For everyone who has read my Hyunjin Dolly fic, I'm making this post where you will be able to comment if you want to be added or removed from the taglist to this series.
The series will consist of 9 chapters, each for one individual doll, and they will tie in together in the final chapter.
I will edit this post more later, this is just to have the taglist in one place.
Here's a masterlist of what I have read and/or am reading on AO3!
Currently everything I'm reading is primarily SKZ fics (some have referenced TxT or ATEEZ and it's cute) but I'm generally just reading to read and learn what people are writing/passionate about. It's honestly enlightening, in a good way (most times). Reviews are below the cut. ♥
You can find change notes in the QRTs, where I list if anything was added, removed, edited, etc.
Also apparently this post got SO LARGE that I now have to break it up into pieces...will likely make a Google Doc of the Other Finished Fics section.
Number of fics I've finished reading: 114
my ao3: think143
🔖 - unfinished work
📗 - completed work
📖 - currently reading/tracking
My Favorite (Finished) Fics
(In order of completion, not best/worst or anything like that)
hands-on learning 💖 (E) 25.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Porn with Feelings, Friends to Lovers
My Notes: I thought I would have more to say about this one but it's just really really good. A nice quick nighttime read before bed. There's just something about the ones with "feelings revelation" that make me sooooo happy. And yes, all of the smut is *chef's kiss*.
MFA (Most Fuckable Ass) 💖 (E) 53.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, Professor Lee Minho, Student Han Jisung, Slow Burn, Daddy Kink
My Notes: I burned through this fic in an evening and I am fanning myself like a Southern woman in the heat of summer on her front porch. So incredibly well-written, and I've found a fic author that I'll be following closely for a long time.
don't leave me tongue-tied 💖 (E) 57.5k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Porn with Feelings, Light Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Fluff
My Notes: This was honestly really endearing to read and see actual feelings come to light. Author commented to say that it's based on a manga called "My Quiet Best Friend's Just Tongue-Tied", but without the dub-con elements. Well-written and reads easily; comical when it needs to be!
Haebang 💖 (E) 193.6k
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
Notable Tags: Fluff, Smut, Porn With Plot, Sex Work, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Explicit Consent, Subspace, Porn with Feelings, BDSM, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Feelings Realization, Safewords
My Notes: Okay, hear me out; there is a LOT going on in this fic. A lot. The point of the Haebang retreat is that each member specializes in helping you find liberation with one aspect of sex; be it intimacy, dom/sub, etc, and each chapter follows each member at the start before things start to get a bit more involved. However, any time I try to word why I like this fic so much, I simply cannot. Also Seungmin is a nerd and we love him for it.
instinct 💖 (E) 53.4k
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Reader
Notable Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Alternate Universe - College/University, Light Dom/sub
My Notes:This was the first ABO fic I read and it makes every other one I've read after it pale in comparison. I love how the author describes what's going on in the reader's head without over-explaining or spoon feeding it to us. The relationship between Reader and Chan, plus all of the other housemates, is so so so good.
come on home 💖 (E) 206.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Angst, Smut, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Violence, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Denial of Feelings, Referenced Homophobia, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Feelings Realization, POV Alternating, Gangs, Guns, Shitty Exes
My Notes: The guns are there for a split second, but this fic is very centered on a incredibly difficult to read domestic abuse situation, and the liberation from said relationship. There's also the orientation realization of another character, but that instills a lot of angst and fear of loss while reading. However, the fic is still incredible, a powerful read, and definitely on the recommended list.
Wannabe Poet 💖 (E) 134.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Bad Poems, Bullied Han Jisung, Friends with Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Exhibitionism, Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sexual Assault.
My Notes: I'm all about found family and I feel like this fic really hit the nail on the head for it. I loved the concept of this fic from the beginning. Han texts a bad poem to a random number and makes a friend in Minho. Most of this fic seems centered on Han becoming comfortable with his true self and what he wants, not what his family wants for him. I really love the love that he finds not only in Minho, but in everyone around him. ♥
Five Stars 💔 but 💖 (E) 420.7k
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Cannibalism, Dismemberment, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Some Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Grooming, Murder, Mutual Pining, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Implied/Referenced Suicide
My Notes: I have to stress so so so so much that the writing on this fic is one of the best I've ever read. HOWEVER, it's also one of the most fucked up pieces of fiction I've ever read. Mental health issues are at the center of this bloody, sexy, kinky fic. It would truly be a horror movie if it were put onto screen. Please please please make sure to read ALL OF THE TAGS on this fic before deciding whether to read it or not. I had to take frequent breaks but it was difficult to make myself look away because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I have never screamed so much at a fic before in my life. I cried at least six times and four of those were in the last 50k words.
Heart Song 💖 (E) 63.1k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Physical Disability
My Notes: I just...I cried so much during this fic. In this universe, soulmates are identified by a dream that people have on the night of their 16th birthday. They dream about a significant memory from their soulmate's life, and when they awaken, their soulmate's first impression appears on their body written in their handwriting. The only problem is that...Han Jisung is blind, so he has never seen anything. Lee Minho leads his whole life thinking that he doesn't have a soulmate, because he saw nothing in his dream. I LOVE the author's storytelling style, the way they use angst in believable ways, and the way that they bring the characters together.
Speak With Your Eyes 💖 (E) 164k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Space, Hybrids, Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Space Corps, Miscommunication, Slow Burn, ONLY ONE BED, Found Family, Smut
My Notes: A ROMANCE IN SPACE?! Lee Know is an android hybrid, and unfortunately this universe has a lot of not very nice things that are in place regarding people who are not fully human. Lee Know saves Han's life, then Han saves Lee Know's life, then Lee Know saves Han's life again...you get the picture. It's incredibly well-written, a lovely drop into a different setting than I'm used to, and devourable in a day. Will be following this author for a while!
so sweet like chocolate 💖 (T) 71.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff
My Notes: I cannot stop gushing about this fic. The mutual pining is written incredibly addictingly and just aaaagh! Lee Know is a librarian, Jisung is a student who has never visited the library before, Jisung may have accidently thrown a pencil at Lee Know...it all becomes very fluffy at just the right pace. I read this so quickly and when it was over, and the author's note popped up saying "and that's the end!" I had to check the % progress on my kindle. I would devour any further stories written about this story, but I am also okay with how it ended, and imagining what happens next.
The Curse of Saturdays (T)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
opposites attract (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
chances taken (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Let Your Love Walk In (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
LMCat_98 has joined the chat (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
i need you now, but i don't know you yet (M)
Relationship(s): SKZ Ensemble/SKZ Ensemble
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
he ain't heavy, he's ours (M)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/SKZ Ensemble
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
A Beautiful Mess (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
strawberry chapstick (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Promises to keep, we won't ever need
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Loves Me, Loves Me Not
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
After Lust
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
abode of the saints
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
why did we ever meet
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Lonely Street
Relationship(s): Lee Felix/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
break in case of emergency
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Finger Lickin'
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Poles Apart
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
boys, biology, and other inconveniences
Relationship(s): Lee Minho/Yang Jeongin
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Quaver and Storm 📖🔖 (E)
Notable Tags: SKZ Member/Reader, Dom/Sub, Fluff, Smut, Polyamory, Non-con elements
Leap of Faith 📖🔖 (M)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Kerosene 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Reader
The Stray Kids Gang 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
In Too Deep 📖🔖 (M)
Relationship(s): SKZ Member/Reader
We'll Be Alright 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho
Connected 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Original Female Character
I like the view right now 📖🔖(E)
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
The Force that Drives the Flower 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Lee Felix/Lee Minho
Animals Without Direction 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Everything you Crave 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
A Crack in the Glass 📖🔖(E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Sin 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Boyfriend for Hire 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Waiting For Us 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, OC/Hwang Hyunjin, OC/Lee Felix
You Are My Safe Space. 📗 (NR)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Reader
Ocean Sounds 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
I Kiss Boys 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Various ATEEZ/ATEEZ and SKZ/SKZ pairings
The Pink Rose's Promise 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Stalking Tiger 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): Lee Minho/Yang Jeongin
Wandering Eyes, And Spreading Thighs 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Other Fics I've Finished Reading
Due to Tumblr being a general jerk about post size, this is now in a google doc. You can view the list by clicking here. Sorry, I wish I could make this work better!! :(
Hey, have you heard of Booktower? It makes organizing fanfiction SO EASY. You can track like, what ones are your favorites, add comments, add when you finished them (or if you're still reading), and it gives you a ton of stats, too.
I'm slowly working on getting mine set up but I LOVE the tools so far.
Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers
Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.
———
A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.
‘How are you?’ - English
‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean
—————————————————————————
Luck was not on your side today.
It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.
Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.
Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.
Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.
“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”
You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.
It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!
Where is it? Where is it?
There!
You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.
A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.
The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.
It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.
Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.
After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.
Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.
Is that a 6 or an 8?
Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–
There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.
You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.
His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.
“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.
The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.
You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.
The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.
Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?
Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.
Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.
There’s a beat.
You try again, really putting your back into it this time.
“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.
“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”
You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”
The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”
You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.
Another series of blinks are exchanged.
“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.
You nod. “No… no Korean.”
A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.
“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.
“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.
“No.”
Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.
“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.
The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.
Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?
After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.
“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.
“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”
“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.
A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.
Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.
If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.
He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.
But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.
The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.
“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.
Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”
“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.
You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.
All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.
Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”
Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.
The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.
Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.
He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.
“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.
“A car accident?”
He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.
“Car accident,” he says in Korean.
“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.
Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.
“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.
Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.
The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.
You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.
The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.
He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!
Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.
The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.
After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.
‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.
The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.
“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.
“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.
Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.
‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’
Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.
‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’
A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.
‘Try learning Korean.’
Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.
‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’
Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”
He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.
‘You don’t have an umbrella.’
Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.
But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.
You type a message back to Minho.
‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’
He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.
“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.
Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.
Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.
You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”
A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?
No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.
Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.
Back to the app.
The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.
‘What do you do for work?’
‘What do you do for work?’
Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.
So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.
‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’
Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.
‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’
A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.
‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’
Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.
Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.
He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.
Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.
You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.
Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.
‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’
His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.
“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.
“You are welcome,” he answers in English.
His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.
After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.
‘Your turn. What do you do?’
Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.
His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.
You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.
He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?
Eventually, he turns the phone around.
‘I’m an idol.’
“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”
Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”
The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.
You type in your phone.
‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’
With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.
‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’
Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’
“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.
‘When do you go back to America?’
‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’
A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.
You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.
‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’
Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.
‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’
Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.
‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’
Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.
‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’
‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’
Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.
Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.
Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.
Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.
It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.
The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.
In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.
You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.
“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.
Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.
A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.
“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.
Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.
“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.
An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.
Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.
A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.
“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”
He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.
“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.
“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?
A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”
“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.
Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.
He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.
“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”
“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.
“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”
“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”
A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.
“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.
“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.
Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”
A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.
Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.
He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.
Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.
Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.
Is this really happening?
A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.
He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–
He’s shrugging off his hoodie.
Oh, he thinks you're cold.
Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.
Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.
It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.
Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.
“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.
How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.
“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.
Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.
There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.
It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.
‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’
Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.
‘I’m usually not.’
You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.
‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’
The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.
You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.
A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.
Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.
You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.
There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.
Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,
“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.
Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.
But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.
How is this even possible?
You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.
Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.
Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.
His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.
Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.
Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.
Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.
The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.
He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.
His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.
A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.
Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.
Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.
Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.
His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.
Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.
The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.
“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”
All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.
“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.
More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.
Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.
His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.
“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”
Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”
His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.
There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.
Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.
Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.
Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.
His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.
Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.
Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.
Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.
Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.
In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.
Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.
“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.
“No,” he says firmly.
“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.
“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.
“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.
“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.
You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.
“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”
“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.
Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.
‘Can I please buy you a drink?’
A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.
“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”
He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.
With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.
Welcome to Moonjxsung’s first ever Kinktober event 🎃 The following drabbles were requested by you and fulfilled to the best of my abilities pertaining to specified kinks or scenarios. Links will be added as requests are published daily during October. Please note that schedule is subject to change at any time.
🚫 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.
⚠️ No part of this content may be reproduced or used in any manner.
💬 The following prompts are strictly fictional and do not represent the Stray Kids members in any way.
1. Lee Minho x Hwang Hyunjin- Cuckolding
2. Lee Felix- Period Sex
3. Seo Changbin- Car Oral
4. Hwang Hyunjin- Needy
5. Han Jisung- Perv Best Friend
6. Yan Jeongin- High Sex
7. Bang Chan- Corruption Kink
8. Kim Seungmin- Locker Room Sex
9. Han Jisung- Tentacle Porn
10. Lee Felix- Popsicle Play
11. Hwang Hyunjin x Lee Felix- Threesome
13. Yang Jeongin- Oral Fixation
13. Bang Chan- Tied Up
14. Hwang Hyunjin- Friends with Benefits
15. Bang Chan- Drunk Confession
16. Seo Changbin- Size Kink
17. Lee Minho- Submissive
18. Kim Seungmin- Degradation Kink
19. Yang Jeongin- Breeding Kink
20. Hwang Hyunjin- Body Worship
21. Seo Changbin- Creampie Eating
22. Lee Minho- Fingering
23. Hwang Hyunjin x Han Jisung- Breast Worship
24. Han Jisung- Mask Kink
12. Kim Seungmin x Lee Felix- Friends With Benefits
Love prompt-a-day challenges? So do we, which is why we thought it would be fun to put together our own Kinktober list – assembled collaboratively with input from interested Duck Prints Press contributors. And now here we are! Welcome to the Duck Prints Press Kinks-Your-Tober challenge – 31 days of prompts, three prompts per day, loads of horny ideas there for the taking!
This is a rules-light challenge with no minimum word count or minimum art amount or whatnot. We’re kinking up your October, so anything goes! Pick one prompt per day or mix-and-match all three. Create fiction, art, graphics, playlists, or whatever else floats your boat. Fanworks or original works welcome. Combine our list with other October lists or don’t. Anything goes!! The only thing we won’t tolerate? Intolerance: no kinkshaming, shipshaming, fandom hate, etc.
