#extradirty
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oozey mess
cherry valley forever
Not today Justin
ellievsbear
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YOU ARE THE REASON
if i look back, i am lost
official daine visual archive
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titsay
seen from Italy
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@wanna-plan-world-domination
Sorry guys I really dont think im gonna be up for writing anytime soon, its nice seeing i still get likes. I have too many mental issues that are all colliding and my medicine doesnt seem to be helping me like it was when I first started it last year so I dont know whats going on.
I think im abandoning this blog and creating a new one so I can freely interact with other blogs without feeling weird again.
that trend be going on on tt with black beatles cover x any fandom duo, so i did that with thangyu <3
Am I too late to the function..? Are thangyuers still alive?
「𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜」
❝𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.❞
➥ Chris(topher) x Reader (f) x Chris(tian) — 3.9k
➥ Twinsted, Double Trouble, Deranged Sexy
➥ Contains: "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Bangboss" a.k.a mindfuck galore, hotline bling action feat. Chris and his foul mouth, Avatar Sex™
➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the full disclaimer about this project, general warnings, and request guidelines. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Threesome with twins, manipulation, yandere undertones
➥ You’ve never believed in evil twins until you met your boyfriend’s brother, and you’re about to learn that there is no such thing as a “good twin” in the first place.
“H–He’s gonna stay at our place?”
The logistics are a bit confusing to an outsider. The parents named their sons Chris-topher and Chris-tian, but no one ever calls them by their full names—they are both known as Chris in their respective circles, which seldom coincide anyway. And during the rare times they have to be in the same room, people discern the twins by shortening Christian into Chan.
Because the older brother has asserted his dominance by being born one minute earlier, and claimed the exclusive rights to Chris.
“Yeah, but only for a few days until his apartment is repainted. It’ll be like I never left,” Chris launches his dimples at you. “I just didn’t want him to waste money on a hotel room, and he can keep you company until I return from my trip. Would that be okay?”
Goodie, WOULD IT?
It’s one of those “I swear it’s true, but I can’t prove it” things, which drives you fucking crazy. The younger one’s vibes are a bit… off, so to speak. He doesn’t smile; he just smirks. He doesn’t look; he eats you alive with his smoldering eyes, and it’s uncanny how it feels like he’s running his tongue all over your body when he just stares at you from across the room.
And he stares at you a lot.
“Of course, baby. If that’s gonna put your mind at ease…” you reciprocate his sunset smile as if your chest isn’t actively tightening.
You don’t understand how these two men were wombmates raised by the very same family. It’s not like one was adopted, or the other was sent to a boarding school during his formative years. Same upbringing, same schools, same classrooms even, yet the blonde one is giving full Joe Goldberg whereas Christopher is literally the perfect guy you know. Kindest soul. An absolute gentleman. Rare species of a generous lover who makes you scream into the night.
Which is why you keep asking yourself, “What is life?” every time you cross paths with Chan at the Bang house on major holidays.
To his credit, he’s not doing anything to warrant a formal complaint. At least not in front of people, so you spend half the time suspecting if things are happening for real or just in your head. It’s the way he looks at you that no one seems to notice. It’s the way he only ever talks to you when coincidentally no one is around you—running into you in the hallways, waiting to use the restroom after you, appearing in the kitchen when you’re picking up another bottle of wine to bring to the table.
And when he does…
“If I catch you looking at my lips one more time, I’m getting under that table and eating the shit out of your pussy. I’m warning you.”
Yet he whispers that lunacy so softly that your entire sense of reality distorts. He says it like he’s reciting a love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you, even punctuating it with a barely-there kiss on your ear. You hang onto that bottle of wine for dear life so as not to crash it into a million pieces and alert the household. They should stay blissfully unaware of the blasphemy taking place in the kitchen where the pleasant meal they are having was made with a lot of love.
And your mind has the hardest fucking time registering just how wrong this is because he looks exactly like the man you want to spend the rest of your life with!
Unfortunately for you, the confusion doesn’t stop at the Thanksgiving ambushes. He knows you like working during late a.m. hours, but he also knows damn well Chris might be sleeping right next to you.
Yet the texts he sends in the dead of the night…
Tian halfway through this gram of coke i remembered just how fucking beautiful you are and that im insanely in love with you
Of course you’ve thought about it. You’ve thought about talking to your boyfriend about his brother’s extremely inappropriate behavior that gives you extremely inappropriate butterflies, but seconds after your checkmarks go blue, the texts always disappear. No ‘Message deleted’ or anything; it’s like he’s never sent them in the first place. You’ve even tried screenshotting a few times as soon as you opened a text, just to prove to yourself that you’re not fucking hallucinating things, but all you’d get would be a black screen.
HOW DOES HE EVEN DO THAT?
What are you even going to say to Chris without solid evidence in your hands? Whatever you claim, Chan will just deny it, and you will look like the pick-me girl who thinks everyone in the room has the hots for her.
Yet here you are, about to live under the same roof with the very man that makes you question everything you’ve ever known to be true.
At your boyfriend’s request!
“Welcome, Chr— I mean, Chan.”
“There’s only one of us here. You can call me Chris,” he faintly smirks as he enters through your front door. “That’s what everybody calls me anyway.”
“I think it would confuse me,” you politely smile at him, “so I’d rather stick to Chan if it’s okay.”
“You wouldn’t be confused if you just sat on my face,” he scoffs under his breath.
“What?”
“What?”
You’ve heard it. You’ve fucking heard it! Five seconds he’s been here, and it has already started. You might just have to walk around with a microphone to catch the shit he blurts out on tape, but you’re not even sure if the mic will actually record it. Fuck, he might just be a vampire of sorts, and maybe that’s why he cannot be captured on media in any shape or form!
You should definitely ask him to stand in front of a mirror just in case.
