor’s cabinet, which you’re quick to shrug off, bringing your attention back to the man before you. You breathe in, calming your restless body with each shuffle off paper, your documents sliding over the other while he takes his time to read them.
Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet yours; nodding with an impressed smile. “Your qualifications are quite impressive,” he regards, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. Observing you. Scared that he might read your body language a blink too well, to notice how you’ve been clutching at your phone. Waiting for a text that hasn’t arrived since last night.
He didn’t text you again.
Not this morning while you were expecting him to the second you stepped foot into the corporate building.
Gosh, what’s wrong with you lately?
He laces his fingers together, his smile loose and relaxed, aimed at alleviating the atmosphere on a professional level. However, “On paper, I have to say you fit the required measures. Though, we believe that a stable relationship is important between the employer and their employees. So, Miss Yn, would you mind if I asked a personal question?”
“Huh?” you reply, glancing at him with big eyes. He shakes his hand, dismissing the possible misunderstandings.
“Not like that, of course not. It’s just a harmless question regarding the impact of work on our applicants. You can always refuse to answer.”
Swallowing, you smile back. Voicing a small noise of comprehension, “Go ahead, please.”
“All right,” he hums, pleased. “As you might know, office work is often underestimated. The toll it takes on someone’s shoulders, there’s always a risk of burnout.” You nod, he goes on. “Therefore, it is imperative for our workers to have a support system available. The question is… do you have this support system in your life, Miss Yn?”
What is this, kindergarten?
That’s an easy question.
“I do,” you reply, firm and sure. Why wouldn’t you?
“Great,” the interviewer replies, pen in hand as he ticks a box. “And who is it?”
Who?
“He’s… my uhm–” you freeze. The question echoes, hitting the corners of your skull. “He’s my…–”
Doctor?
Friend?
Best friend?
Family?
Boyfriend (?)
You know who it is. But who would he be to someone outside of your bubble?
To an outsider—to yourself—when has the line blurred?
Your lips part, the beginning of a sentence dying out before it gets the chance to form. The grip on your phone tightening, knuckles closing hard enough to leave a dent in your skin. “I have someone–” you begin, stuttering and losing yourself midway. Pupils flying to the blinding-white walls behind the man, the grand city outside of the transparent window, then to your phone. Anything but the interviewer, because you can’t imagine the disappointed skepticism that could taint his expression if you happened to look.
Say somebody else.
An easier answer.
A friend — anyone.
You pause, chest tightening.
Has there ever been anyone else?
“Miss Yn?” the interviewer interjects, perplexed. His practiced smile falters, head tilting as his brows knit a fraction — breaking through his standard facade to a state of confusion. Shaken irises meet him, noticing how he stopped writing, the ball of his pen hovering above the paper.
Shit.
Get a grip.
Your phone buzzes, screen lighting in your palm. Your attention immediately drifts to it, reading the text that fades in then out with utter relief.
You curse yourself for it.
“My friend. He’s my dear friend.”
—
The main entrance slides open, footsteps emerging from the quiet glass lobby into the oppressive walls of Seoul. An air of humid heat hits you, the noise comes after, blurring into the distance along with your vision and heavy drag of your feet against the pavement. The afternoon sun a whiplash from the cold concrete inside the building.
The people around you fall to blind eyes, your focus still plastered on your phone. Your thumb swipes across your contact list, ignoring Chris’ on purpose, searching for somebody else's name. Anyone that isn’t him that you could call, text, update your life to.
None.
You hadn’t thought of asking your high-school classmates for their contacts. Maybe because you weren’t close, or you never got the chance to get to know them. Weird, because you recall being class president. Where did everyone’s number go?
Chris had congratulated you back then. Actually, he was the one who put your name as volunteer. Another decision he made for you despite your reluctant opposition that day. You were shy by nature, he was the only one who knew and still made you do it and then he became the pillar behind each of ‘your’ responsible decisions as the vice president.
Really, it was just him behind the scenes while he glorified you to everyone else. Claiming that you were the one who put in the hard work.