We’re not reblogging or boosting works; this is a lowkey, for-fun challenge for y’all and for us. But, if you post your accurately tagged work to AO3, we encourage you to add it to the Kinks-Your-Tober 2024 collection.
Also, feel free to come hang with us on our Book Lover’s Server!
HAPPY KINKING, Y’ALL!
Full list in text form (read more):
Oct. 1: breathplay – sentient creature bestiality – collars
Oct. 2: incubus/succubus – heat sex – breast worship
Oct. 3: wax play – stone top – wartenberg wheel
Oct. 4: xenophilia – human furniture – tailfucking
Oct. 5: somnophilia – roleplaying – piercings
Oct. 6: age play – oviposition – rough sex
Oct. 7: nipple orgasm – suspension bondage – wireplay
Oct. 8: service top – watersports – clothing kink
Oct. 9: public use – tentacles – breeding kink
Oct. 10: pervertable – come inflation – cigar/ash play
Oct. 11: pet play – consensual non-consent – hair kink
Oct. 12: knifeplay – mutual masturbation – sensation play
Oct. 13: praise kink – fucking machine – wing kink
Oct. 14: ice play – magical healing dick – safeword use
Oct. 15: boot worship – clit/cock warming – melolagnia
Oct. 16: biting – cock-and-ball torture – rut sex
Oct. 17: sex work – size kink – hand/finger kink
Oct. 18: exhibitionism – face sitting – underwater sex
Oct. 19: blood play – vaginal/anal plug – merpeople
Oct. 20: belly bulge – chastity – figging
Oct. 21: objectification – voice kink – first time
Oct. 22: lingerie kink – dollification – fisting
Oct. 23: fire play – pampering – self-cest
Oct. 24: handcuffs – hemipenes/hemiclits – glory hole
Oct. 25: voyeurism – double penetration – S&M
Oct. 26: lacatation – orgasm delay or denial – kneeling
Oct. 27: overstimulation – dry humping – android/cyborg
Oct. 28: dendrophilia – creature shifter – impact play
Oct. 29: public sex – omorashi – electrical play
Oct. 30: sex pollen – cunnilingus/blow job – humiliation
Oct. 31: sex toys – power bottom – knotting
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Read part 2 here.
Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader
W/c: 26.2K
Warnings: depictions of bodily harm, descriptions of blood, mentions of drinking, dry-humping, oral sex (male receiving)
Synopsis: Conducting a series of interviews about up-and-coming boxer Bang Chan leading up to his title fight puts you in a complicated situation when you begin to develop feelings for him.
18+. Mdni!
•
“I believe the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”
•
Calloused fingers adjust the lavalier microphone a little higher up onto the collar of his button-down shirt- knees bent, legs spread to occupy a generous amount of space, even for a guy as big as he is. A gentle noise emits from the silver chain around his wrist as he interlocks his fingers together, twiddling thumbs and placing them neatly onto his jeans. And then he takes a deep breath, as the door across the room swings open, outlining your intimidating figure.
The room is tense when you finally saunter in, clipboard balanced in the crook of your elbow as you do your best to avoid eye contact with the subject of the video while you assume your position on the chair across from him.
Your hand darts out to greet whom you can only assume to be a manager of some sort, giving him a closed-lip smile and a polite nod before taking your seat again. And when there’s nobody else in the room requiring your attention, you let your gaze fall to him at last, doing a once-over of his intimidating figure.
Warm tan skin complements his lightened brown hair, swept neatly out of his face to reveal his narrowed honey eyes. His sharp eyebrows seem to straighten, pulling down into a stoic expression as he observes you right back. His wide nose flaunts a sharp bridge, much like the masculine jawline that clenches as he remains quiet- and juxtaposed against all of it, soft, plump lips, which form into a smile as he greets you, pulling back to expose a dazzling set of teeth.
“Christopher Bang Chan,” he says to you, reaching a hand out and clasping his fingers around yours. His grasp is firm, but intentional, like he’s making every effort to seem professional. And it’s nothing you haven’t seen several times before- in wrestlers, and swimmers and boxers alike.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you say to him, omitting any form of introduction entirely. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”
“Are we rolling?” Chan asks, gesturing to the camera with a wave of his index finger.
“This is just a test for my use,” you explain to him. “You don’t need to acknowledge the cameras.”
He gives an understanding nod, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat. And then, as the little red blinking light indicates that the camera is indeed recording, you begin to speak.
“Could you state your name for the camera? In a full sentence, please.”
“Hi,” he begins with a nervous chuckle. “My name’s Christopher Bang Chan. You guys know me as Bang Chan- or just Chan, really.”
“And you’re a boxer.”
“I am a boxer,” he affirms.
“How long have you been boxing?”
“I’ve been boxing for…” his eyes roll up to the ceiling, hand finding its way to his chin as he remains lost in thought for a moment. “About fourteen years. Started when I was twelve, never looked back. Still have my first pair of boxing gloves hanging in my mom’s house, if you can believe it.”
Amused laughter fills the room, Chan’s eyes forming little crescents as he thinks back to the bright blue Kanpeki sparring mitts that hang on a single nail in his parents’ living room.
“Chan- why boxing?”
“Why not?” He retorts with a cheeky smile. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Seriously, boxing…boxing is… something that makes me feel alive. When I’m in the ring throwing punches like I’ve been trained my whole life to do, and people are standing behind me who’ve been there the whole way and I can hear them cheering, I’m alive. There’s nothing else that matters in that moment. It’s just pure skill, pure passion for what I do. I don’t feel that way about much else.”
His accent is thicker than you’d anticipated it to be- a sultry, Australian accent accompanies his serious intonations, and he speaks as though he’s telling a story, pulling you in captivating you with his entire being. He sounds smarter than the other athletes you’re used to, as though he could have done a variety of career paths if not for boxing. At least something relating to speaking, you’re sure, as he concludes his response with a gentle nod.
“And you’re just months away from the biggest fight of your career,” you then say, cocking your head slightly.
“Can you tell us about where you’re at with that, mentally?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s really nothing I haven’t trained for before,” Chan replies candidly. “I’m at the gym training every single day, we’re working around the clock to make sure I’m at my best for this event. And at the same time, I’m new to title fights- I really have no expectations going into it. I just want to do my best.”
Chan’s lips purse together as he scans your expression for a reaction to his statement, but all he’s met with is a nod as you gesture to the cameras.
“That’s all we need for now,” you call out to the camera crew. “You can wrap up while we finish discussing.”
Chan’s eyebrows are raised as he glances around the room curiously, staff members conversing amongst themselves as expensive-looking cameras are disassembled and stowed away into leather casing.
“I’ll give you a minute,” his manager says, rising from his spot to rush after another staff member. And just as you’d feared, it’s just Chan and yourself at a painfully close proximity.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan chimes in from his spot on the chair, observing the way you shuffle through a stack of papers.
“Y/n,” you say plainly. “The interviews and filming will take place over the next month. Think of it as a sort of docuseries for sports fans- the next hottest thing since last year’s boxing burnout.”
“Hottest thing?” he repeats curiously. “That’s a generous compliment, I wouldn’t call myself the hottest-”
“Up-and-coming,” you correct him. “New, fresh. Fascinating to the masses. They love you now, they’ll be itching to see how you perform. And then you’ll be in the big leagues with all the other athletes. It’s the sort of people I interview.”
Chan purses his lips together again, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“How long have you been interviewing?”
“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say sternly. “I don’t expect anything from you. Just show up, give me answers and don’t be late. Anything else I can assist with?”
Chan searches for something to say, wanting so badly to work some of his classic athlete charm on you the way he has for his entire career thus far. But as you pull off your glasses again, tucking them into the pocket of your blouse, he realizes he’ll just have to come to terms with the professional dynamic you’ve so boldly established here with him already.
“That’s all,” Chan says finally. “I’ll see you at the next one, then?”
“Don’t be late,” you say again.
And he can still catch a glimpse of your ponytail as you exit, swaying side-to-side in tandem with purposeful strides as you disappear from his sight.
*
“How’d it go?”
“Standard.”
“Anything notable?”
“He’s a boxer, Lin. Just like anything you’d expect from them- immersed in his sport, rich, not much substance to him.”
“Then I presume the docuseries is going to be smooth sailing from here.”
Lin prods at a particularly thick piece of lettuce in her salad, an obnoxious crunch filling the silent space that falls over you both amidst the otherwise loud cafeteria. Of course it’s natural for her to draw this simple conclusion- one of the lead producers, she’s always heads down in the editing portion of your films, trimming out unnecessary dialogue and uploading B-roll to accompany the complex story behind your subjects. But it’s always the same story- soulless, busy men, far too consumed by their own masculinity and an insatiable appetite to win, no matter the cost.
At first it’s the local media who take a particular liking to them, publishing flashy articles about all their grand endeavors and illustrating the glass shelves of trophies their parents flaunt. And then by some “miracle”, sometimes a “gift from god himself”, they land a title fight- describing the opportunity with stars in their blank eyes, all the while still media trained to project a humble image. That’s where you come in, a journalist with a keen eye to see right through them, still earning the big bucks as you assist in upholding the headache-inducing humble image they’re so set on. And following a series of interviews, once they’re far too gone to even assimilate with normal folk like yourself, they’ll win said respective fight, make it on to the biggest blogs and television publications, and then effectively lose themselves to the new celebrity title. You’ve seen it several times now- in tennis players, wrestlers, swimmers. And boxers- especially boxers.
As you watch Lin poke around at the remainder of her salad, you glance at the room beyond her seated figure, where your colleagues are busy with their own lunches and still heads down in their work, laptops propped open and hands typing away as they chew. It’s always like this when a new series of yours is in its early stages of filming, everybody scrambling to prepare their notes and film work as the schedule is finalized. Not a minute can be wasted on a project like this- the subjects’ time is more valuable than anything right now. Every minute Chan graces the studio, every word he utters is footage, publication- more money.
“Y/n?” Lin questions, snapping you out of your visible trance.
“Hm?”
“I asked if you have everything you need.”
You ponder her words for a moment, thinking back to your itinerary, to the list of printed questions still secured on your clipboard and even Chan, the image of the lavalier mic hanging loosely from the collar on his shirt replaying in your head.
“I think so,” you say finally, shrugging and prodding your index finger at the still-wrapped sandwich that rests upon the table.
“Come on,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You just have to suck it up for a few weeks, and the pay-off will be worth it. Remember the last one? People are still crazy about that guy, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“Yeah, I remember. I’m just tired, I guess. It’s all so voyeuristic. It’s exhausting trying to learn the details of somebody’s life like this.”
“Voyeurism can be a good thing,” she interjects. “The more intimate this process is, the better. We want the people to know every inch of him.”
“I know,” you reply sheepishly. “You’re right.”
“We have to see right through ‘em,” she responds, securing the lid on her Tupperware and rising from her seat. “Hey, I have to go edit another thing. I’ll see you when the next set of footage is done, though?”
“Yeah,” you say to her, watching as she stuffs her belongings into a canvas bag and hoists it over her shoulder.
“This could totally be another big break,” she states, as she begins in the other direction. “This could be huge for us all over again.”
*
It’s typically recommended to arrive at least 15 minutes early to every studio interview. In some cases, 30 is more favorable. And yet it’s a notion athletes just can’t seem to comprehend most days, sauntering in well past the starting time with a duffel bag slung over their broad shoulders, not so much as an apology uttered as they assume their spot across from you.
And Chan, you learn very quickly, is no different from the rest.
“Sorry,” he says as he finally enters, your gaze fixed on the wall across from you as the floodlights illuminate his muscular figure in your peripheral vision.
You say nothing in return, gently tapping a capped pen on the exposed flesh where your skirt meets your upper thigh. And Chan takes reluctant strides toward you, cocking his head slightly as he glances around the room and gestures to the vacant chair across from you.
“Is this… should I sit down? Or…”
Your figure remains turned away from him, giving a small nod as you remain in your spot, ushering for Chan to take his seat. And he does, slinging his bag onto the floor and leaning back in his chair.
“Wow, it’s bright in here,” Chan remarks, chuckling lightly.
“You’re late.”
He’s quiet for a moment, swallowing nervously as he scans your cold expression. Narrowed eyes meet his, not a hint of a smile present on your pursed lips as you convey your vexation.
“I’m sorry,” Chan says nervously, his eyes softening in attempts to reconcile the tension he’s brought upon you. “My training ran a little longer than I hoped. I tried to leave early, but my coach-”
“Look,” you interrupt, finally letting your gaze meet his and sighing frustratedly. “I interview guys like you on the daily. You show up late, zero regard for my time or my effort, play the game and then win all the prizes that come with it. This is just a stepping stone in your career- I get that. Just please, could you at least try to make this as easy as possible for both of us so that we can be done faster? We’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be.”
Chan falls silent when you finish speaking, smoothing a loose strand of hair down with his index finger and nodding politely.
“I’m sorry,” he voices for the second time today. “It won’t happen again. This series is really important to me.”
“I would hope so,” you tell him. “Now state your name for the camera. Full sentence, please.”
“This camera?” He inquires, pointing at one straight across from him. “Or that one over there?”
“Just state your name,” you repeat. “I have you at all angles. It doesn’t matter where you look.”
“Can I look at you, then?”
You sigh for what feels like the millionth time today, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance and crossing your legs at the ankles. You can’t quite tell if he’s doing this on purpose, or if he genuinely hasn’t conducted a formal interview like this prior to yours.
“Yes, you may look at me. That’s typically how a conversation goes.”
“Right, then. My name is Christopher Bang Chan.”
“And you’re a boxer.”
“I am a boxer,” he affirms with a grin.