“What you said just now…” you point your finger at him with furrowed brows.
“I didn’t say anything,” he purses his lips, looking at you with slight concern as if to silently ask if you’re okay, then proceeds to carry his bag to the guest room. “Thank you for having me.”
And thus begins the unbearable heaviness of breathing the same air as Chan because it feels like you’re inhaling mercury.
You simply don’t know how to act around him. He looks so eerily identical to his brother that if he covers his hair under a beanie, you just cannot tell them apart. It really feels like you’re having dinner with Chris, and it makes you feel weirdly guilty. You should be able to discern your own boyfriend without leaning on a hair color. You share a bed with this man. You share a life with this man!
“Is there something on my face?”
No, but you wish there were, and you wish it were something prominent. A freckle. A tattoo. Something. Maybe then you wouldn’t intensely stare at him while playing a spot-the-difference game all by yourself.
“Nothing,” you shake your head as you chew on your last bite and reach for his empty plate. “If you’re finished with that…”
“I’ll help clear the table.”
All you do is stand next to each other while doing the dishes, and you just cannot figure out why you get this intense urge to touch yourself. Is it because he wears the same cologne as Chris? Is it because he wears the same chains as Chris? Is it because he dresses like his entire wardrobe is sponsored by Chrome Hearts?
Just… WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!
Thank fuck the phone rings before you could even think about doing something thoroughly and utterly stupid.
“Hey, baby! Just checking in,” Chris chirps on the phone. “How’s everything?”
“GREAT!” you uncontrollably scream into the receiver. “We just had dinner. How was the client meeting?”
“Also great. Not to jinx it, but we’re sooo sealing the deal,” Chris brags, so much satisfaction dripping from his voice that you can practically see him grinning.
“Oh, we’re celebrating the shit out of it when you get back!” you congratulate him enthusiastically. “When are you coming home?”
“In two days,” Chris responds, his voice suddenly coated with a different kind of contentment. “Did someone miss me?”
He wears that cheeky overcoat on his voice, but it still flares something in your loins. You head to your bedroom with fast steps and close the door, taking your clothes off lightning fast.
“I miss you a lot,” you put the call on speakerphone for full hand-ependence. “Like… miss you miss you.”
“I miss you, too, angel,” he sighs longingly, his voice deliciously deeper. “God, I’d kill for a few licks from your pussy right now.”
THIS right there is fucking PROOF!
It doesn’t have anything to do with Chan. It never did in the first place because it’s just an optical illusion. If the man you’re in love with, the man whose children you want to have is projected right before your eyes, of course you’re going to react some type of way!
“And I’d kill to have you between my legs,” you sprawl on the bed more comfortably and start teasing your body. “God, it’s like you’ve been gone forever, baby. I need you bad.”
“Mm, how wet are you right now?”
“I’m soaking,” you breathily answer. “You’d slide right in.”
“Oh fuck yeah, I would. Dip your fingers in there,” he starts listing his demands three. “Get your nipples wet for me, baby. Play with them.”
You close your eyes and do as he says, your fingers prodding your entrance to collect your slick. You slowly coat your nipples, lightly pinching them, imagining it’s Chris’ gentle bites.
“Are you touching yourself, too?” you ask.
“Uh huh…”
“How hard are you, baby?”
“Belly bulge-worthy. If I bent you over right now, no fucking way you’d be able to walk straight tomorrow,” he confesses through his heavy breathing. “But it doesn’t feel half as good as your pussy. God, how I wish you were on my lap right now.”
His voice carries a jillion kilowatts, but it’s so soothing. It really feels like he’s with you, whispering his unhinged desires into your ear in this bed that belongs to the two of you.
“What would you do to me?”
“First, we make out. A lot,” he presses play on his imaginary sextape. “I kiss you deep, and you fucking drip all over me.”
“Mm, keep going,” you play with your breasts just like he wants. “Fuck, you should see this right now. My nipples are so hard, they are begging to be sucked on.”
“Imagine me holding you. I kiss your neck first,” he speaks with a sultry smile tucked into his words. “The wet kind, just the way you like.”
And imagine, you do. You imagine his lips on your skin, covering you with his wetness. You imagine him being buried deep inside you. You imagine him making little love confessions in between his filthy words, making you giggle midfuck.
“Down to your collarbones… Then your tits… Kissing all over them first,” he lets out a big exhale. “Getting you so horny for me, you shudder when I take your nipples between my lips.”
“Fuck, Chris…”
It’s like you manifest him right next to you through sheer willpower. He paints you such vivid mental pictures that you actually shudder. You actually feel licked. It feels wet.
It feels… wet.
When you open your eyes, the blond demon stares at you like your government-assigned incubus, sucking on your nipples. You inadvertently gasp when you realize that wasn’t a figment of your imagination, and he immediately gestures shush, then keeps licking as if everything’s alright with the universe. And now you’re fucking losing it because it’s…
It’s technically Chris!
“This isn’t enough, baby,” he groans on the other end. “God, I need to fuck your face. I need to put your pussy in my mouth.”
Chan lets go of your breasts and slithers down, kissing his way down to your crotch. You hold your breath as you watch him wrap his arms around your thighs, and when he hits that first lick…
…you WHINE.
“Feels good, yeah? Getting your pretty cunt licked,” Chris speaks like he’s clenching his teeth. “Feel me slurping on that clit… Licking into your oozing hole… Let me fuck that tight little hole with my tongue…”
And that’s exactly what happens.
Chris declares his wishes, and they come true one by one. Chan slurps on your clit as quietly as possible, but you can still hear the wet sounds. He dips his tongue into your entrance, licking you like your arousal is his sole supply of water, then flattens his tongue and buries his face deeper into you. You cannot believe what you’re seeing. This just can’t be real. Nope, you fell asleep in front of the TV, and your confusions as of late are manifesting in your dreams as a porn clip under the “Cheating” category.