You sigh, swiping the notification panel. Reading the message you received earlier, “Good luck, my dear friend.” you scoff, biting on your tongue. “How convenient…” You step off the curb, foot hitting the asphalt concrete on instinct. A sudden, deafening, blare of a horn hits you. Close enough to vibrate in your chest and spike the hair on your arms. A force yanks you to stumble back, brusque and unyielding fingers digging firmly into the fabric of your blouse. A hot gust of wind swooshes past, rustling your clothes.
The rough grasp around your upper arm lifts you towards the safety of the curb. Heart hammering against your ribs, diaphragm tightening from the adrenaline. A struggle to breath, your wide eyes blink rapidly, glancing at your saviour, trying to process his face. His expression contrasts yours, helping you keep up on your trembling legs. Pliable and vulnerable in his grip. “Be careful,” he says and your composure breaks further.
“Chris,” you reply, relieved yet worried. Wincing at the clutch his fingers has on you despite his solid stance and even breathing. He lets go, smiling down at you as if you hadn’t just experienced a near-death experience.
“How was the interview?” His voice comes off as smooth, comforting past the monotone of it in a way that you’re used to. “Did you get the job?” he goes on through your silence, palms easing the fabric of your blouse, dusting off your shoulders like a child who ran in snow. “Yn?”
“Huh?”
A warm hand cradles your jaw, sensing the rapid thrum of your pulse until it falls into a slower pace. “There we go,” he whispers, a praise to calm your mind. “I said, how was your interview?”
“Oh,” you respond, nodding absently, subconsciously leaning into his comfort. “I got the job.”
The memory of trying to find someone else to share the news wash over you. In the end, he’s the first one you got the opportunity to tell. Gulping, having snatched your chance yet again without meaning to.
Not like you were given many chances so far.
“I knew you would,” he acknowledges. His eyes fall to your slightly ajar mouth, then back to your gaze. The line blurs again when he looks at you in this manner. “You’re a talented girl, no way they wouldn’t take you in.” His palm soothes your nape, moving down to fix your collar at last. “I’m sorry I couldn’t text you sooner. I wanted half the day off, I was busy taking care of everything before rushing here.”
“Why?” The question is dumb. He isn’t scared to tell you.
“A bit ditzy, aren’t you?” he teases, you could mistake it for flirting. “Let’s go eat, let me take you for lunch.” he says, sounding like a romantic partner exactly like he does once in a while when he isn’t busy being your doctor. “A date.”
—
A bell chimes above your heads, the sizzle of the grills and the clatter of plastic bowls almost comforting. Nostalgic, though, you aren't paying much attention. Quietly lost in thoughts when he nudges you, his hand grazing yours before curling his fingers around your stiff ones.
“Do you remember?” he asks, glancing around.
You make a sound, inaudible but confused. Broken out of your trance.
He huffs, “Now you're offending me. We came here on graduation day. The owner even gave us a free meal for reminding her of her and her deceased husband's youthful passion.”
A breath leaves you, a small smile begging to crack as you try to remember. “What?” It's vague, however the floral patterns on the worn-out wooden table sparks something in your memory. Something faint and for a split second, you feel like a teenager hanging out with your best friend once again. The one who everyone thought you were dating although having denied all allegations.
Right now?
You're not sure how to describe what you have.
“Come on,” he tells you, guiding you towards an empty table of two. The food arrives shortly, the smell intoxicating with grease and everything unhealthy.
You glance at him, “Is this… okay?” you ask, eyeing the steaming food before you.
He tilts his head, observing you briefly as he sighs into a grin. “Once in a while is harmless. It won't affect your diet, why are you worried?”
Why are you worried?
“Because…” You're my doctor. Your eyes close momentarily, inhaling deeply, hoping to ignite any form of appetite left in you. “You're right,” you laugh it off, shaking your head. “It's okay once in a while.”
He hums, picking up a spoon and handing it to you. “If you're too weak to use chopsticks,” he mentions, noting the insignificant tremor in your hands. “You should eat, it might get cold.” His tone is gentle, urging you to bring a spoonful to your reluctant lips. Nudging it to your mouth as you open, forcing the food down your throat through an act of kindness.