“Chan, in just three months you’ll be competing in the biggest fight of your life- the Golden Gloves Championship, against your counterpart Kang-Dae, a competitive boxer who’s been training almost as long as you have. In a recent interview, he told me the two of you are making a deliberate effort not to meet just yet, despite training at some of the same local spots. Can you tell us your reasoning for that, as well as what that’s felt like up until now?”
A short breath escapes Chan’s lips, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he thinks it over.
“I’ve heard remarkable things about Kang-Dae,” Chan begins. “It was something we made a mutual decision to follow through on. You know, just being mindful of training techniques and respecting each other’s space. It feels a little weird sometimes when I remember while I’m training- it’s like, was he using this bag before I was? I’ve sort of built him up to be this really dedicated player to the game, in my head at least.”
Chan smiles back when you do, taking note of the way your shoulders seem to visibly relax in his presence. He lets his ankles uncross, twiddling his thumbs as his legs spread loosely in front of him.
“So uh… yeah, it’s been… it’s not easy, knowing we’re going head-to-head in just one month. But I’m training really hard, and I know he is, too. I have a lot of respect for him.”
You nod at his words, glancing down at the clipboard of questions and notes on your lap in front of you.
“Chan, you’ve mentioned several times how hard you’ve been training for this. From the gym, to practice with your coach, to mentally preparing for all of this. What are you doing when you’re not training?”
The question marks the first of a series of personal ones, ones that really seek to tear down your subjects’ walls and reveal their true identity to audiences. They love the voyeuristic aspect of gory details- and your subjects love to talk about themselves.
“I’m hardly ever not training,” Chan says with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I guess I just sleep as much as I can. If not maybe… running, doing stretches, all that. I’m at the point where I have to be physically pried away from the gym by my coach. It’s that bad.”
He laughs lightly as he speaks, his eyes forming little crescents the way they always do when his plump lips pull into a grin. And then you mirror his expression, lips pulling into a smile as you pry for more answers.
“Can you tell us how you first got into boxing? What was that like?”
“First time,” he echoes. “Was when I was 12 years old. My dad bought me a pair of gloves after I saw this series about Baik Hyun-Man, an Olympian boxer who swept his category in… 1988? 89? God, he was phenomenal.”
“A docuseries?” You chime in, furrowing your brows together.
“Yeah. Think it was like, 4 episodes where they interviewed him following his sweep at the Olympics that year. I remember him being so well-spoken and fascinating.”
A small smile tugs involuntarily at your lips as Chan speaks, a sort of glint present in his eyes as he recalls the events. He seems so full of passion when he speaks of his source of inspiration, the same way he speaks of his own craft.
“That was made by our network,” you say finally. “That was one of the first series I saw, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” you reply, maintaining a keen smile. “It made me want to get into interviewing. He had such a way with telling his story.”
The room falls quiet as a sharp breath escapes Chan’s lips, a look of disbelief painted upon his chiseled features. He begins to say something, and then he’s quiet again, craning his neck at the camera to the right of your seated figure.
“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish shake of your head. “I don’t mean to get off topic here.”
“No, it’s… that’s really fucking cool. I mean, what are the odds, you know?”
It’s really not some miracle that you happened across the same formative media- you’re pretty sure every parent had Baik Hyun-Man’s docuseries playing on television on repeat shortly after it aired. The way he spoke of his achievements, so self-assured in the way he gestured directly into the camera and urged kids to chase their dreams, too. Inspiring journalists and athletes alike- it was the network’s biggest thing the year it aired. And evidently, a boxer’s dream, to put the sport on pedestal for the whole world to admire.
“Anyway,” you say finally, glancing back down at your clipboard. “You were indulging me in the details of your start to boxing.”
“Right,” Chan voices. “I was 12, with these clunky boxing mitts- blue ones, just like I asked for. And one of those inflatable punching bags hanging in our garage. At first, it was just jabs, I wasn’t really interested in classes or anything like that. It wasn’t until I started boxing with my dad, that’s when he pushed me to keep this going. Said I threw punches like a pro- at least the best I could do at age 12. I owe a lot of this to my dad, I don’t think I would’ve pushed myself to do any of this without him. And to chase this dream, of winning a title fight.”
“Well your dream doesn’t sound very far out of reach, by the sound of it,” you say to him, raising a singular eyebrow and cocking your head.
Chan just smiles, an earnest expression washing over him, and you take note of the way his ears flush a deep shade of red. He’s not one to take compliments very well- he falters somewhere between confident, yet flustered, and it’s endearing, like much of his persona is. Though it may be well-crafted, it’s still charming.
“I dunno,” Chan says with a click of his tongue. “Losing is always a possibility.”
“It is,” you affirm. “But I’m sure you’ve faced your share of losses in the past, too. What does losing mean to you?”
Chan furrows his brows together, a little thrown off by the question posed to him. He’s not sure he’s ever carefully dissected the implications of what it means to lose something- to funnel your entire being into what defines you, only for the tangible payoff to slip from your grasp and dissipate into a void of nothingness. And consequently, to familiarize yourself with the suffocating emotions of regret, pain, loss- even shame. It’s never been an option for him- it’s never even been an occurrence.
“I’ve never lost,” he says finally, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.
“You’ve never lost?”
“I’ve never lost,” he repeats. “I’ve played matches that weren’t as good as others, or just barely scraped by with a win. But I’ve never lost.”
“So losing isn’t something you’ve even considered.”
“No, I’ve definitely considered it,” he contends. “Some matches, you take a good long look at the guy across from you, and it’s sort of like staring your future in the face. Like, this is it, this is the guy I’m going to lose my streak to.”
“Yet it’s never happened?”
Chan clicks his tongue again, crossing his legs at the knees this time and cocking his head, the same overconfident expression painting his chiseled face.
“I don’t lose,” he states simply. “There’s always the chance that I may lose. But I never do.”
A simple nod of your head signifies the end of this portion of the interview, and Chan finally exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding all this time.
“I think I have all I need for today,” you say to him, avoiding the meticulous eye contact he seeks from his spot across from you. “Could you just leave your mic on that table over there?”
“Did I sound a little cocky there?” Chan queries as he fidgets with the lavalier microphone. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just a stupid fact I like to toss around.”
“Facts are facts,” you respond, toying with your own lavalier microphone, yet not moving from your spot. “You’re permitted to say whatever you want. This is your series, after all.”
“Yeah, but I’m not trying to scare people here. I’m just-”
“Frighteningly competent?” You interrupt. “Well-versed in the art of boxing? Aware of the power you hold?”
He’s quieter now, lips pursed together and eyes scanning your expression for a hint of forgiveness. But you don’t grant him any- in fact, you’re admittedly a little disenchanted by his words, which seem to put him right up against all the other boxers you’ve interviewed. Impetuous words which detract from his character as a whole, emphasizing only his worst traits. Self-righteous, self-centered, disdainful, even.
“I’ve interviewed a lot of people like you,” you explain to him, for what feels like the second time this evening. “If you sound cocky, it’s because you are cocky. You’re allowed to be, though.”
“But that’s not what I want people to get from this series.”
“Then what is it that you want?” You ask Chan, rising from your seat and gathering your papers, his gaze fixed on yours still.
He’s quiet, no adequate wording passing him by that may sum up what he seeks to put out into the world. Perhaps he’s never looked so introspectively like this before- perhaps he hasn’t even considered what he wants the world to make of him.
“I’m telling your story, not writing it,” you continue.
His lips part to say something, but a silence overtakes the room once more, words which seek to defend himself dissipating in the back of his throat much like his thoughts do.
“Just something to think about,” you conclude, the lavalier microphone rolling around between the pads of your fingers as you meet his gaze finally.
His eyebrows arch in an almost pleading manner, as though he hopes you might have a change of heart and take some mercy on a skilled boxer like himself. But you don’t- not when you have the ability to see right through him like this, the same way you do with all the others.
An arrogant athlete, on an exponential and unbroken winning-streak, complete stranger to the concept of losing or being humbled.
“Losing isn’t something you’ve even considered,” your words replay in his head. “What is it that you want?”
He ponders, to no avail, as the floodlights outline your departing figure.
*
“So he’s just never lost a match?”
“Never. And he’s a cocky prick about the fact.”
“That’s unprecedented. I don’t think we’ve ever interviewed somebody with a winning streak like his.”
Lin’s fingers hover over the keyboard of her laptop, slicing footage and importing b-roll as you assume the spot next to her. She moves quickly as she always does, hardly even needing to decipher whether the clips flow into each other adequately- it’s second nature for her to know.
“This looks good,” she voices, pupils rapidly scanning the bright screen which reflects against the lenses of her wireframe glasses. “But the network agrees we need to get a little more personal.”
“What do you mean?”
She pauses her actions, pulling off her glasses and snapping them closed between her teeth before she speaks.
“You guys had a moment somewhere in there. It’s undoubtedly the most interesting bit. There’s a bit of chemistry when you’re relating to him.
“What?” You question, furrowing your brows together as she continues to work.
“Baik Hyun-Man,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s remarkable you found something in common with the guy. Knackered journalist and devoted boxer set aside their differences to agree on one thing- ‘The Iron Gentleman’ really was a sight to marvel at.”
“We didn’t have a moment, Lin. He’s watched a series almost every athlete did when it aired.”
“I’m just saying there’s something… very human, about the whole thing. Try to get to get closer to him. Corner him- find out what makes the guy tick. I need you to read him like a diary and publicize it to the masses. It’s not going to be easy- that’s why you’re doing it.”
Your gaze remains on her computer screen, eyeing the footage you vividly remember having filmed alongside him. It’s paused on a still-shot of you sitting across from him, transfixed on his chiseled features as he explains something indistinguishable to you, playing back at Lin through the chunky black headphones she wears around her neck.
The thought is migraine-inducing, to attempt to get any closer to Bang Chan than you already are. Upon your two interactions, you’ve already taken him to be as arrogant, conceited and obsessed with his sport as you’d assumed him to be. And while it rings true that there may be more to him than meets the eye- a story trying to reveal itself to you, a truth yearning to make itself known among all this superficiality, it’s likely one he’s not keen on making known to you.
“First part airs this Friday,” she states, nodding her head to some electronic background tune as she resumes her editing. “Just promise me you’ll try to get more personal with him. Find out where he trains, scope out the spots he frequents.”
“I’m not stalking the man for the purpose of a series, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“It’s not stalking,” she counters quickly. “It’s familiarizing yourself with the video subject.”
You chuckle lightly at Lin’s request, holding your hands up in surrender and rising from your spot beside her.
“Sure, fine.”
Lin’s hands cup the speakers of her chunky black headphones, finally adjusting them over her ears as she continues working. And she shoots you one last thumbs-up before you retreat from her office.
*
For several days thereafter, the thoughts consume you, to recall Lin’s requests for a more personal relationship to the interview subject. There hasn’t been an instance yet in which you’ve been made to falsify the closeness of a subject to you- in fact, you’re usually encouraged to keep your distance, knowing very well that a story can get compromising when the lines between boundaries are almost blurred.
You think back to her suggestion to scope out the spots he frequents, which seems like an impossible task when you’re already bearing the burden of trying to know him at all. And one evening, as her words replay in your troubled mind for the umpteenth time, the solution finds you first- in the form of said cocky athlete himself.
The streets are eerily dark at the hour, nothing more than the occasional pass of a car along the blackened road as you keep to the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of your coat and your gaze fixed on the towering buildings ahead. It’s not uncommon to depart the office at ungodly hours during the process of filming a docuseries like this one, especially since you usually opt to keep Lin company while she makes final edits. The neighboring buildings are already cleared out for the night, the parking lots are mostly empty, and the world is quiet as you trudge the short walk back to your apartment.
At the corner of the intersection, a small convenience store, dimly lit by the ominous flicker of street lamps, and largely uninviting to the fleeting passerby. But one you’re familiar with, often opting to make a quick stop for a bite to eat before you go home for the night.
The chime of a bell on the door announces your arrival, making your way past shelves of baked goods to where the pre-packaged foods lie. And aside from the slow lull of jazz music over the muffled speakers, it’s quiet in the convenience store, nothing except the faint sounds of shuffling surrounding you as a cashier stocks produce by the register.
“Do you guys have them in yet?” A voice calls loudly as the door swings open, the bell ringing erratically with its movement. It’s piercing- obnoxious, even, to disturb the once much-appreciated peace of the shop like this. And who else present to disturb the peace at this hour, except for an athlete, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he takes long strides toward the fridge.
“Oh, you do!” he emphasizes, pulling open the handle of the fridge in a hasty motion, as he begins to pile armfuls of what appear to be popsicles in the desperate grasp of his toned arms.
“Did you know these are like, three times the price if you purchase them online?”
The cashier says nothing, giving the athlete a small bow as he continues stockpiling and talking his ear off to no one in particular- and then the athlete pivots on one foot, locking his gaze with yours, a soft chuckle emitting from between his plump lips.
“Are you following me?”
“Me?” You counter, scoffing lightly at him. “I was literally in here before you.”
“I always come here after practice. I’ve never seen you around before.”
“I’m always here after work,” you argue, crossing your arms and maintaining your stance. “I could say the same.”
He rolls his eyes, gesturing to the counter with a nod of his head. “Put it down. I’ll pay.”
“What- no, there’s no need to pay for me. I’m just leaving.”
“Come on,” Chan protests. “You’re trailing after me as though I might be in here buying something seedy. It’s clever- I’ll give you that. Let me pay for you.”
Your eyes narrow in response, reluctantly approaching him and setting down your own dessert of choice onto the counter by the register. The cashier begins to scan your items, the rhythmic beep filling the awkward silence that overtakes you two as Chan keeps his gaze fixed on your standing figure. And then he pulls a black leather wallet out from the loose-fitting gym shorts he wears, grasping a card between his middle and index finger and handing it to the cashier.