“Fuck I need you to ride my face,” Chris’ breathing turns labored on the phone. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. Get what you need from your man.”
Chan stops his relentless licking, extremely proud of how he covered half his face in your slick. He removes his shirt and climbs up right next to you, guiding you to get on your knees and straddle his face. It’s as if you have no willpower whatsoever. You blindly follow your lust, living Chris’ fantasies in live action despite the questionable means.
“Wish I could keep kissing you everywhere,” he sighs. “Hold you in my arms while drowning in your slick, but keep kissing you. Kiss your thighs. Kiss your chest. Kiss your neck…”
“Kiss my neck, Chris…” you moan, holding onto the headboard for dear life.
A shockwave passes through your body when the disconnection tone is followed by an actual kiss on your neck. When you turn around, Chris doesn’t give you a chance to question reality and takes your lips within his, kissing you deep, deep, deep…
But something feels… out of the ordinary.
“You… kiss different,” you hazily speak when he pulls back.
“I do?” he smiles, pulling you off of Chan and closer to himself. “How so?”
“You never bite when you kiss,” you point out.
“Or,” Chan sneaks behind you, “that’s how he always kisses.”
He holds your chin and turns your face to himself, kissing you the deepest you’ve ever been kissed, and you’re entirely aghast. THIS is the pair of lips you are used to, but when you open your eyes, there is a severe mismatch between what you see and what you feel.
“Ch–Chris?” you hesitantly ask.
“You finally noticed,” he smiles.
“Wha—? Ho—? Y–Your hair…”
“Does it look good on me?”
You turn and look at the dark-haired man. He looks like Chris, but feels entirely different. It’s as if your actual boyfriend is possessed by a certain demon because you can clearly see a drop of something sinister in those eyes.
“But… you were so convincing on the phone!” you protest.
“When are you going to get this?” Chan gently caresses your cheek. “We are one and the same.”
“Don’t think, baby,” Chris wraps his arms around your waist, quietly speaking into your ear. “Just let this happen.”
Chan moves closer and kisses you, but this time he doesn’t bite. He moves softer than the clouds, wetter than the ocean, and deeper than an abyss, exactly the way Chris normally moves. The intensity amplifies when your man starts composing an obscene love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you on your neck with his lips. Your entire sense of reality distorts.
You can’t tell who is who or what anything is anymore.
“Tell me you love me, too,” Chan pleads, uncharacteristically sad eyes begging you. “For years I’ve been burning for you. Let me hear it just once.”
“Tell him, baby,” Chris encourages you, running his fingers through your hair. “He has suffered long enough.”
Suffered?
This has to be a dream, right? You look into Chan’s eyes, and one second traces of sinister are glowing neon crimson in there, and they are replaced with indescribable longing in the next. Then you look at your man, and his endlessly comforting eyes have the tiniest blotch of danger in them, something you’ve never ever seen before. When the confusion becomes too much, you say fuck it to everything. You don’t think.
You just let it happen.
“I love you, Chan,” you grant him his wish.
For the first time ever, he doesn’t smirk. He smiles at you so brightly that your chest sizzles. He dives in for another kiss as Chris lays you down, spreading your legs wide.
“Ready for your first taste?” he asks Chan, flashing the signature smirk bespoke to the younger one. He spreads your pussy for him, biting his lips hard at the sight. “Look at this. Sooo fucking wet, you could use it as sustenance for a week.”
Chan thickly gulps, his breathing suddenly stuttering. He slowly moves between your legs as if he’s scared, looking up at you with huge eyes like a puppy as if to ask ‘Can I please?’ The drastic change in demeanor gives you whiplash. It’s like they can swap their personalities on cue. And maybe the insanity has rubbed off on you along the way.
Or maybe it was sexually transmitted all along, who knows?
“Have at it, fucking psycho,” you snicker.
He makes your chest sizzle again with that bright smile and traps your clit between his plush lips, happily munching away. Chris kisses all over your body, astral projecting just listening to your delightful sounds of pleasure. It makes him hungrier. It makes him greedier. He suddenly feels this intense urge to diminish you into a pile of whimpering mess, then snort the shit out of you to experience the highest high of his life.
“Go lower,” Chris urges Chan. “I want a taste, too.”
As Chan moves down to your entrance, Chris takes over clit duties, lovingly kissing and licking you. He puts one of your hands on Chan’s head and holds the other within his, tightly intertwining his fingers with yours like he wants to anchor you to himself. You look down, and it’s like you’re seeing double. The same voice that sounds like an echo. The same face that looks like a carbon copy. The same texture of skin under your fingertips. The heavy breathing. The relentless hunger. The wet sounds growing louder and louder and louder.
The fire slowly smoldering within you is suddenly fueled by two tongues gliding on your most sensitive spots, turning it into a river of molten lava that demolishes everything standing in its path.
“Oh, fuck, I’m— God, yes. Yes, just like that. Like that, oh my god I’m cumming!!!”
The finish line is located so high that it feels like a free fall from Everest. Your climax hits like a thousand car crashes, casualties everywhere like a doomsday cosplay, and you watch yourself get out of your own body. If there were a licensed medical practitioner around, they would pronounce you dead for at least about thirty seconds.
The wetness reluctantly retreats when you start thrashing with overstimulation. You have ruined your sheets, and the two men seem to notice, judging by the extremely proud looks on their faces. Chan gets on his knees and gives his cock a few pumps, then carefully presses against your soaked entrance.
“Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he stupidly grins to himself, his eyes closed.
You kinda hope that he doesn’t. It would give you some taunt material for everything he’s put you through over the years. As he slowly sinks in with deep breaths, Chris keeps softly kissing your clit, relishing the way you squirm.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” he kisses your wrist. “It’s going to feel really good in just a second.”