“It's good, isn't it?”
You nod, smiling with your cheeks full as you chew. Chew and chew. You notice he doesn't eat until you do, holding you the proper utensils and pushing small side dishes closer each time you swallow. The food is a wet lump in your throat under his intense care.
You can feel him studying you, having reminded him of who he was at last. If he isn't your friend, he is… “You've been getting duller, did you eat what I sent you last night?”
“I have–” you blurt out almost instantly. “All of it.” A truth basked in a lie, keeping the fact that you threw up the entirety of it throughout the night. The taste of being watched itchy on your skin; acidic at the back of your throat.
A beat passes, his eyes tracking yours to your plate. Thumb tapping against the table, a subtle habit you developed whenever you'd hide something from him. He says nothing, spine straightening against his chair, slumping back in feign relaxation. The food won't pass down anymore, he notes. An awkward silence creates a wall between you, you're uneasy.
You pick a hammer, choosing to break each brick you've placed so far. “Channie,” his face lightens at the nickname; interest picked. “There's this app– I was wondering if we could like…”
“If we could?” he repeats, one arm flat on the table.
You bite onto your lip, wondering if this is the right option. You go on either way, “You know, those friends widget apps. You basically raise a digital pet together, you can send each other instant pictures, and…”
It's not like you're suspecting him.
But, “it also shares our location.” you say, offering him a bright and tight smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Voice hitting a pitch higher, honestly, you're nervous of how he'd digest this. Your thumb hits the table faster, masking it behind a playful tone but it does nothing at hiding your growing palpitation with the beat that passes.
He doesn't frown, he doesn't even ask for a reason. Instead, he looks at you. “Sure,” he replies, sounding pleased, hiding a mocking undertone that you wouldn't grasp on first listen. His shoulders slump, pocketing his phone out before sliding it on the table, towards you. The item a treasure laid on sand, gaze meeting in surprised approval from how easily he agreed. Somehow, that worsens the twist in your stomach. “Do what you want, I'll pay in the meantime.” He stands up, the chair screeching behind him. “You know my password.”
He walks off, body facing the other side. You grasp the opportunity like a lifeline, his phone falling between your palms. Cold and heavy in your hands, your fingers slick with sweat as you light it up. Opening his app store, typing in the app's name with fumbling thumbs. It hits download, he's still there, wallet in hands. The breath you take in is ragged, swiping back to his homescreen.
You search his gallery first. Anything, anything. Any picture of you that you hadn't sent him, that you weren't aware he's taken. Something that doesn't resemble that of a phone camera.
Nothing.
Going through his chats, you scroll past. His recent chats are just his assistant and patients, nothing weird. Everything professional even for you. You're pinned at the top, the contact he saved you as just your name.
Again, nothing.
Your eyes dart back and forth between the screen and the cashier's counter like a metronome. Counting the seconds, your fingers get wetter and shakier while navigating. Checking his apps one by one. “Please…” you mutter, biting onto the nail of your thumb. Pulling at it with clicks of your teeth.
Then.
Your heart falters, the world around you slowing down briefly. You hear the clink of his wallet, mumbles of him talking to the cashier. It falls to deaf ears — you've found something. An app he's hidden, he isn't the type to just hide apps. The name is unusual, you tap on it.
The app loads.
You're hit with facial recognition.
“Fuck,” you spill under your breath. You try again, endlessly but there's no pin option. What app only has facial recognition as biometrics?
It makes no sense.
You tap the screen one more time.
It freezes.
You freeze.
A second to catch yourself and realize that the app has locked his phone. You shake your heart, heart rate spiking with every small noise that hits your eardrums. You think you're hearing your pulse louder. “No– no,” you gulp. Thumb going wilding against the screen, praying that it'd just close the app already.
Desperate attempts that turn out to be useless. The pitiful tremor in your hands intensifies, wrists falling weaker in a pathetic endeavour. Eyes watering for what?