He says nothing still, maintaining an almost satisfied expression on his face as the cashier bags his horde of popsicles, and then he gestures to the door once again with a nod of his head.
Chan assumes a spot on the curb by his parked car- a fairly humble two-seater. And the plastic convenience store bag sits open between the two of you as he works on his first popsicle of the evening, twirling the wooden stick between his slender fingers as the sticky residue trickles down and houses itself on the concrete below.
“How’s it coming along?” Chan breaks the silence, eyeing you out of the peripherals of his big brown eyes. “The series, I mean.”
“Fine,” you reply, doing your best not to mirror his mess as you work on a small cup of vanilla ice cream. “The first interview is all set to air.”
“I heard. I hope you didn’t have to edit out too much of my awkward conversation.”
A light chuckle escapes your lips, shaking your head as you dip the wooden spoon back into your cup.
“No, you did well. I’m actually surprised at how genuine you come off to the cameras.”
“Surprising that I’m genuine? I’ll do my best to take that as a compliment.”
“It’s hardly one,” you voice back. “All you athletes are the same. But I suppose you are well-versed in the art of boxing and media-training alike.”
You’re quiet for a moment as you observe the quiet streets across from you both.
“I’ve always said the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. You make an impressive subject.”
“All me, thank you very much.”
Chan chuckles and shakes his head as he practically chews through the remainder of his popsicle, toying with the bare wooden stick as a silence overtakes you both.
He studies the concrete for a moment, the gentle scrape of the wooden popsicle stick on the ground making itself known as he searches for the words to say. And then the soft rustle of the plastic convenience store bag, as he digs through and collects his second popsicle of the evening.
“Are you scared?” You query, your voice a little quieter than before as you prod at your vanilla ice cream with the wooden spoon.
“Scared?”
“Yeah, for the series to air. People are going to start recognizing you when you go out. It always happens.”
Chan cocks his head in response, a satisfied smile pulling onto his lips as he ponders your words. And then his expression seems to drop again, grasping the popsicle stick between his fingers as he observes the way it melts in his touch, the residue trickling gently onto the pads of his fingers and down the bases of his wrists.
“I’m not scared,” Chan says finally. “I get punched by people for a living. There’s so little that actually scares me at this point.”
You think back to Lin’s request to get a little more out of him, pondering his words for a moment as you inhale before speaking once again.
“Then, if I may ask- what does scare you?”
And deep down, you know it’s unlikely you’ll receive a substantial response- it’s like pulling teeth searching for honesty from an athlete, and Chan is evidently no stranger to this phenomenon of insincerity and projection.
The low hum of a car engine is heard as the only other car in the parking lot begins to exit. You take note of the still-flickering street lamps, the vacant roads across the convenience store. And the way Chan’s breath hitches in the back of his throat, as if he’s conjured up an answer far too heavy to relay from between his parted lips, letting it instead dissipate once more as he laps at the sticky popsicle residue on his inner forearms.
“What scares me,” he begins, tongue tracing the outline of sherbet liquid along his veiny arms. “Is the rest of these popsicles melting. Come on, I have a freezer back at the gym.”
“Are you asking me to go with you? I’m going home, not to some sweat-ridden gym with your stash of popsicles.”
“I’m not letting you walk home at this hour, if that’s what you think you’re doing. Come on, it’s just a two minute drive from here and then I’ll take you back to your place.”
“I’m fine, thank you very much.”
Chan waits for you to say something else, silently hoping you’ll just agree without protest. But when you don’t, he gathers the plastic bag by the thinning handles, steadying himself with one hand on the concrete and standing up beside you.
“I’ll meet you in the car,” he says plainly, brushing his shorts off and averting your gaze.
The blinding glow of his car’s headlights reflect off the convenience store windows across him, and Chan watches as you bring a hand up to shield your eyesight while you rise from the curb. You can’t make out his expression in the flood of light that now surrounds you, but Chan’s lips curl into a knowing smile as you approach the passenger’s side, letting yourself in beside him and shifting the bag of popsicles out of your spot.
Of course, he’ll never know that you’re only agreeing to tag along in the unique instance you can gather something of substance for the purpose of your series, the way the network is now pushing you to do.
“Two minutes,” you voice back to him. “And then I want to be dropped off at my place.”
“Seatbelt?”
Your hands find their way to the buckle, pulling it across your torso and fastening it with a frustrated sigh.
“Two minutes,” you emphasize again.
Chan just chuckles lightly, extending an arm behind your headrest as he begins to pull out of the parking lot. And then he begins toward his training gym, in the same direction as your place of work.
*
“Don’t touch anything. I’m just gonna pop these in the freezer.”
Chan takes long strides down the gym with his plastic bag in hand, flipping on a series of light switches as he passes and illuminating the space with harsh white lighting.
At one end of the room lie rows upon rows of heavy weights, scattered carelessly and in no particular order along the rubber carpeted flooring. The other end of the room houses a long line of punching bags, cylindrical black leather masses that hang from metal chains and adhere to the dark gray walls that border the gym. And in the corner of the gym, your eye is drawn to a large boxing ring, elevated onto a black square surface, with tight black ropes that line the perimeter.
Though you’ve interviewed your fair share of athletes, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so intimately close to their place of work like this before, and it’s admittedly fascinating to finally visualize the gym he speaks of when he interviews.
Your hand caresses the rope which lines the boxing ring, looped around and pulled taut around each metal pillar at four of the corners, and you wonder how many times Chan has ducked to traverse beyond these ropes in a practice run or even a match. It’s the same ring which plays a role in his winning streak- and the same ring his opponent, Kang-Dae practices in, making strategic entrances around the clock so as not to accidentally run into each other.
As you admire the boxing ring, you fish a small digital camera out from the purse slung around your shoulder, snapping a generous set of photos and zooming in to all the intricate details.
“It’s been around since the 80’s,” a voice says, startling you amidst the silence. “Home to some of the greats. I practically live here.”
Chan’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, the plastic bag now absent as he examines the boxing ring, too.
“The same one Kang-Dae practices in,” you reply.
“Exactly.”
He nods toward the back of the room, the curls of his hair largely concealed by the black beanie he wears on his head falling loosely into his eyes as he glances over at a boxing bag.
“I’m told he’s partial to the ones at the back of the room. I never use those ones- it’s weird using the same equipment he does.”
You nod slowly at his words, imagining what you envision Kang-Dae to look like, throwing punches at the bag in the back of the room. He’s probably similar to that of Chan’s stature- lean, muscular, chiseled features. And maybe even a handsome face to go with all of it.
“Which ones do you use, then?”
Chan chuckles lightly, meeting your gaze as he answers. “Middle of the ring,” he states with a shrug. “Gotta get used to standing in it.”
You observe the way Chan glances back at the boxing bag hanging in the center of the boxing ring, the chain fastened along a metal track so that it can be moved in and out of the vast space. And then you toy with the camera in your grasp once more, your fingers delicately grazing over the shutter release as you eye the space ahead.
“Could I…record you in it?” You ask him hesitantly, averting his curious gaze when he turns to look back at you.
“For the series?” He asks, a growing smile making itself known as he gestures to the ring.
“Yes, for the series. I’m not really looking to have a personal collection of photos of you, if that’s what you think is happening.”
Chan tosses his head back in amused laughter, and then he gestures to the ring with a wave of his hand, bowing a little and instructing you to lead the way.
The ring is considerably more intimidating from the center of the elevated platform. A glance around the room feels like you’re in the middle of an active match, and you can’t possibly comprehend how Chan does this with hundreds of eyes on him, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standard of a consistent winner. In fact, you can’t imagine how anybody could muster up the courage to be stood here on their own accord.
“This is where the magic happens,” Chan says, his hands on his hips as he cranes his neck to examine the top of the punching bag.
You bring the camera up as he speaks, shutting one eye and snapping a photo of Chan next to the punching bag, adjusting the zoom a little to more closely capture the scene as you snap a few more photos. When you’ve gathered an adequate amount, you then transition to record the scene, holding the camera in front of your chest as you watch Chan position himself in front of the punching bag.
“Can you show us a few tricks?”
Chan’s eyes form little crinkles as he smiles, cocking his head and stretching his arms up above him in preparation. His black tank top rides up a little as he does, exposing the toned strip of flesh between his waistline and the hem of his shirt, and you shake your head a little when you take notice, forcing your attention back on his upper body.
“Anything?” Chan asks, glancing at the camera.
“Yeah,” you shrug in reply. “Just show us a few moves.”
His hands form fists in front of him, knees bent slightly and his legs angled toward the punching bag. And then he pulls back, chin tucked against his upper body, swiftly pushing his fist forward and hitting the bag with an echoing thump.
“That’s a cross,” Chan explains, glancing back toward the camera. “Just a straight punch.”
He pulls back once more, delivering another harsh punch to the bag, and then his right arm bends out at the elbow, striking at an entirely new angle.
“That one’s a hook,” he says a little louder this time. “Sort of how you get in from the side.”
“Show us your hardest,” you call out to Chan, adjusting the lens to capture his full stance. “Imagine it was somebody you hated.”
Chan cocks his head slightly, an overconfident smile on his chiseled face as he positions his arms in front of him. And then he retracts again, throwing a much stronger punch this time, his hand shooting upward from waist-level, a harsh thud echoing around the ring as his fist makes impact. He throws another one with the other hand now, and then another, and then several more, teeth gritting as sharp breaths escaping his lips while he throws punch after punch, the bag swaying with every firm strike.
Your camera lens adjusts as he moves, capturing the entirety of his swift movements, zooming into his skilled hands and then panning up to his face, where his nostrils flare and his eyebrows seem to slant into a frown.
He looks passionate as he moves, his whole being seeming as though it’s being overcome with intense emotion, namely some form of resentment, you think, as he strikes the bag over and over again. You watch through the viewfinder of the camera as he keeps his angry gaze on the bag, growing irate when it sways back toward him, where he proceeds to hit back ten times harder. You study his face through the grainy film, at an expression you’ve never studied on him before this. He looks different- almost scary.
“That’s good,” you call out, to no avail, as Chan delivers another robust hit to the bag.
“I got it,” you call out a little louder, and after one last strike from the angle of the exposed flesh on his stomach upward to the bag, he finally stops, catching the bag when it sways back toward him and grasping it firmly in both hands.
Chan keeps his head down, looking a little ashamed as he catches his breath. You can hear the heavy pants that escape his lips when he turns to meet your gaze at last,
his eyebrows narrowed sternly as he looks at you. And then he brings a bruised knuckle up to his forehead, wiping off beads of sweat that trickle down his temple and flicking them off to the side with a wave of his hand.
“Uppercut,” he says hoarsely.
“Hm?”
“The move,” Chan continues. “Good for opponents.”
And then he hangs his head once more, flipping up his shirt to wipe off the remainder of sweat that accumulates on his tanned skin. You force your gaze onto his concealed face, not daring to examine the toned set of abs visible to you at this proximity.
“Best for people you hate,” he then speaks into the fabric of his shirt. And you simply nod meekly in response, stuffing the camera back into the pocket of your coat.
*
“Say it again, but to the camera this time” You say to Chan between laughter, as he brings another wooden stick up to his lips, working his tongue around the base with a harsh sucking noise.
Two minutes at Chan’s training gym have quickly turned to two hours, and in all his persuasive athlete ways, he’d somehow convinced you that he required another popsicle before drawing a close to the evening.
“These are the best popsicles in the city,” Chan states, holding the half-melted treat up by his face as though he’s advertising it.
“It’s just the right amount of sherbet. Not too much, but just enough to satisfy a sweet tooth. I’m genuinely convinced there’s not a single thing that couldn’t be cured with one of these things.”
“Got fired at work,” you challenge.
“Easily cured by a popsicle.”
“Fight with your spouse.”
“Popsicle.”
“Lost a boxing match,” you voice to him, almost doubling over in laughter when he sucks in a sharp breath and cocks his head.
“It’s a tough one. But with the right amount of sherbet, I promise you’ll make it out unscathed.”
Shared laughter fills the room as he laps up the remainder of his dessert, and then he tosses yet another popsicle stick aside, swinging his legs off the ledge of the raised boxing platform and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As you set aside the camera once more, he hoists himself up a little further as he grasps the taut strings that surround the ring, and then he lies back entirely on the smooth surface, shutting his eyes briefly as a silence washes over you both.
Chan’s hands fold over his chest, atop the thin fabric tank top that rides up again to expose the band of his boxers, and when he feels you staring, one eye opens to meet your gaze again, a curious smile on his face.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head to avert his stare. Your fingers loop around the taut rope, too, plucking at the wired material and watching it vibrate with the recoil.
Chan maintains the smug smile for a moment, a little amused at your evident shyness. And then he pats the spot behind you, beckoning you to join him in assuming a spot on the floor of the boxing ring. You begin to tell him that you should really be heading home, well aware of how long you’ve already occupied the gym, likely committing some form of trespassing by staying here. But as your eyes scan his lying figure, you think back to the interviews- it’s a miracle you’ve gotten him to loosen up even this much around you. Maybe if you stay, you can coax some form of truth out of him; a story worth telling.
So with a gentle sigh, your fingers loosen their grasp around the rope, lying flat against the smooth surface of the ring, at a close proximity alongside Chan’s languid body. It’s probably prohibited somewhere within the unspoken rules of being an earnest journalist, to lie down beside an interview subject like this. But when your hands finally fold over your own chest, the only feeling present is that of calmness, of unwavering stillness, as the low buzz of the overhead lights emits from above you.
Chan keeps his eyes shut for a while, and amidst the deafening silence, it’s almost too loud when he finally swallows a knot in his throat and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.
“Sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off,” Chan admits quietly. “I feel like I can still hear the commotion all around me.”