Your swollen walls swallow Chan whole, and his entire resolve goes out the window. He rams himself into you as hard as he can, incredulous how it can feel like you’re sucking his cock when he’s buried deep inside you. He knows he’s going to blow in maybe ten seconds if he keeps moving that fast, but he can’t help it. He can’t fucking help how incredible it feels inside you. He can’t help sinking his fingers deep into your flesh, moaning your name over and over again, surrendering his soul to you one clench at a time.
But what’s interesting is that something about the way he fucks feels…
…familiar.
“Look at me.”
He opens his eyes and looks at you when you grab onto his wrists, slowing way down to calm himself.
“This isn’t the first time we’re fucking, is it?” you ask with a lopsided grin.
The brothers share a look that leaves no room for doubt that they are clearly busted. You expect a stern denial, but it never comes.
If anything, you hear a direct confession instead.
“N–No, but… fuck… but l–look how you’re stretching around my cock… See how it’s a perfect fit?” Chan pants. “We were made for each other.”
“We were made for each other. All of us,” Chris repeats, climbing right next to you, and lovingly looks into your eyes. “We love you, baby. Always have.”
“And always will,” Chan adds.
Chris pulls you into a kiss as Chan runs faster to the finish line. You suddenly feel this huge wave of emotion wash over you. You don’t know what it is, but it sure as fuck isn’t just lust, and when Chan spills inside you with an “I love you” that rips from the depths of his throat, it cements what you’ve been suspecting all along but could never admit even to yourself.
Tonight, you find out you are indeed in love with two men.
“Tired, baby?” Chris plays with your hair, a fond smile on his face, while Chan catches his breath on your chest.
“Overwhelmed,” you answer with your eyes closed, indeed tired but infinitely satisfied. “It’s… a lot to take in.”
“It’s okay,” he kisses your forehead. “We always have tomorrow.”
“I just need a few minutes of shuteye,” you kiss his hand. “Then I’m sucking your soul out of you.”
You let him bury his face in the crook of your neck and keep caressing Chan’s hair on your chest. A very pleasant fatigue envelops you as you listen to the soft breathing melting into heartbeats slowing down. You think about what Chan said to you earlier. You’ve always thought you know the man closest to you, mind and heart alike, but maybe you haven’t known him at all. Strangely enough, it doesn’t unsettle you. There are two bodies tangled up with you in this bed, but even though the suffixes may be different, they are one and the same.
They are just…
Chris.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to become a Chandwich with them.
「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」
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no thangyu week, just thangyu 🥲
this was supposed to be a quick little “get back into drawing” namgyu fashion sketch but instead it took 4 hours and now i’m sat here thinking about namgyu modeling thanos’ new clothing line
"Idiots," I say, referring to the characters I have spent hundreds of my real life hours contemplating.
Who remembers the high school AU?
O 🦑
If u had to pick a favorite song for each group you like what would u pick?
I listen to a lot of groups(and im only assuming nonnie means kpop) so heres the ones i listen to most and the songs, yes songs cause i really cant choose. i love making lists just never know how to do them so sorry if its odd 😅 plus its so hard to choose favorites imo, yall definitely gonna see my biased bands
extra sorry for being really late to answer 😭
BigBang- Bang Bang Bang/Last Dance/Ain't No Fun
Stray Kids- The Tortoise and the Hare/In My Head/Chk Chk Boom
Enhypen- Pass the MIC/Bite Me/Drunk-Dazed
Ateez- Choose/Bouncy/Adrenaline
Tomorrow x Together- So What/Stick With You/
Allday Project- Where You At/Famous
Zerobaseone- Doctor Doctor/Eternity
Exo-k– Overdose/Mama
Block B- 닐리리맘보(Nillili Mambo)/Very Good
Plave- Dash
Nct U- Baggy Jeans
heavy
Tutoring | Seungmin
Chapter Three
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
You wake up the next morning with your lips still tingling. Your phone is face-down on your pillow. You don’t reach for it right away. You lie there instead, staring at the sliver of sunlight cutting across your whiteboard, the red ink of your final project deadline mocking you. Due in three weeks. You should already be outlining. You should be color-coding. You should be panicking, at minimum.
Instead you’re thinking about the way Seungmin’s thumb brushed your knuckle like it was something fragile and important.
Your phone buzzes. You flip it over too fast.
Seungmin: morning glassgirl
still in one piece or did i break you
You bite your lip so hard it hurts.
You: I’m alive
Barely
Your extra thank-you was very… extra
The typing bubble pops up, disappears, pops up again. You can practically see him smirking at his screen in that messy apartment, hair probably sticking up, hoodie half-zipped.
Seungmin: good
wanted it to be memorable
also u left ur blue pen here
the one i gave u
come get it before i use it to doodle on my walls like a delinquent
You laugh under your breath, the sound startling in the quiet of your dorm room. He’s giving you an excuse. A small, stupid, perfect excuse to see him again without either of you having to say I want to see you.
You: i have class until 2
Library after? Or your place?
Seungmin: my place
library feels too public for what i want to do to you
Your face goes hot. You drop the phone on your chest and cover it with both hands like that’ll hide the blush from the universe.
You: Seungmin
Seungmin: what
I said “thank you”
Not “let me ravish you in the stacks”
relax boss
You’re still smiling when you finally drag yourself out of bed.
The walk to his apartment feels different this time. Last time you were here it was midterms and panic and the smell of weed and the terrifying realization that you liked him. Now it’s daylight, your backpack lighter because you don’t have his essay to fix, and your stomach is doing cartwheels for an entirely new reason.