You can't help it, the frustration accumulates. A pressure cooker brimming tears at the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision as a shadow appears over the table. Behind you he stands, his footsteps halting. You let go of the phone, it stumbles on the table with a thud.
He says nothing, standing there in complete silence before reaching for his phone. No, he reaches for you. A steadying hand clasping your shaken one, a breath next to your ear and goosebumps rise. Staying. Anchoring until you've become a statue made of mud. Because to him, you're a cup he's made and molded with every twist and snap of his fingers. Reassembling you as easily as you break form. “I'll take you home. Get some rest, today was hard on you.” His voice is low, a whisper to your bare skin, his strands tickling the side of your neck with much softness.
You could mistake it for vulnerability.
If you didn't know him better.
—
The car ride is hell. An awkward and tense nightmare of the earlier incident looping in your mind over and over again. Your palms are still clammy against the fabric of your palms, you keep grinding your teeth, tongue poking out to wet your lips every now and then. The purr of the engine scrapes against your ears, building the pressure within the confinement of this tight space.
Chris shifts his hand on the staring wheel, your eyes fly to it then out of the tinted window of his expensive car.
He must know that you found the app.
What even was that app?
He surely knows, he knows that you know.
What now?
What do you do‐?
“You're sweating,” he remarks, his focus plastered on the road ahead of him. “Should I turn on the conditioner?”
“No,” you reply spontaneously. Air conditioner a torture to your boiling flesh, growing sick of it. He hums in response, perfectly relaxed. The normalcy of his actions makes you feel like you're the unhinged one. Like you're insane for the thoughts that pops up against your will.
Maybe that's the case.
You arrive home shortly after, escorting you inside by his agenda. The doorknob twists open, shoes slide and the cool floor meets your soles. His presence is a constant around you, a breath that you can't hear but tells you that he's here.
Present, for you.
Deft fingers curl around the strap of your purse, slipping it off your shoulder. Your hair comes next, a hair tie he stole from your wrist, gathering your hair to tie it up with gentle care. His knuckles brush the raw, sensitive skin at your nape; knocking the air out of your lungs when it lingers; breathing quickening as he unclasps your necklace. It falls to your collarbone, he catches it, setting it onto your table. His touch is affectionate yet authoritative at the same time. Steady and deliberate, aimed to prepare a prized animal for rest.
He guides you to your bedroom, and for the first time he gives you a glimpse of consideration. “Do you want me to step out for a bit?” A question for you. Your decision.
Not ‘I'll step out for a bit.’
He's so close, his voice a low, soft, register. You can barely think as you nod, ears flushing from dopamine. A swift, nonsensical flutter overrides your fear for a second, an illusion of security that brings warmth to your stomach instead of horrified disgust. He walks out with your response, the door clicking shut softly. You hear him trudge downstairs, assuring that he's far away before stumbling onto your mattress.
It creaks underneath the shock, palms rubbing and slapping your cheeks to knock out of it. Autonomy is the bare minimum he's given you, so rare that basic human decency feels like a reward. You stare at your closet, aware that it's not long before he'll come knocking at your door asking if everything's all right. Perhaps he wouldn't, and that you're just hoping to be able to predict him by now.
You are entirely transparent to him while he, however, remains an opaque wall of pleasant professionalism.
A game where your opponent knows exactly what cards you have in hand.
All the time.
It's not fair.
—
You leave your bedroom, dressed in lounge clothes. A hoodie and shorts, carefully stepping out to the sound of a trash bag rustling then a cupboard closing. Your steps stutter, stopping as you take sight of Chris moving things around. “Chris, what are you doing?” you ask, peeking over from upstairs.
He pauses mid-action, grabbing an empty bottle of water. “Just saw some trash loitering, thought I'd clean a bit.” Your lips purse, staring at him. “I'm coming upstairs in a few, go back inside.” he says, throwing your clutter in the rustling plastic bag.
You word nothing, however, your fists clench around the fabric of your hoodie, returning to the confinement of your room in quiet steps.