Echoes of training ring through his ears as though they’re lullabies engrained deep into his memory- the strikes to hanging leather bags, the heavy grunts that escape parted lips as men lift weights three times their size, the hot showers that run around the clock as athletes relish in their wins and dwell all their losses. Even with eyes shut tightly, Chan swears he can still see pairs of eyes observing him carefully, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standards of a consistent winner.
Angle your fist upward. Quicker on the footwork. Harder. Faster.
Atta boy. Be a man. Be a winner.
It’s only when his coach has gone home for the evening, when the other athletes file out of the training gym one by one, towels slung over their broad shoulders and duffel bags packed with spare gloves and changes of clothes. It’s when he’s the last shower of the night, letting scorching water roll off his toned body, steam fogging the mirrors until his own reflection is indistinguishable to him once more. And it’s when he’s concluded throwing practice punches in the now-empty ring, his muscular back parallel to the floor of the ring just like this, and his eyes fixed on the gray industrial ceilings and recess lights. It’s only then that he isn’t so easily defined by a winning streak.
In fact, his wins mean nothing in the absence of other athletes, who are also defined by the numerical realities of trophies gained and matches lost. The world feels much clearer to him like this, no longer clouded by the gym chatter and bruised knuckles that seek permanent shelter in his conscience. He’s just Bang Chan- not a winner, not even a boxer. Just Chan.
And though he allows it to consume him entirely, often replacing his curiosity for the world around him and a lingering loneliness with the insatiable appetite to fight, win, conquer- he knows deep down that it’s still not all of him. There remains a sort of fragility tucked somewhere beyond all this rigidness- there’s still a heavy humanness underneath these conjectures that he’s the ‘perfect boxer’.
What is a winning streak relative to an empty boxing ring? What is a spectator relative to a participant? What are concealed identities relative to a lifetime of falsifying new ones?
“What does it feel like?” You ask Chan, and he opens his eyes to examine the gray pipes that run along the ceilings once more.
For a fleeting moment, the dual identity he keeps tucked away makes its way to the forefront, silently admonishing how this all really feels to him- how the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, among a myriad of other admissions.
“It’s a bit much,” Chan responds with a deep sigh. And then he sits up once more, gesturing to the wall of photos across you, neat rows of famous boxers who once inhabited this ring so triumphantly assuming a spot within these gym walls permanently.
“See that?” Chan queries. You sit up, too, following his gaze to the largest photo in the middle, a confident smile painted on the monochrome subject’s face.
“Baik Hyun-Man,” you voice from beside him. “The boxer.”
He’s a little impressed when he turns to face you again, perhaps not having taken you very seriously the first time you dubbed yourself a fan of his, too.
“I want to be like him,” Chan confesses, his voice just above a whisper. “I want to be a winner. I want people to view me like that- always.”
Your words don’t make it past your tongue, which you bite impassively, instead nodding your head and letting a silence fall over you both. You don’t grant him the encouragement he seeks- in fact, you don’t even grant him a proper response.
You simply hum- and whether the verbalization serves as a form of agreement, or as utter dismay for concealing anything beyond the most predictable version of him he brings to you- that is for him to decipher.
*
Part one of Chan’s docuseries is aired that same week, just after five, on your network’s channel.
You watch on your television, completely immersed, as the familiar tune of your intro starts up, your phone already flooded with texts from colleagues who also tune in to the event.
“He’s so charming,” one texts you, as Chan appears on the screen, recalling stories of his early boxing days and verbally admiring the efforts of his opponent, Kang-Dae.
“Great start to the series,” your boss relays in her message to you, as Chan details his impressive his winning streak, a cocky smile plastered on his handsome face.
“I feel like you bring out something special in him,” Lin’s text reads- one which you read over several times, while your shared moment with Chan plays in the background, both of you reeling over the old documentary which preceded your careers. The very same clip you requested Lin cut out of the docu series- a clip that wasn't planned.
Your attention falls entirely on the way his face lights up as he speaks of the Iron Gentleman, contrary to the rest of the interview, where he delivers otherwise predictable responses and maintains a polite disposition. There’s a lighter tone to his voice when he’s made aware that you’ve also seen the series- and a visible sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, impressed by the niche similarity you both share. Although unplanned, Lin is right- it’s undoubtedly the highlight of the interview, to watch him break down his walls and give the audience a glimpse into something beyond his boxing career. Part one of his series is certainly not a complete story- but it alludes to the notion that he does harbor a much more complex version of it, somewhere deep down inside of him.
And when the first reviews begin to roll in , Lin is the first to greet you, a piece of paper grasped firmly in her hands as she rushes up to meet you before you’ve even made it to your desk.
“The people love him,” she says enthusiastically, trailing beside you as you shuffle past to your desk.
“Listen to this,” she continues. “The network follows up-and-coming boxer Christopher Bang Chan as he prepares for the biggest fight of his life- in what just may be the biggest docuseries since that which preceded Hyun Man’s championship ring fight.”
“What?” You exclaim, halting your motion of digging through your purse to lock eyes with her ecstatic expression.
“I know!” she replies, practically shoving the paper toward you and directing your gaze upon the printed words. “Read the rest of it!”
Your eyes scan the dark black ink printed along the top of the newspaper, Lin’s finger directing you to where the paragraph continues with the gesture or her manicured finger.
“We were immediately captivated not only by Bang Chan’s remarkable looks, which seem to give models a run for their money, but by the essence in which he speaks of his craft- educational, yet alluring. It’s hard to ignore the chemistry in which interviewer y/n maintains as she tells his story, and we’re equally as satisfied with both subjects’ visible passion for the athletes which once dominated the network’s airtime. The series, which will air until Bang Chan’s Golden Gloves Championship fight, will follow his tale to stardom- and the underlying story he seeks to share with the world in the process.”
Lin lets out an excited squeal when you conclude speaking, patting your hand as she retrieves the paper once more and scans the bold text for the nth time this morning.
“People are seriously into him,” she emphasizes, raising her eyebrows in a knowing manner. “All these intimate looks at his life have people talking like crazy. I mean, we haven’t seen ratings this high since I can’t even remember when.”
You chuckle lightly, fishing around again for your phone in your purse and shrugging in her direction.
“Sure, he’s a little charming, I’ll give him that. People are just sorta drawn to people like him, I suppose.”
“Sorta?” Lin questions. “There’s other networks calling us to request they take over the series from here. They’re dying to know everything about him. Especially because of his winning streak.”
With your phone in hand, you pause again, meeting her gaze and furrowing your brows.
“Really? Why’s it so special to everybody?”
“Because,” she begins. “There hasn’t been an athlete competing in the Golden Gloves Championship with a winning streak like his in maybe 20 years. It makes his title fight appealing to everybody that way, not just to sports fanatics. He’s a handsome boxer and who never loses- and our network’s about to capture the biggest win of his life.”
You finally assume your spot on the swivel chair by your desk as she hovers over you, trying your best to make sense of the words as they leave her lips.
All around you, the office seems particularly busy today, colleagues chatting amongst themselves, sauntering quickly by your desk with video equipment and manila envelopes in hand. The sounds seem to crescendo as you take note of the phone lines that ring nonstop, filling the space with a constant shrill sound as colleagues rush to take messages. Amidst the overlapping voices, you can hear them conversing about ratings, requests for interviews and plans for the remainder of the series. And as you turn back to Lin, you also take note of the big smile plastered across her face- an expression you don’t typically see on an otherwise aloof producer like herself.
“You took my advice, and look where it’s gotten us already,” she says to you. “If you can manage to pull more out of him, I think we’ll have something really good here. Get closer- dig deeper.”
“I’m really trying here, but I don’t know how much closer I’ll be able to get,” you tell her.
Lin shrugs as she watches you glance at your phone, your eyes widening at the sight of several missed calls and texts.
“Took a message for you,” she says with a subtle purse of her lips. “He asked you to swing by the gym. Get out there- and bring every camera you have. He doesn’t take a breath before the camera shoots it.”
You glance past Lin’s standing figure at the giant glass windows of the office, the sun largely obscured by the cloudy weather and the towering buildings that surround it. It’s suffocating at this hour, just a little too busy for your liking, the atmosphere looming with talks of Chan and Chan and more Chan.
You know stopping by the gym will likely just irritate you more, and yet when Lin’s eager expression scans the paper in her hands once more, pupils dancing over written accounts of Chan’s passion for boxing and an underlying story the general public is somehow convinced you’ll unveil to them, you let out a frustrated sigh, gathering your purse once again and pushing your chair back in against your desk.
And Lin shoots you a small, yet knowing smile, as she observes you make your way back to the office entrance.
*
“Harder. No hooks this time.”
Hit.
“There you go! Now let’s see it all together.”
Chan ducks as his trainer throws a hit, and then his left fist darts out to deliver a harsh jab as he maintains his quick-paced footwork around the ring.
You watch from the entrance of the gym as he circles around the ring, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration and beads of sweat trickling down his clenched jaw. His punches echo thunderously around the gym, his sneakers squeaking along the floor as he ducks again to evade another hit. And then he delivers one more hard punch to the palm of his trainer’s mitt, pulling away when his trainer gives a simple nod in response.
“Very good. Take five.”
Chan lets his head hang loosely as he catches his breath, his trainer undoing the velcro mitt straps around his wrists and making his way to the equipment room with them. You approach cautiously, one hand clutching the strap of your purse over your shoulder, as the other fiddles nervously with the hem of your shirt.
Chan takes note when you approach, his head snapping in your direction from where he remains standing. And then he approaches, too, a smile on his lips as he struts toward you and adjusts the black bandages around his knuckles.
“You actually showed!” Chan remarks with a chuckle.
“You asked me to stop by,” you say in response, observing the way he pulls the wires border apart to duck and hoist himself off the platform, now standing in front of you as he leans casually against the ring.
“I know. I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much of a choice. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” Chan chuckles lightly. “I just like your company.”
“That’s it? You know I’m supposed to be working, right?”
“Relax,” Chan assures you. “I called your office this morning. Told them we needed you here to collect some boxing paraphernalia of the sort. Didn’t get any protest from the big boss.”
Your eyes narrow as Chan reaches behind him and brings forth a plastic water bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous swig. You observe the way he downs half of the bottle in one guttural swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing twice as he now finishes off the water, and then pulls it away from him once more with a gentle pop as the suction from between his lips is broken. A single drop of water trickles down beside his plump lips, and he brings one veiny arm out in front of him to wipe it with his inner wrist, careful to avoid making contact with his bandages.
When Chan notices you staring, he gestures to his bandaged hand with a nod of his head as he speaks. “They get all gross when I wet them,” he explains simply. “Ever had athlete’s foot on your hands?”
“Ew, no,” you say with a small laugh.
He holds your gaze for a moment, as though he wants to ask something, and then he rejects the idea entirely, standing up a little straighter when his coach returns from the equipment room at the back.
“Who’s this?” The man asks, a stern expression on his face as he approaches.
“Oh, uh… sorry, I’m-”
“This is y/n,” Chan interjects. “She’s the interviewer we’ve been talking about.”
“It’s you!” His coach exclaims, scoffing as does a once-over of your timid figure. He’s much broader than Chan is, his buff arms folding over themselves as he leans back against the ring beside Chan. You quickly recognize him as the gentleman who accompanied Chan during your first introduction to him.
“I watched the first part when it aired,” he states. “You somehow make him seem interesting. Didn’t know that was possible.”
Chan laughs and shakes his head, a pink blush creeping upon his cheeks as you laugh, too.
“You can call me Mr. Seo,” his coach says finally, extending a calloused hand to you, his fingers grasping firmly around yours as you shake. “I’ve been training the guy since he was just a little shorter than he is now.”
“Alllll right,” Chan interrupts with a chuckle. “You’re free to go.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Seo retorts sarcastically. And then turns to face you once more, furrowing his brows as he points a finger in your direction and cocks his head slightly.
“You’ll be at the fight, correct?” He inquires.
“We’re televising it,” you respond with a nod. “I’ll be there to watch.”
Chan’s eyes flicker over your gaze momentarily, and then over Mr. Seo’s expression as he nods.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Mr. Seo says with a chuckle. “I think there’s still a person somewhere deep inside there.”
Chan shakes his head sheepishly and then averts your gaze when you turn to look at him again.
“We’re done for the day, yeah?” He asks in a low voice, practically begging Mr. Seo to make his departure from the gym.
“Yeah,” Mr. Seo responds, his eyebrows raising in your direction as he cocks his head again. “I’m on my way out. It was great meeting you!”
You nod at Mr. Seo, watching as he gathers a black bag off the floor and hoists it over his shoulder.
Chan keeps his head hung as Mr. Seo gets further away from both of your still-standing figures, and then he glances up only when he hears the heavy door push open to indicate his exit.
For a moment, neither of you say anything, a heavy tension making itself known between you. You wonder briefly what could have offended Chan about Mr. Seo’s remark- and then you make a mental note to badger Chan about it later, when he’s properly on camera.
“I need to make a little day trip,” Chan finally says with a click of his tongue. “So you’re coming with.”
“Depends where we’re going.”
“About an hour up north. I left some boxing equipment, and I need it back.”
You hold back a smile as Chan leans back against the ring once more, his eyebrows raised at the same time his lips pull back into a smirk. He maintains a knowing grin as he holds your gaze, as though he already knows you can’t decline the offer. And he’s right- despite fulfilling the role of a work subject, and being forced to spend time with him at practically all hours of the day, there’s something about him you just can’t bring yourself to say no to.
You also can’t help but wonder what’s in this for him- sure, he maintains the fact that you need video footage. And you do, still finding yourself eager to capture all the intimate moments of his life which you already know contribute to his charming persona, one which audiences have been captivated by after just one episode of his series. But you can’t help but feel as though he may possess more motives for keeping you around this closely. Maybe it’s a product of the series’ early success- and maybe it has something to do with the truths he can’t seem to utter.
*
True to the way he lives his life at full-speed, Chan drives fast. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, making smooth turns with the palm of his hand as he sits slouched comfortably in the driver’s seat, his vacant hand resting over the center console between you.