He opens the door before you even knock, like he’s been waiting by it. Same black hoodie from last night, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from a shower. He looks… soft. Like the version of him that only comes out when he’s not performing apathy for the rest of the world.
“Hey,” he says, voice low.
“Hey,” you echo, stepping inside.
The door clicks shut behind you. For half a second you both just stand there in the tiny entryway, awkward and aware. Then he reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist the same way they did last night, and tugs you gently forward.
You go.
His kiss is slower this time. Less I can’t believe this is happening and more I’ve been thinking about this since I left your room. His hand slides to the small of your back, warm through your shirt. You fist the front of his hoodie again because apparently that’s your move now.
When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“Still not glass,” he murmurs.
“Still not emotionally stunted,” you whisper back.
He huffs a laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Liar. I’m working on it.”
You spend the next hour on his sagging couch pretending to study.
You have your laptop open to final project notes. He has his own notebook balanced on one knee, pretending to brainstorm ideas for the next assignment even though the semester is basically coasting now. Every few minutes one of you glances over and the pretending falls apart.
He doodles a tiny cartoon version of you in the margin of his notes, stern eyebrows, little speech bubble that says fix your thesis. You retaliate by stealing his pen and writing don’t be late in perfect blue ink across the top of his page.
He retaliates by pulling you into his lap.
You yelp, laptop nearly sliding to the floor. He catches it one-handed and sets it on the coffee table without looking away from you.
“Hi,” he says, hands settling on your hips like they belong there.
“Hi,” you answer, a little breathless. Your knees bracket his thighs. This is new territory. Dangerous, wonderful territory.
He leans up and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot just under your ear that makes your breath hitch. “You smell like highlighter ink and anxiety,” he mumbles against your skin. “It’s weirdly hot.”
You smack his shoulder. “Rude.”
“Honest,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are clearer today. No red edges, no lazy glaze. Just him. “You okay with this? Us? Whatever this is?”
You trace the collar of his hoodie with one finger. “I’m okay with it. Terrified, but okay.”
“Good,” he says. “Me too.”
A beat of silence. Then, because you’re still you, you ask, “Do you… want to talk about the dealing thing?”
His shoulders tense under your hands.
You feel it immediately and backtrack. “You don’t have to. I just, I don’t want to pretend it’s not part of your life if we’re doing this.”
He exhales through his nose, head tipping back against the couch. “It’s not glamorous. It’s just… easy money. My parents cut me off last year after I dropped a bunch of classes. Rent’s due. Food’s due. Weed helps me not think about how much I suck at being a functional adult.”
You nod, slow. “I’m not asking you to quit for me. I’m just… asking you to be careful. And maybe tell me when it gets bad instead of smoking until you forget.”
His eyes find yours again. Something raw flickers there.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can try that.”
You lean down and kiss him because you don’t know what else to say. He kisses you back like a promise.
Later, you’re both on the floor eating cheap ramen straight from the pot because his one clean bowl is currently holding a dying succulent. He’s cross-legged, hoodie half-zipped, stealing noodles from your chopsticks every time you look away.
“You know,” he says around a mouthful, “you’re gonna have to meet my friends eventually.”
You freeze mid-bite. “Friends?”
“The guys I sell to. Also the guys I actually like. They’re loud. Chaotic. One of them, Chan, will probably try to adopt you immediately.”
You set your chopsticks down. “Do they know about… us?”
“Not yet.” He shrugs. “I don’t usually do the whole ‘introduce the girl I’m dating’ thing. Mostly because there hasn’t been a girl I’m dating.”
Your heart does the stupid flip again.
“Dating,” you repeat softly.
He glances at you, suddenly shy. “If that’s… what you want to call it.”
You smile, small and real. “Yeah. I want to call it that.”
He ducks his head, ears pink, and steals another noodle like it’s revenge for making him admit it.
That night you don’t stay over.
You have an 8 a.m. lecture and a group project meeting and the crushing weight of your own expectations. But when he walks you back to your dorm, hood up, hands in his pockets, shoulders brushing yours every few steps, you feel lighter than you have in months.
At your door he kisses you again, quick and sweet, like he’s still testing the waters.
“Text me when you’re in bed,” he says. “So I know you didn’t turn to glass on the way home.”
You roll your eyes but you’re grinning. “Yes, boss.”
He laughs, low and warm, and waits until you’re inside before he turns to leave.
You close the door, lean against it, and let yourself feel everything.
Seungmin: in bed yet or still color-coding your dreams
You smile at your phone in the dark.
You: In bed
Thinking about you
Seungmin: same
Night star student
You fall asleep with your phone on your chest and his last text glowing on the screen, heart full in a way that feels dangerously close to enough.
The first week after the kiss you both move carefully. Campus is small. Gossip travels faster than Professor Kim’s red pen. You’re still the front-row star student with the color-coded planner. He’s still the guy who shows up to class only when he feels like it and smells faintly of whatever he’s selling behind the music building. So you keep it quiet.
You text instead of call. You meet at his apartment instead of the library. You steal kisses in the narrow hallway outside your dorm when no one’s around, quick and breathless like teenagers who know they’re breaking curfew. He walks you home most nights anyway, hood up, shoulders brushing yours, and you pretend the thrill in your stomach is just the night air.
But secrets have a way of feeling heavier the longer you carry them. You’re in your usual spot in the lecture hall, front row, notebook open, highlighter cap between your teeth, when Seungmin slips in late. He doesn’t sit in the back like always. He slides into the empty seat two rows behind you, close enough that when you glance over your shoulder he’s already looking.
His mouth curves, small and private. You turn back around fast, cheeks warm, and spend the rest of the hour hyper-aware of his presence. Every time Professor Kim praises an example you gave last week, you feel his eyes on the back of your neck like a touch.
When class ends you pack up slowly, pretending to organize your pens. He waits by the door, leaning against the frame like he belongs there.