The stairs creak, announcing his arrival. His shadow blocks the doorway and you spot a patch of colourful beads onto your carpet.
The pills you spat out last night.
“Shit,” you puff out, using the heel of your foot to violently shove them underneath the darkness of your bed. Blood pulsing all over again with each stride he takes closer. Praying that he hasn't noticed.
“Get on the bed,” he instructs, your knees curve at the possible ideas that surfaces in your guilty conscience.
He sits down. You sit at the complete edge, almost falling off the bed with the distance you create between your bodies. You can still feel his radiating warmth, stealing glances at him once in a while as he shuffles through the movie options on your television. You hate how unbothered he acts, how he ignores the shared proximity despite your attempts at clinging to the side mattress, spine stiff and waiting for him to tell you to relax. Body conditioned to obey his voice.
You're guilty, ashamed and humiliated. Humiliated that the glide of his leg against yours is enough to spread a giddiness throughout your nerves. That he's the cause of your fear and blooming desire. You blame the setting of the bedroom.
It's not your fault.
How wrong is it to harbor affection for your friend of twenty eight years?
“You aren't paying attention,” he speaks, tilting the direction of your focus towards the screen. Using that tone. The one that's the cause of your sputtering frustration.
You crave bravery. You possess none, but you pretend to. “Chris… the app–”
He hushes you before you're able to voice out, blowing away all your attempts like a birthday candle. “You're stressed. Overthinking is bad for the mind.” It's a dismissive murmur, treating your panic as a child's nightmare.
You frown, lips separating into a breathless confrontation. “I don't like it.”
Silence.
“You don't like what?” He's still not looking at you.
“When you do this. Shutting me off–” your voice raises a tad higher although you hold no courage to turn towards him. “Treating me like I'm incompetent– like a child or a stray animal you decided to shelter out of pity.”
There, you said it.
He spares you a glance, at last. Face contorting to one of confusion, slowly tilting his head. The lines on his forehead furrowing in perfect skepticism, enough to give you a feeling of madness. That you're mad for accusing him of such. “Is that how you view it?”
“Yes,” you reply, voice cracking, shifting a centimeter closer. Closing distance.
“And how do you want me to treat you as of right now?”
Your chest heaves, frown mirroring his. Your neck is flushed from the blood pooling at your face, eyes falling to the meat of your thighs in shameful confession. “I want you to treat me like a woman.”
He pauses, jaw tensing and that's the most reaction you've pulled out of him. “You're asking for sex.” he remarks, reading your body like an opened manual. Dissecting your hidden feelings with a scalpel.
You fall into silence, you seek to deny it — but you're unable to. He seems to consider it, slowly breathing in. He heaves up, bridging the gap you tried so hard to keep and you're hit with false success. He hovers, a temptation when he holds your face, soothing you to sit up-straight against the headboard. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, drifting to the sliver of skin peeking underneath your hoodie.
He swallows.
“No,” he denies you.
For the first time.
Another first he's taken today.
“What– why?” you whine like you've been denied a gift on Christmas, throat drying in disbelief. He holds you dearly, sighing.
A big palm slides to your exposed leg, igniting sparks he refuses to dissipate. “Tomorrow is your first day at work,” he explains, the doctor's persona surfacing. “If we have sex today, your legs will ache tomorrow. It will be the only thing plaguing your mind, you won't be able to function properly for the entire day.”
“But–”
“If we have sex right now,” he interjects. “I will have to stay the night and take care of you tomorrow morning. Which is the exact action you're reprimanding me of.”
Your mouth gaps, a pathetic strangle coaxing out of your chest. “You're… you're impossible.”
“Interpret it as you want,” he replies. You try to put on a mask, to seem exasperated but you're just tired. Expression breaking any hint of sternness — of feign bravery — failing at reversing the dynamic, the idea itself getting robbed by immediate denial. “There's the real you. The girl I've known for years.” he hushes, thumbs wiping the tears that you weren't aware of spilling. Blankly staring at him until your eyes fail to stay open.