The conversation flows with ease, as though you’ve always known him, and Chan details all the mundane intricacies that come with being a boxer for the entirety of the car ride. He doesn’t speak of anything more personal than his start to boxing, yet he upholds his privacy with such dexterity, making cautious attempts to reroute the conversation when it steers any closer to him than he intends it to. And though he makes himself out to be one of two things at any given moment, chuckling lightly as he defines himself somewhere between “perfervid and steadfast”, there’s an underlying tenderness to him, the kind you can observe only in the transient moments in which he doesn’t speak of his work.
You catch a glimpse of it when he laughs at his own jokes, eyes forming little creases under his temples when he fills the space with the melodic sound of “ha ha’s” at tales of his childhood. You notice it in the way he speaks of the people he holds close to him, dubbing Mr. Seo a “lifesaver”, a “best friend” and a “hero” in the same breath. And it’s present every time he asks you a question, his eyes full of concentration as he waits for you to detail your work to him in return, usually met with the gentle reminder that he need not interview the interviewer. Yet he remains the first athlete to try and do so in your presence- a fact you’re undoubtedly charmed by.
When Chan announces your arrival at the undisclosed location, you do a double-take, furrowing your brows in confusion when he comes around to open the passenger’s car door for you.
“Where are we?” You query, stepping out and glancing at the scenery which surrounds you both.
You’re knee deep in the suburbs and well on the outskirts of city life, the clean-paved roads lined with modest-sized homes and yellowing lawns. The overcast skies are much clearer without the obstruction of skyscrapers and billboards, and in the far distance, you can make out the euphonious hum of a mourning dove’s coo.
“I told you,” Chan replies. “Here for some equipment.”
He gestures for you to follow up the cement steps that lead to a single painted door at the front, and once you’re both positioned at the entrance, he rings the doorbell confidently, glancing down at the coir doormat and prodding at it with the sole of his shoe.
“Mom bought new ones,” he says simply, and your head snaps in his direction.
“Mom?”
Before he can properly answer, the door is swung open with the heavy creak of the latch, and you’re met with who you can only presume to be Chan’s mother, a warm smile on her face as her arms extend out to him for an embrace.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and laughing lightly. Her eyes form little crinkles the same way his do, and her features robustly resemble all of his.
“And you,” she now says as she pulls away. “Must be the movie-maker.”
You smile politely at her, eyes flickering over Chan momentarily before you nod in response.
“I’m just the interviewer,” you say in response. “I do get a few pieces of footage here and there, too. It’s nice to meet you.”
Your invitation for a handshake is interrupted by her arms embracing you, too, which you reciprocate in a warm hug.
“I left my training gloves,” Chan voices to her. “Did you see them anywhere?”
“I left them on the console table. You’re always forgetting something.”
Chan smiles in response, and then he kicks off his shoes when she gestures for him to come inside. You mirror the action, following his lead into their house, and then you trail after Chan to the console table where a pair of black boxing gloves lie.
As he collects them, you take in the atmosphere, eyeing the decor curiously as his mom assumes a spot on the couch.
It’s a humble little household, no bigger than any of the other houses on the street, but there’s clear indication that it’s lived-in, from the framed photos that line the walls, to the cabinets of trophies that accompany the furniture. You thumb over the strap of your camera as you walk in strides, knowing the network will be elated you managed to get this close to your interview subject. From the photos in frames atop the glass coffee tables, to the collection of medals that decorate the space by the cabinets, every reward and heirloom is more footage, more praise, higher ratings.
And above the couch, a pair of bright blue boxing gloves hung on a single nail, exactly like Chan previously mentioned.
“Are those your first boxing gloves?” You ask suddenly, drawing attention from Mrs. Bang as she cranes her neck to look at them. Chan gives a half-smile as he turns to look at them, too, and then he nods before speaking.
“Yeah, that’s them. They were a little too big for me when I bought them.”
“I was so proud of him,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “I had to buy a second pair just to display his first.”
You smile in her direction as she folds her hands in her lap, and then your hands run over the bag you wear slung over your shoulder.
“Could I possibly film you answering a couple questions?” You ask Mrs. Bang suddenly, fishing around for the digital camera you brought along with you. “Just a few basic ones about Chan. I promise it won’t take long.”
Your gaze turns to Chan to gauge his reaction, and you’re met with an encouraging nod as he gestures to his mother.
“Of course!” his mom says, smoothing down her dress as she beckons you over. “I’m an open book.”
You take the seat across from her, running your index finger over the release shutter as you fidget with the settings. And then you catch Chan’s gaze once more, your eyes flickering at his anticipatory expression and then beyond his figure into the hallway.
“Chan, do you mind if I interview her… alone?” You request, heartbeat quickening in your chest. “These are really basic questions. I just find that people are a little more detailed when the film subject isn’t directly present.”
Chan shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants awkwardly, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he glances at his mother. A silent few seconds go by, and you conclude that his lack of response indicates disapproval of the request.
“I can also just not conduct the interview if that’s better for you-”
“No, that’s fine,” Chan says finally. “I’ll wait out in the garage.”
He gives a small nod in the direction of his mother, as if to request that she uphold the self-contained image he projects, and then he pivots on his heel, disappearing past the hallway toward the direction of his once makeshift gym.
“I wanted to ask you about what Chan was like growing up,” you begin as you turn toward her again, positioning the camera on a side table and adjusting to fix on her face. “Was he always so set on being a boxer?”
“Oh, precisely,” she says, folding her hands over her crossed knees. “I couldn’t get him to do nearly anything outside of going to the gym. At age 12, he was lifting weights twice his own. And by 14, he was training with Mr. Seo. Did you know he missed his own graduation ceremony to participate in some fight?”
“I didn’t know that,” you say with a chuckle.
“He did. He’d also box himself inside that little garage every summer, just practicing. I had to drag him inside for dinner most days.”
“So he’s always had this sort of tunnel vision.”
“Yes, I think so. He was never outside with the other kids, never really had many friends. It wasn’t for a lack of making them- he just found more joy in training with Mr. Seo than doing anything else a typical kid his age would do.”
You nod as she speaks, and then you watch as her lips curl into a small smile.
“In the summer, he would practice all day long in our dingy little garage. It was always scorching hot, so I’d bring him his favorite ice cream to cool down. I think watching his excitement for those ice cream bars is the last time I can recall him feeling like a little kid. He grew up so fast.”
“Sherbet ones,” you voice to her, and she points to you with a cheerful smile on her face.
“Yes, those ones!”
You chuckle as you think of the ones she speaks of, not having guessed they were a staple which preceded his career, and not just some random fixation of his.
Mrs. Bang shakes her head as she recalls memories, and then she cranes her neck to eye the hanging boxing gloves again.
“Sometimes I worry about him,” she confesses in a low voice.
You observe the way her eyebrows furrow into an expression of concern, and you tilt your head when she hangs hers, trying your best to make sense of the shift in tone.
“What do you mean?” You ask, knowing very well these aren’t in fact, the basic questions you promised Chan you would be aiming at her.
“He gets so wrapped up in it- especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does, all he thinks about.”
Mrs. Bang shakes her head for a moment, and then she meets your gaze again, speaking in a rushed tone.
“He didn’t sleep for three days once,” she announces. “Do you know how hard it was to see him like that?”
You don’t reply immediately, taking note of the visible tears that brim her eyes, which she wipes away with the gentle stroke of a manicured finger.
“He’s so down on himself all the time,” Mrs. Bang continues. “He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”
“Like what?”
She sniffles loudly once, shrugging her shoulders and flickering her gaze over the camera, as though suddenly remembering she’s being recorded.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Bang admits. “Maybe you’ll figure it out for us.”
She purses her lips sheepishly when she concludes speaking, resuming the action of wiping off her runny mascara, and then you turn to the camera quickly, shutting off the recording and collecting it in your grasp once more.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it so depressing,” she says in a frail voice.”I think a lot of us are just worried about what this fight could mean for him. For his future.”
“No, please don’t apologize,” you say to her quickly. “It’s admirable that you’re so preoccupied with his career. I can just cut out that last part.”
Mrs. Bang just folds her hands neatly in her lap, but she says nothing to you, no verbal request to omit the footage or steer clear of publicizing the concern she houses for her own son. The thought passes you by, momentarily, to ask her if she’s okay being this vulnerable on camera- but when Mrs. Bang clears her throat and speaks again, you swallow your words, straightening your posture and turning your attention onto her seated figure once more.
“He’s a born winner,” she finishes. “I guess that comes at a cost.”
And the cost isn’t so easily visible to you at such proximity to Chan, who spends the duration of lunch shoving food around his plate with the tip of his fork, uttering a simple “yes” when asked if he’s been sleeping, and “maybe” when asked about his interest in a family trip after the big match. And then he turns the attention back to you, with a nod of his head in your direction, urging you to detail your career back to Mrs. Bang, the same way he does.
“I’m a journalist,” you tell her, politely dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I interview a lot of athletes. Your son’s just one of many.”
“How riveting,” she says back, resting her chin atop her folded hands. “So I assume you’ve grown rather close in the process, then?”
You chuckle lightly, biting back from divulging her in the fact that you’ve only agreed to be here because your network is keen on the confidentialities of Chan’s personal life.
“You could say that. I always joke that the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them.”
Chan keeps his chin tucked, eyes glued to his plate as you glance over at him as Mrs. Bang lets out a laugh.
“He’s very talented, though,” you continue. “It’s an honor to know him like this before his biggest win.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “And so the purpose of this is to capture his life before the title match?”
Chan’s head lifts a little to look at you, knowing very well that he’s the defining factor in all of this, and yet he doesn’t take the liberty of making it known to his mother.
“The purpose is whatever he chooses it to be,” you explain to her. “It’s a story- more like a message of sorts. Really anything that defines him as a person, not just an athlete.”
Mrs. Bang nods once more, and then her eyes flicker over Chan as he evades her eye contact.
“I’m excited for part two,” she finishes. “I think you’re doing a fine job at knowing him."
*
“He took you to meet his mom?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” you reply quickly, as you gesture to the camera Lin grasps between her hands. “He needed to get some equipment. It just happened to be at his mom’s place.”
She scoffs as she thumbs over the camera buttons, her lips pulling into a smile as she observes the thumbnails of your various clips.
“It’s a fucking gold mine,” she emphasizes. “This is exactly what we’re looking for.”
Lin watches curiously as one of the clips begins to play, an indistinguishable dialogue emitting from the camera as a close-up shot of his mom is shown.
“What’s the gist of them?” She inquires, toying with the camera strap.
“His mom seems worried for him,” you remark, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over the palms of your hands as you speak in a reluctant tone. “She alludes to something he’s hiding- maybe some sort of double life he leads. Of course I don’t think he’s that interesting, but he’s definitely a little closed-off when he wants to be.”
“She couldn’t say more?”
“She doesn’t know more. He’s a mystery to his own family, it seems.”
Lin lets out a singular breathy chuckle before ejecting the memory card and grasping it carefully between her fingers.
“Nice work,” she voices. “Part two is finally going to get personal.”
You think over her words momentarily, envisioning the way Chan so confidently brought you along with him that evening, allowing you to photograph the cherished corners of his childhood home, from the blue boxing mitts his mother held onto all those years, down to the sacred conversations of his mother in clear distress. And although you weren’t explicitly ordered not to publicize the footage, it feels wrong- just a little too… voyeuristic, to pass along to the network like this.
“Wait,” you say to Lin, uncovering the palms of your hands and gesturing to the memory card. “There’s a few clips on there I meant to delete.”
“Like what?”
“Just some extra footage we didn’t need. I’ll delete it and give it right back-”
“We can sort it out later,” Lin says, with a shake of her head. “I’ll give you a once-over before we publish the next part. Don’t worry about it.”
You meet her gaze as she finishes speaking, and she shoots you a small smile before setting the memory aside on her desk.
“Tell me,” Lin begins, leaning back in her desk chair. “What’s he like?”
You chuckle softly, leaning back in your own chair, as you shrug in response.
“I don’t know. He’s a perfectionist, that’s for sure. And he’s a little hesitant to be honest about himself.”
And then you sigh, locking eyes with the ceiling as you avert her gaze. A small smile creeps upon your face, as you think of Bang Chan, and the charming way he recounts stories of his career, always keen on asking about yourself in turn and maintaining his polite composure.
“He’s not as bad as I thought,” you then admit to her, after a brief moment of silence. “Of course he’s still an unbroken winner, at the end of the day. And that has its own implications. But I suppose he’s not all bad.”
Lin smirks a little at your confession, nodding as she folds her hands in her lap and raises her eyebrows.
“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” she teases. “He requests for you an awful lot these days.”
And you shake your head in response, your gaze falling to the memory card still placed on the desk in front of her.
“He just wants company,” you say to her, thinking back to the footage of him that exists on the little plastic card. “He just likes good company.”
*
And perhaps “good company” really is all which Chan seeks, you grow to realize, as the occurrences in which he’s dragging you along to some mundane task grow tenfold during part two of his series’ filming sessions. You familiarize yourself with his gym, his childhood home, even the leather interior of his two-seater when he’s speeding down the highway and indulging you in stories of his days spent training. Always a camera aimed at him, always a frame-by-frame analysis of how much he’s grown to love heavy lifting days the most, or how he’s partial to darker clothing because it offsets the paleness he flaunts when he’s been inside training all day. The monotonous setting of your office is quickly transitioned to that of Chan’s training gym, where you’ll typically occupy a bench by the gallery wall while he throws punches with Mr. Seo in the ring.