“Star student,” he murmurs when you reach him. “Nice participation today.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, bumping his arm. “People are looking.”
“Let them.” But his voice is soft. He falls into step beside you anyway, hands in his hoodie pockets, keeping just enough distance that it doesn’t scream couple.
You make it halfway across the quad before someone calls your name.
“Hey! Tutor girl!”
You freeze. It’s Jisoo, one of the girls from your study group. She’s waving, bright smile, backpack swinging. Behind her are two more people from your circle: Minho and a guy you don’t know well.
Seungmin’s shoulder brushes yours once, deliberate, then he steps half a pace away.
You paste on your practiced smile. “Hey, what’s up?”
Jisoo’s eyes flick to Seungmin, then back to you. “We’re grabbing coffee before the group project meeting. You coming? We need your brain for the thesis section.”
You feel Seungmin tense beside you. Not obviously. Just the slightest shift in his posture.
“I, uh..” You glance at him. He’s already looking away, jaw tight, the easy warmth from two minutes ago gone.
Minho notices too. His eyebrows lift. “Wait… is that..?”
“Yeah,” Seungmin says before you can answer. His voice is the lazy drawl he uses with everyone else. “I’m the guy she’s tutoring. Or was. Whatever.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ll catch you later.”
He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Just turns and starts walking toward the path that leads off campus, hood going up like armor. Your stomach drops.
Jisoo’s still talking, something about deadlines, but you’re already moving.
“Rain check,” you say quickly. “I forgot I have… something.”
You don’t wait for their confused looks. You jog after him, heart hammering. “Seungmin.”
He doesn’t slow down. You catch his sleeve at the edge of the quad, pulling him behind the big oak tree that everyone uses for dramatic conversations.
He stops. Turns. His face is carefully blank.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say.
“Do what?” He leans against the tree, arms crossed. “Play the part? I’m good at it. Everyone already thinks I’m the burnout you’re stuck babysitting.”
“That’s not..”
“It is.” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge. “Your friends are the type who’d lose their minds if they knew you were letting the campus dealer put his hands on you.”
You flinch.
He sees it and immediately looks away, jaw working. “Sorry. That was shitty.”
You step closer anyway. “I don’t care what they think.”
“Yeah?” He laughs once, hollow. “You care about everything else. Your GPA. Your scholarship. Professor Kim’s opinion. The way your parents look at you like you’re their only shot at bragging rights.” His eyes meet yours again, softer now but still guarded. “I just… I don’t want to be the thing that fucks any of that up.”
You reach up and tug his hood down so you can see his face properly. His hair is messy from the wind. He looks tired in the way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“You’re not fucking anything up,” you tell him. “You’re the only thing that feels right right now.”
He stares at you for a long beat. Then he exhales, shoulders dropping, and pulls you in by the waist. Right there behind the tree, in broad daylight, where anyone could walk by.
His kiss is urgent this time. Not careful. Like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you before the world remembers you’re supposed to be opposites. When he pulls back he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m trying not to run,” he murmurs. “But it’s hard when I keep remembering how different our lives are.”
“I know,” you whisper. “But I’m not glass, remember? And you’re not emotionally stunted anymore. We’re both figuring it out.”
He kisses you again, slower, like a promise.
That night he texts you at 11:47 p.m.
Seungmin: u still up or did u fall asleep color-coding ur feelings
You: Still up
Thinking about you being an idiot earlier
Seungmin: rude
but fair
Seungmin: my place tomorrow?
No studying
Just… us
I’ll even clean the couch
You smile at your phone in the dark of your dorm room.
You: I’ll bring takeout
Seungmin: night star student
Dream of me being less of a dumbass
You fall asleep with your hand curled around your phone like it’s his fingers.
The next afternoon you show up at his door with two bags of Chinese takeout and a knot of nerves in your stomach.
He opens it wearing the gray hoodie you like, the one that smells like him and laundry detergent. No weed scent. His eyes are clear and a little nervous too.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
You step inside. The place is… better. Not spotless, but the coffee table is cleared except for two plates and a couple of candles he definitely stole from somewhere. There’s a blanket folded over the back of the couch.
You set the food down and turn to him.
He’s already watching you.
“I talked to my friends,” you say before you can chicken out. “Not everything. Just… that I’m seeing someone. And that he’s important.”
His eyebrows lift. “You did?”
“Yeah.” You step closer. “They’ll meet you eventually. When you’re ready. No pressure.”
He swallows. Then he reaches out and pulls you against him, arms wrapping around your waist like he needs the anchor.
“Thank you,” he says into your hair. “For not hiding me.”
You hug him back tighter. “Never.”
He kisses the top of your head, then your temple, then tilts your chin up so he can kiss your mouth properly. The takeout goes cold on the table. Neither of you cares.
Later, you’re tangled on the couch under the blanket, his head in your lap while you play with his hair. He’s half-asleep, one hand resting on your thigh like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Seungmin?” you ask softly.
“Hmm?”
“You know you don’t have to be perfect for me, right? I like the messy parts too.”
He opens his eyes. Looks up at you with that raw honesty he only lets out when it’s just the two of you.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m starting to believe you.”
You lean down and kiss him upside down, awkward and perfect.
You’re halfway through your third energy drink when your phone lights up on the library table.
It’s not Seungmin this time. It’s your mom.
Mom: honey just got the midterm grade report from your advisor
A- in modern fiction?? what happened??
You stare at the message until the words blur. An A-minus. One tiny hyphen that shouldn’t feel like a guillotine, but it does. Your scholarship review is in two weeks. The email from financial aid is still open on your laptop: Satisfactory Academic Progress required, any drop below 3.7 GPA will result in probation.
You type back with shaking thumbs.