Chan is well aware of your tendency to film him during training sessions, earning the new title of a “show-off” by Mr. Seo’s standards, when he’s perfecting all his jabs in front of you, keen on his footwork and lifting weights three times his normal. And from behind the lens, you often hold his gaze a little too long, cocking your head to observe the way his brown tresses cling to his chiseled face with sweat. Or perhaps the way his thin athletic t-shirts seem to ride up his body with every punch, exposing the thin strip of flesh where his toned obliques grace your presence.
And the high ratings mean the network is eager to get more out of him, encouraging you to stay a little longer where you can, or to ask questions that scrape below the surface of who Chan really is.
Be intentional with your questions. Get him vulnerable.
And you certainly make attempts to, especially persistent at following all of his intimate moments with a camera in and hand a series of follow-up questions.
Of course Chan certainly won’t admit it, far too caught up in the pressure to maintain the image of a “perfect boxer” to let his guard down around you, but he is comfortably vulnerable in your presence, fascinated with the prospects of the series as it pertains to his winning streak, and often immersed in thoughts that don’t only involve himself.
As a memory card remains plugged into your laptop, importing clips of Chan’s conversations of carefree footage for Lin- laughing, smiling, your eyes scan the still frame of him, beaming, one popsicle in hand and a hand outstretched to the camera. He looks lighter this way- in fact, you’re not sure you would take him to be a boxer at all if not for the knowledge you possess.
When Chan concludes his round of punches, he makes his way toward you in purposeful strides, hoisting himself off of the ring and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
“What are you thinking about?” He queries, assuming a spot on the bench beside you and slouching back comfortably.
“You don’t need to interview the interviewer,” you remind him, fingers hovering over the mousepad of your keyboard. He shoots you a knowing smile, the flesh by his lips creasing as he holds it there momentarily.
When you look up to meet his gaze, he holds it- a little too long to feel appropriate, but not in a way that begs you to cease your actions. He’s still just as charming as you’d concluded him to be following your first interaction- but he’s also real, tantalizing. The look is almost dizzying when a soft hum emits from the back of his throat, as though he’s laughing at you, as though he knows he drives you mad in more ways than just one.
And his intense brown eyes seem to soften as he flickers his gaze over your contented expression.
“Let’s do something tonight,” Chan says in a mellow tone. It’s hardly a question, and more of a command, as he drums on his knees with the pads of his fingers.
“Why, you need another grocery run?” You retort with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he holds your gaze.
“I like your company,” Chan confesses. “This gym wears me out.”
You turn your attention back to your computer as a blush creeps on your cheeks- Chan knows very well that your camera is now well saturated with footage- in fact, you could probably go several days in his absence and still have enough footage to pull together the next part.
“And by ‘do something’ you mean what, exactly?”
“There’s a bar down the street.”
“I don’t like bars.”
“Me either,” Chan says quickly, followed by a soft chuckle.
You turn to hold his gaze once more, narrowing your eyes a little as though you’re challenging him.
“Bad practice for athletes,” he states simply.
“Then I guess we’ll have to forfeit.”
Chan pauses for a moment, and then his lips pull into another smile, a small blush making its way on the tips of his ears before he speaks again.
“Come to my place,” he says plainly. It’s a request perhaps too bold for somebody who’s meant to serve the sole purpose of a video subject, and yet the offer is nothing short of tempting- for video purposes, and possibly for your own interest, too.
He thinks it over a moment, not having devised any form of a plan for the evening, but holding onto his hopes that you’ll agree, nonetheless.
“Just… indulge me in your presence, yeah?” he finishes.
You begin to tell him that you can’t, that this is probably going too far as it stands, to be spending every waking hour with him the way you now do. But the reminder lingers, that you’re meant to be breaking down his walls, gathering all of his private affairs for the purposes of this series. And perhaps, also, because he’s still hard to say no to.
“Can I bring my camera?” You ask him, and Chan nods, amused.
“You can bring your camera,” he affirms. “Film whatever you want.”
He keeps his gaze on yours again, his brown eyes flickering over your pursed lips as you observe him at this painfully close proximity. A single bead of sweat trickles from his temple down to his cheek, and as your hand instinctively reaches out to wipe it off of him, the echoing sound of footsteps interrupts you, your head snapping in the direction of a voice as it calls out to you both.
“Popsicles are out,” Mr. Seo says when he appears, boxing mitts grasped firmly in his grip. “I’m out of here for the evening, but you’re free to go restock if you feel so inclined.”
Your bodies almost force themselves away from each other, and you rise from the bench to give Mr. Seo a small bow when he’s stood in front of you.
“Hi Mr. Seo,” you say nervously. “I can make a quick trip-”
“We’ll go together,” Chan interrupts.
Your gaze snaps in his direction, where he’s now standing, too, and he nods again to affirm his answer.
Mr. Seo glances at you briefly, perhaps at just enough of an angle to presume that he knows your emotions are a little elevated. But then he simply shrugs, nodding affirmatively in your direction.
“Yeah,” he says plainly. “I’ll see you for tomorrow’s session.”
That same evening marks the first instance in which Bang Chan is reminded that he’s now perceivable to the masses- in the form of sold out popsicles. You watch as he cluelessly questions the cashier, furrowing his brows and recalling how they had restocked just days prior.
“Why would popsicles be sold out so quickly?” Chan voices, staring down the freezers against the wall as though his favorite dessert might somehow materialize from nothing.
And as your eyes remain fixed on the A4 paper that hangs loosely from the glass door, detailing “no popsicles” in scribbled handwriting and adhered by a single strip of masking tape, you make sense of it before you can even verbalize it.
“Because of you,” you voice with a chuckle.
“Me? That’s a stretch, I bought, like, three the last time I was here. That’s hardly enough-”
“Your series,” you interrupt, approaching the fridge and giving it a once-over. “You mentioned them in the first part. I think your fans have taken a liking to them.”
Your gaze meets Chan again, waiting for him to say something along the lines of what the athletes typically do when they’ve had their first brush with newfound fame. And yet Chan doesn’t smile back- in fact, the expression he wears on his face is anything but content, his lips pulling into a frown you can only describe as somber.
The chime of the door indicates the arrival of more people, and suddenly Chan can feel pairs of eyes boring into his soul from every corner of the convenience store, the undivided attention of customers analyzing his every move and holding him to the same impossible standard he’s become so accustomed to.
He’s aware that they’re picking apart his appearance, his mannerisms, translating his pixelated figure into the real-life tangibility of his broad stature. The girls seem to laugh into their sleeves as they traverse the store, and the men shoot him envious looks, as though any one of them might be Bang Chan’s opponent in the flesh. He thinks back to his opponent, who he knows trains in the same gym near this very convenience store. And then his eyes scan the room nervously, calculating the chances that one of these men may indeed be Kang-Dae. The men he rules out are paired against the likelihood that they’re either for him, or entirely against him, like they might actively be rooting for his downfall. Like they may eagerly be awaiting a broken winning streak.
And if the sight of an empty freezer isn’t soul-crushing enough, he may very well mistake this to be a boxing match, by the way his heartbeat quickens in his chest, eyes on him eagerly awaiting his next move and silently commentating as though they control him. The thoughts race through his mind once more, as he ponders the relativity of a winning streak to an empty boxing ring, a spectator relative to a participant. A city-wide obsession with popsicles for fleeting, superficial fame- and a voyeuristic fascination with the sacred intricacies of his personal life.
What are you so afraid of?
Your voice rings in his mind, and he cringes when he takes several steps away from your looming figure, averting the gaze of every customer in the store as his own heartbeat echoes loudly through his ears.
“Let’s go,” he says, beginning toward the door again.
“Already?” You question, glancing at the full shelves of alternative dessert options. “You don’t want to grab something else?”
“I want to go home,” Chan emphasizes through gritted teeth.
And when he’s exited the store before you, the blank stares shared amongst you, and the store clerk, and the customers who most definitely recognize him, seem to only affirm the discomfort he feels.
*
Home to Bang Chan isn’t always the one he grew up in- it’s also his humble apartment on the east side, up three stories high, the walls heavily resembling that of a bachelor pad’s. It’s not very hospitable, you quickly notice, as the room is only incrementally brightened by the on switch of a floor lamp in the corner. And as he gestures to a black leather couch across a luxurious flatscreen television, you can’t help but wonder how many girls he’s charmed into this exact position, comfortably sat on his couch as he makes his way over with two glasses of white wine.
“I’m impressed,” you say quickly, giving the living room another once-over.
“How so?”
“You have good taste in furniture. And your hosting qualities aren’t too shabby. Is white wine your go-to for journalists?”
“Very funny,” Chan says with a grin. “You’re the first to have made it this far.”
“Then can I ask what the occasion is?” You inquire, as he assumes the spot beside you. “Aside from indulging you with my company.”
Chan sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of you both, exchanging it for a remote control and switching on the television.
“Something I wanted to watch with you,” he says simply. You observe as he starts up what you think to be a movie at first, his arm sprawling over the back of the sofa as he sits back comfortably. And then, when the familiar sound of an introduction fills the room, you don’t have to wait long to know what it is.
“I should’ve guessed,” you say quietly from your spot next to him, as you bring the glass of wine up to your lips. Chan nods, a smile upon his face as renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man assumes a seat in a studio much like yours, and then begins to speak.
“I’ve been boxing for ten years,” he says, following a brief introduction. “It’s my passion. My life’s dream.”
The peripherals of your eyes shift to Chan’s seated figure, where he’s watching intently, a sort of shimmer in his eyes as he indulges in the film for what may be the hundredth time now. It’s one you remember well, too, always having memorized his graceful responses to questions and his aversion to engage in any form of slandering his opponents.
And as Chan watches, you make careful movements to retrieve your camera from your bag, starting up a fresh recording and angling it toward him.
“God, isn’t he the coolest?” Chan remarks, and you chuckle lightly.
“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”
He gestures to the television with his index finger, sitting up a little when Hyun-Man is filmed pulling on a pair of blue boxing gloves.
“Those are the ones!” Chan says excitedly. “That’s why I picked blue ones for my first pair.”
You chuckle at Chan’s enthusiastic reaction, and then you adjust the camera so that it’s zoomed into his face a little more.
“Chan,” you voice to him, and he turns a little to face you, humming in response. “What exactly is it about him you’re so fascinated with?”
He thinks it over momentarily, and before he can answer, you’re speaking again.
“He was only a championship boxer for a whole two years, you know. He holds one of the shortest-spanning careers in your field.”
Chan purses his lips, hanging his head as he thinks over your words.
“I know,” he responds.
And he’s very knowledgeable of the fact that although Baik Hyun-Man was the first heavyweight boxer of his kind to make it to the Olympics, he was retired and gone just two years after his biggest fight. Not a product of fading relevancy, but rather a personal choice of his, to step away from the spotlight, step down from his career and live a life beyond just the sport in which he excelled at.
“You will face your share of losses,” he had said in his final speech to the masses. “And you can’t let it retract from the rest of life you have to live. It’s been an honorable two years, I’m going to live the rest of it now.”
Chan looks at the television, and then at you once more, an indistinguishable expression painted across his face.
“He didn’t want all of this,” Chan says finally. “And sometimes I don’t, either.”
He reaches forward again, grasping the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and downing a generous mouthful.
“What do you mean?”
“All the fame,” he says, pulling the glass away from his lips again. “And pairs of eyes constantly watching your every move. It gets exhausting.”
He then slouches back a little further into the cushions, shutting his eyes momentarily.
“Made worse when you’ve never lost,” he finishes, opening his eyes again to meet your gaze.
His eyes flicker briefly over your lips, and then back up to your eyes, which carefully examine the state of him. You’re hardly ever at such intimate proximity to a video subject like this, but you can tell again that he looks tired, his eyes outlined by deep, purple bags and a sorrowful expression. You wonder when the last time is that he got a full night of rest, or even consumed something that wasn’t just a snack in between training sessions and interviews.
“Is that what you want for yourself?” You ask him boldly, the tips of your fingers tracing the shutter release on the camera.
He gets quiet, a little reluctant to answer the question- and rightfully so, never having seriously thought about letting go of all of this.
“I don’t know what I want,” Chan admits after a moment of silence. He turns to face you again, shrugging his shoulders and positioning himself to face you fully now. And then he cocks his head, furrowing his brows as you continue to toy with the shutter release.
“Are you recording?” He asks with a breathy chuckle, gesturing to the camera with the point of his index finger.
You chuckle in response, too.
“It’s just for my personal use,” you assure him. “It won’t make it past this memory card. I’m just picking your brain a little.”
He seems satisfied with the response, knowing too that he’s most transparent when he has a camera aimed somewhere at him. Chan sighs, exhaling once before folding his hands in his lap.
“Everyone wants me to tell my story,” Chan says in a shaky voice. “I feel so suffocated these days.”
“Rightfully so,” You echo back at him. “There is a lot of pressure on you leading up to the fight.”
“Something like that. The worship feels… well, it feels suffocating.”
He gets quiet again, eyebrows arched as he meets your gaze, in hopes you’ll make sense of his nervous conciseness.
“Like the popsicles,” you remark, nodding your head once.
You recall Chan growing strangely quiet at the knowledge that he had not only cultivated a loyal fan base after just one episode of airtime, but that just like the audiences at his matches, they were keeping careful watch of his every move, imitating him and placing him on a pedestal like he’s bound to experience for the remainder of his career.
“Yeah,” Chan affirms. “Like the popsicles. It’s like nothing is sacred anymore.”
The popsicles, you remember, have been a childhood staple of his since he still wore the blue mitts to matches that his mother now boasts so proudly. They’re out of reach now; unattainable. Much like a life not tainted by the pressure to win is.
You nod once at his words, and then you reach out to pat his knee encouragingly, smiling when you speak again.
“You said it yourself,” you say to him. “Not much scares you these days. Maybe this is just the product of the anticipation leading up to the fight. I mean, do you really think Baik Hyun-Man wasn’t scared when he was the first boxer to-”
“Losing scares me,” Chan interjects, the pupils of his eyes trembling when he speaks. A deafening silence falls over the room, and you can make out the sound of when he swallows nervously at his own state of vulnerability.