You: Just one assignment. I’ll fix it. Love you.
Then you shove your phone in your bag, stack your highlighters like tiny soldiers, and try to breathe. You fail.
By the time you make it to his apartment it’s dark out, your eyes are stinging, and you’re wearing the same hoodie you stole from him last week because it still smells like him and safety.
He opens the door before you knock, again, and the second he sees your face his smirk drops.
“Star student,” he says softly. No teasing. Just worry. “Come here.”
You step inside and let him pull you straight into his chest. No questions. No jokes about glass. Just his arms wrapping around you tight, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. You bury your face in his hoodie and let yourself shake for exactly ten seconds.
He doesn’t say anything until you pull back.
“Talk or distract?” he asks, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Both,” you whisper. “But mostly talk.”
He nods once, leads you to the couch, and tugs you down so you’re half in his lap, legs tangled. The coffee table has actual plates this time, ramen again, but with an egg cracked in each bowl and green onions he clearly chopped himself. There’s even a little bottle of your favorite hot sauce.
You stare at it.
“You cleaned,” you say, voice cracking.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He picks up a fork and hands it to you. “Eat first. Then we’ll spiral.”
You eat. He watches you like you might disappear if he blinks. When the bowls are empty he sets them aside and pulls you fully into his lap, arms looped around your waist.
“Scholarship?” he guesses quietly.
You nod against his shoulder. “A-minus. My mom already knows. Financial aid is watching me like a hawk. If I slip even a little, ”
“Hey.” He tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. “You’re not slipping. You’re human. One hyphen doesn’t erase three years of perfect.”
You laugh, wet and bitter. “Tell that to the people who think I’m supposed to be perfect.”
“I don’t think you’re perfect,” he says. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I think you’re the girl who got high for the first time in my disaster apartment and still managed to fix my entire life. I think you’re the girl who chooses me even when it’s messy. That’s better than perfect.”
Your eyes burn again, but this time it’s different.
“I’m scared,” you admit. “What if I mess everything up? What if I drag you down with me?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Baby, I’ve been dragging myself down for years. You’re the only thing pulling me up.” He pauses, then adds quieter, “And I’m not letting you fall. Not alone.”
You kiss him then, slow, grateful, a little desperate. He kisses back like he’s trying to pour every unsaid thing into it. When you break apart you’re both breathing harder, foreheads pressed together.
“I told Jisoo and Minho about us yesterday,” you say against his mouth. “Properly. Not just ‘seeing someone.’ I said your name.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “And?”
“They were… surprised. But not mad. Jisoo said she always thought you were hot in a ‘mysterious and probably trouble’ way.” You roll your eyes. “Minho just asked if you were going to corrupt me.”
Seungmin smirks, but there’s real relief in it. “I’m working on the corruption part slowly. One stolen blue pen at a time.”
You laugh for the first time all day.
He shifts you gently so you’re straddling his lap properly, hands sliding under the hem of your hoodie to rest warm against your lower back.
“Stay tonight?” he asks. Not pushy. Just hopeful. “No expectations. Just… sleep here. Let me be the one who takes care of you for once.”
You hesitate half a second, your 8 a.m. lecture, your planner, the color-coded panic waiting in your dorm, then nod.
“Okay.”
He smiles, small and real and so proud of you it makes your chest ache.
Later, after you’ve brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush he bought “just in case,” you’re curled under his blankets in one of his t-shirts. The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm.
“You know,” he murmurs into the dark, “I used to think the only way I’d ever graduate is if someone dragged me kicking and screaming. Never thought it’d be a girl with color-coded notes and a savior complex.”
You poke his side. “I do not have a savior complex.”
“You absolutely do.” He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles. “But I like it. I like that you saw me and decided I was worth saving anyway.”
You tilt your head up to look at him. Moonlight from the crooked blinds stripes across his face.
“I didn’t save you,” you whisper. “We saved each other.”
He swallows hard. Then he kisses you, deep and slow and sure, like he’s sealing a promise.
When you finally fall asleep, his arm is locked around your waist, your leg thrown over his, and for the first time in weeks the knot in your chest feels looser.
Your phone stays on silent on the nightstand.
Seungmin (sent at 2:14 a.m. while you were already asleep): still not glass
still not running
love you for both of those things
night star student ❤️
You see it in the morning, sunlight spilling across his sheets, his arm still around you like he never let go.
tag list: @puppymsworld @royallavenderlilac @clairementsolo @1giss4swft3 @hannalegie @stilesstilinskiforlife-blog @skznoir @doodlebob2005 @chandlxa @keymeadoww @cchapssaltteok @kloversung @g0obz @channies-babygurl @lucyysthings @foppishitudinality @ellyyyysstuff @rylea08 @tteokbbokkari @nyaaa-cat @chuahuahua @applesrpeak @thicccurls @pinknymphkisses @zeezo554 @mikachux3 @iconicallyher @sanniix33 @lalalili435 @bbokarismeow @delightful-light @karlee10261990 @readmyeulogy @nougatjade @trisha-dear @Alondra6011 @bangingchanxx @sugarcoathan @theartisticlibrarian @cervidsong @hunter-or-the-hunted @143straykidsot8 @bokkiesluv @iknowhertoo @leewayout @hales2hot @zosauce @jeonginsfavglazer @vanpalmerlover33 @sapphirewaves @supernaturalsunny @seungpymin @amenabi @theaknowsstuff @Leeknowsbigtoe @amenabiii @geni-627 @jiniiya @radmars @tatinasdiary @lostinmymind-daydreaming
⠀⠀⠀⠀«An analysis of dozens of videos, hundreds of photos, every tiny detail of his looks. Subong knew Nammi’s favorite makeup brand. Knew he liked iced mochas with white chocolate. Knew Nammi wasn’t really into lo-fi, like he said in his videos - it was 2010s EDM. Subong found his neighborhood from a reflection in his glasses. Figured out what toothpaste he used. Knew his blood type. Calculated the asymmetry in his walk. Estimated his hip measurements based on proportions on screen.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Subong knew more about Nammi than Nammi knew about himself. What he didn’t know was what to do with all of it.»
(yes it's YT-Thanos + webcam Namgyu AU)
English Lessons | Nam-gyu
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Summary: You surprise Nam-gyu by speaking perfect English to tourists on the streets and then he asks you to teach him some
Warnings: None
Word Count: 990
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The streets of Myeongdong were packed with the usual evening chaos, neon signs flickering, street food carts hissing, tourists weaving through the crowd like lost puppies. Nam-gyu kept his arm slung loosely around your shoulders, thumb brushing the sleeve of your coat in that absent, protective way he always did when you were out together. He wasn’t much for big public displays, but he liked keeping you close. After everything the two of you had survived, he said small touches felt like proof you were still here.
“You hungry?” he asked, voice low and rough around the edges like always. “There’s a good tteokbokki place up ahead. I’ll fight the line for you.”
You laughed, leaning into his side. “You always say that and then complain the whole time we wait.”
He smirked, the little scar on his cheek pulling with it. “Worth it if you smile at me like that.”
You were still teasing him when the tourists appeared, two girls in their early twenties, backpacks slung high, phones out, looking equal parts excited and overwhelmed. One of them spotted you and Nam-gyu and hurried over, English spilling out in a rush.
“Excuse me! Hi, sorry, do either of you speak English? We’re so lost. We’re trying to get to the Namsan Tower cable car station but Google Maps is being useless and..”
You felt Nam-gyu tense beside you, already opening his mouth to say the usual sorry, no English that most Koreans defaulted to in these situations. But you stepped forward smoothly, switching languages without missing a beat.
“Hey, no worries at all,” you said, your British-accented English crisp and natural from four years at university in Manchester. “You’re actually really close. See that big orange sign up there? That’s the start of the pedestrian street. Keep going straight for about eight minutes, then take the left fork at the big Hello Kitty store. The cable car entrance will be on your right after the steps. You can’t miss the red lanterns.”
Both girls blinked at you like you’d performed magic.
“Oh my god, thank you so much,” one breathed. “Your English is perfect! Are you from here or..?”
“Born and raised in Seoul,” you replied with a warm smile, “but I studied in the UK for a bit. Enjoy the view up there, it’s worth the wait.”
They thanked you again, waving as they hurried off. You turned back to Nam-gyu, expecting him to tease you about your “fancy foreigner talk.”
He was staring with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide in that rare, unguarded way he only ever got when something genuinely surprised him. The tough-guy mask had slipped completely.
“You… speak English?” he asked in Korean, voice quieter than usual. “Like, proper English? Not just the tourist stuff?”
You shrugged, cheeks warming a little under his intense gaze. “I did my degree in Manchester. Lived there for four years. I just… never brought it up. It never really came up between us.”
Nam-gyu let out a short, disbelieving laugh and dragged a hand through his hair. “Never came up? Jagiya, I’ve been walking around thinking my girlfriend only knows enough English to order coffee and say ‘thank you.’ And you just gave those girls directions like you were born in London.” He shook his head, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his face. “You’re full of secrets, huh?”
You poked his chest. “Not secrets. Just… things I haven’t needed to use around you.”
He caught your hand and laced your fingers together, pulling you closer until your foreheads almost touched. “I like it. A lot.” His voice dropped, rough and fond. “Makes me feel like I still get to learn new things about you every day.”
The rest of the evening passed in easy warmth, tteokbokki shared from the same plate, his jacket draped over your shoulders when the wind picked up, quiet stories about your uni days that made him listen like you were telling him the plot of his favorite movie.
Later, back at his small apartment, you were curled up on the couch with him, your legs across his lap while some random variety show played on low volume. Nam-gyu had been quiet for a few minutes, fingers tracing lazy circles on your ankle.
“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Teach me something.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“English. The important stuff.” He looked almost shy, which was rare enough to make your heart flip. “Not the boring tourist phrases. The stuff I actually want to say to you.”
You sat up a little, smiling. “Okay. Repeat after me.”
He straightened like he was preparing for battle.
“I love you,” you said softly.
He repeated it carefully, accent thick and clumsy but sincere. “I love you.”
Your chest went warm. “Good. Now… ‘You’re beautiful.’”
He tried it, butchering the ‘th’ sound in the cutest way possible. “You’re beautiful.” Then he leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. “But I already say that in Korean. Keep going.”
You laughed. “Fine. ‘Stay with me.’”
“Stay with me,” he echoed, voice lower this time. His hand slid up your calf, warm and steady.
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “And the most important one… ‘I’m yours.’”
Nam-gyu’s eyes softened. He repeated it slowly, then pressed his forehead to yours.
“I’m yours,” he whispered in English. Then, switching back to Korean like the words felt safer there, “And you’re mine. Even if you secretly speak fancy British English and could probably run off to London anytime you wanted.”
You kissed him slow and sweet, tasting the faint spice of tteokbokki and the comfort of home.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured against his lips. “Not when my favorite person still needs English lessons.”
He grinned into the kiss, arms wrapping around you tighter.
“Good. Because I’m a slow learner. Might need you to teach me every night.”
You laughed, already knowing you’d happily spend every night doing exactly that.
Tag list: @arigyy @hannalegie @phoebe-the-autism-fairy @readmyeulogy @seungpymin
Growing up on the internet it was drilled into us to not give our real name, age, etc. only for all these social platforms to turn around and be like 😦☝️ um actually, we really need your social security number, credit card, and full government ID.
(Based on this!)