“Losing scares the shit out of me,” Chan repeats, and it’s when you meet his gaze once more that you take notice of the tears which brim his eyes, his lower lip trembling nervously as he struggles to speak.
The only other time you’ve seen him display any emotion besides than the charming, mesmerizing persona he flaunts, is when he’s boxing- and right now, juxtapositioned against his otherwise calm demeanor, he seems almost stricken with sorrow, tears beginning to cascade down his reddened cheeks and find purchase on the sleeves of his shirt.
“Sorry,” Chan breathes out amidst the silence, hiccuping when more tears stream down his face.
For a moment, you can’t find the words to say, simply observing his state and trying to understand where he’s coming from with all of this. Yet it doesn’t require a considerable amount of thought- perhaps somewhere deep down, you already know this of him, well aware of his tendency to pull away and shut himself off from the heavy emotions he harbors. It’s made clear when he diverts from the topic of fear, directing the conversation back to Mr. Seo, or his mom or even yourself. It’s evident in the way he seems to be bothered by his own solitude, dragging you along under the guise of “good company”. And it’s made painfully obvious in the way he’s so frightened at the notion of losing all things sacred to him- remnants of his innocence, the people around him and especially a commendable winning streak.
“What if I lose this match?” Chan ponders out loud, his eyebrows arching as he shrugs sheepishly. “What’s going to become of me? Of all this?”
Your hands are the first ones to beckon for his, palms outstretched as he reciprocates with the gentle placement of his fingers in yours. And then your thumb caresses his knuckles tenderly, cocking your head as you feel the smooth metal of his silver rings in your touch.
“So what if you lose?” You question back boldly.
“Then I’m a loser,” Chan says quickly. “And I don’t want to be a loser. I know I was born to win this thing- I’ve been training for this my whole life.”
“You’ve been training your whole life,” you echo. “But this is only a fraction of it. You’re still going to do remarkable things, whether you win or lose this. Everybody loves you.”
“I don’t,” he says quickly, a breathy chuckle involuntarily escaping his lips. He holds your gaze a moment, and then his expression grows serious again.
“I hate who this has turned me into,” he continues. “I’m a… I’m a coward. I shut people out, I can’t even be honest with them about how terrified I am of being a loser. And the only time I’m honest with myself is when I imagine it’s me I’m punching in that ring. Just a shell of who they think I am. A fucking loser.”
You think back to the way Chan delivers hits to the bag in that raised platform of the gym, teeth gritting and beads of sweat collecting along his brow, as he hits harder, and harder and harder, until the bandages around his knuckles can do nothing to shield the pain of self-inflicted wounds. One hit and a black eye, two hits and a cracked rib, a myriad of strikes and uppercuts and hopefully the numbness of all the self-loathing thoughts that follow.
“I’m so tired,” Chan then confesses quietly. “Can you tell I haven’t slept in days?”
And you say nothing back to him, your eyes flickering over the apples of his cheeks all glossed with tears, the bags under his eyes appearing an even darker shade of deep gray as his eyebrows slouch down into a sorrowful expression. He looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, almost miserable, as he waits for you to say something. And when you don’t, he quickly regrets the stream of consciousness, shaking his head as he pulls back his calloused hands from your grasp.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You’re a journalist, not a therapist. I shouldn’t have been so honest-”
“None of that makes you a loser,” you interject with the shake of your head, and then a small smile. “All your fears, and your hangups and your reservations. They’re little burdens you carry with you- but they’re all human. You don’t have to apologize for any of it. They’re simply part of the story you’re telling.”
It’s Chan’s turn to get silent, his lips parted ever so slightly as he studies the way you gauge his reaction back. It’s unclear what he thinks, and you fear momentarily that you may have somehow offended him with your response.
Nothing is spoken for a passing moment as you exchange curious glances with each other. When the camera shifts a little in your lap, you shut off the recording, pushing down on the shutter release with the dip of your index finger and letting it rest atop the crack of the couch cushions.
And then before you can utter some form of apology to him for actions unbeknownst to you, he’s leaning in a bit closer, eyes nervously darting over your lips and back up to your trembling eyes.
Chan’s heartbeat quickens in his chest as he searches for the right words to say- perhaps some thanks for the reassurance, another apology, or even a confession of emotions he’s not fully come to terms with yet. An attractive athlete like himself is no stranger to the process utilizing his eloquent flirting skills, and yet the words escape him, as he understands finally that you don’t feel like a stranger to him at all.
Not when you’re accompanying him to the convenience store by the gym for late night popsicles, or observing the way he trains from behind the lens of your camera. Not when you’re in the intimate setting of his mother's house, graciously conversing with her as he stews in thoughts of self-deprecation. Or when you’re in the passenger’s seat of his car, laughing at tales of his summer days spent confined to that dingy little makeshift gym in his garage. Perhaps the words are lost to his own doubts when he begins to confess that you’re more than just “good company”- that his world doesn’t feel so centered around a sport when he’s in your presence. That for a fleeting moment, he feels like there is a life beyond that of an athlete on a rampant winning-streak, and that the thought of losing doesn’t feel half as scary when he’s sitting beside you.
You’re no stranger to Chan- a fact that rings true when he finally presses his lips to yours, his hand rising to caress your cheek gently as you kiss him back, eager and full of a soft yearning for him.
You remain like that for a moment, aware that it’s entirely wrong and you shouldn’t even be in a subject’s house at this proximity. The flavor of his salty tears mixed with white wine upon his lips is less noticeable as you work to kiss it off him entirely. And when you pull away once more, it’s not for a lack of enjoying it, more so than your guilty conscience weighing on you.
Chan observes your expression, worried he’s crossed a boundary when you pull back gently and give him a sheepish smile.
“What is it?” He asks, one hand coming down to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing in comforting back and forth motions over the denim of your pants.
“You taste like wine,” is all you utter in response, and Chan chuckles, not moving his gaze off yours.
“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he remarks.
“I know you’re not,” you say simply. “But… what exactly are we doing?”
“You tell me,” he says, expression unchanging. “We don’t do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s wrong,” you voice quickly, posturing yourself a little further from him now. “This is strictly a professional relationship. We’re not supposed to be wrapped up in this.”
Chan nods just once, making no effort to try and change your mind. He knows this is a possible outcome, having replayed it in his head several times since the moment he understood that his desire to kiss you was only worsening by the day. So true to the gentleman he is, Chan pulls away, too, sprawling the palms of his hands over his knee caps and pursing his lips.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “Okay.”
“I want to,” you interject, the sleeves of your sweater swallowing your own hands as you fidget nervously. He meets your gaze again, blinking just once as he waits for you to speak.
“I think you’re amazing,” you continue. “And I think in any other context, things might be different between us. But I can’t risk your career, my career- this whole series, and whatever’s waiting for you after all of this. You’re going to do great things after your big win. I’m just a stepping stone in it.”
And there’s an ounce of truth in your words- you do find yourself drawn to Chan, thoroughly enjoying the late night escapades alongside him and getting to know his character beyond that of just a boxer. But the truth stands, that this level of intimacy only exists to uncover his story, not because you’re destined for any sort of relationship to him. In due time, he’ll be in the big leagues with all the other famous athletes, and you’ll still be a journalist. You’re just the storyteller- not a part of the story.
Chan furrows his brows, shaking his head as he replays your words in his head. He begins to piece together the admission that he’s regretful these are the circumstances, and that reducing you to the role of a stepping stone feels like an injustice for the sheer honesty you’ve managed to coax out of him.
“You’re more than that,” is all Chan can utter, with the gentle shake of his head. He’s quiet for a moment when he locks his eyes with yours, letting out a sharp breath before speaking again.
“You’re the only person I haven’t felt inclined to shut out in years. I know it’s probably just this series, and I’m supposed to be telling a story. But having you here, being honest with you and having somebody who listens to me instead of praising me for all these fleeting brushes with fame- it feels so right. It feels so right here with you.”
His words are simultaneously like a pierce to your beating heart, and the catalyst for you to kiss him just once more, your hands finding purchase on the leather beside him as you waste no time pressing your lips to his, a small gasp escaping his lips into your mouth as he shuts his eyes and kisses you back. His hands find the small of your back, assisting you toward him and onto his clothed thigh, where your legs now straddle the denim fabric of his jeans as your fingers tangle in his hair.
Chan’s breaths are heavy against your mouth as he feels you rock your hips gently toward him, practically rutting against his toned muscle as his kisses move to the column of your neck. And as his calloused hands grip your waist tenaciously, moving your parted thighs back and forth along him, allowing the rough fabric to satisfy the rhythmic ache between your legs with every slight movement, you press two hands to his chest once more, pushing him away from you gently and watching as he halts his movements.
“What is it?” Chan asks again in a low, breathy voice. You can feel his quickening heartbeat as your fingers graze the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your gaze unmoving as you position yourself off his lap and onto your knees. His entire disposition is overtaken by nerves, afraid of losing two things now, as he waits for you to speak. You take note of the visible worry on his face, the way his eyes are still glossy from crying and outlined by a clear lack of sleep. His hair is tousled from the tangle of your fingers in it, his lips remain parted nervously as he observes the way you sit up a little straighter and scan his eager frame.
He’s already pitched a tent under the fabric of his jeans, his cock visibly straining against the confines of the denim fabric, cringing to himself when he sees you eye his crotch curiously from where you’re sat. His eyes then widen when you slot yourself between his legs, his expression appearing animated for the first time in weeks, as the gray bags under his eyes seem to deepen with his confusion.
“Just relax for me, okay?” you reply in a low voice.
Chan watches as you pull a hair tie from around your wrist between your teeth, simultaneously gathering your hair into a ponytail, and then securing it back tightly, looping it skillfully around just twice, until it’s pulled taut and effectively out of your face.
He begins to say that there’s no obligation to finish the job he initiated, and that he’s in no position to contradict the truth that he’s just a video subject to you, in what’s meant to be a strictly professional relationship. But when you shoot him a saccharine smile from between his muscular thighs, hands traveling to the waistband of his jeans and unfastening his belt buckle, he can do nothing except remain fixed on the sight of your manicured fingers undressing him. Chan sits up momentarily to allow his jeans to pool around his ankles, his belt hanging open at his sides, as the gentle clink of the buckle falls upon the leather sofa beside him. And then your hand finds his still-clothed erection, cupping a hand around him and meeting his gaze once more when he lets out a little gasp.
“Is this okay?” You whisper up at him, your hand distancing itself from his cock as you await his reply.
Chan nods before he speaks, swallowing nervously as he comprehends what’s about to occur. He’ll never tell you that he’s dreamt of this for so long- that he’s fantasized about circumstances in which you’re so much more than just a journalist to him. Circumstances in which he’s permitted to kiss you in front of all the watchful eyes, or make love to you right there on the floor of the boxing ring when the gym’s already empty for the night. Ones in which you’re a lover he’s brought home to meet his mother, not just an interviewer or a stepping stone in his career. And where you’re a part of his story, not just fulfilling the mundane task of telling it.
A journalist relative to its subject- the relativity of one storyteller to another. But your relativity to Bang Chan’s- the relativity of one lover to the next, of sweet nothings left unsaid and learning to embrace the intricacies of his own vulnerability.
“Yeah- yes,” Chan vocalizes back in a shaky manner, earning a small chuckle from you, as you loop your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and rid him of those, too.
He’s bigger than you’d anticipated, and harder, the tip of his cock flushed a bright shade of red as you observe it grow against his abdomen once he’s fully exposed. Chan takes a sharp breath when the cool air grazes his bare flesh, wincing, as he watches you sit up on your knees a little straighter. Your hand reaches out to grasp the base of his cock between your fingers, not yet moving, as you gather a generous wad of saliva between your pursed lips. And then Chan’s eyebrows arch in anticipation when you near him, a small dribble of spit already finding purchase on your lower lip.
“Close your eyes,” you tell him. Chan nods eagerly in response, shutting his eyes and leaning back a little further into the couch cushions. He takes a sharp breath when he feels you stroke his length just once, maintaining a light hold of him as you bring your lips to his tip. And then he gasps involuntarily, when he feels you press your drooly mouth against his flesh, pressing a single kiss to his cock and smiling against him while you feel him writhe in your touch.
His chest rises and falls with anticipatory breaths as he waits for you to do more- and in mere seconds, you’re taking him in your mouth, his girth stretching the corners of your lips as you work yourself down halfway and back up again.
“Fuck,” Chan breathes, his eyes trembling as he struggles to keep them closed, his thighs tensing when he feels you work your mouth down his length once more, this time a little bit further down.
His hands grasp desperately at his sides, searching for something, anything, to hold, practically clawing at the taut leather as he lets out another fervent moan. And with nothing within reach, he lets his hands fold behind his neck, throwing his head back in a state of pure bliss as you continue to work him so skillfully.
Your lips grow wetter as you do, a mix of his precum and your saliva glazing the length of his cock as you move down, and up, and down once more, picking up the pace when you hear him let out a heavy grunt at the sensation. He’s tense beneath you, but still in a blissful state of pleasure, breathing cuss words into the air above him and letting his mind stray far from the burdening thoughts that typically plague him. None of it matters when your mouth is working him to his finish, your hands gliding along his shaft in tandem with the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his hard cock, gulping desperately for air when you pull away from him momentarily. He can’t possibly lose when he’s shivering in your touch and letting little moans escape his plump lips- he’s nothing but a winner like this in your presence.
Strings of saliva connect you to him still, glistening under the dim lights the same way your runny makeup now does. He exhales little pleas for a release when you attach your lips to him once more, swirling your tongue around the base before trailing little kisses down his length. And then he feels his hips jerk forward just once, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter when you hum around his shaft.
You smile with him in your mouth, still, knowing he’s on the cusp of release, his eyebrows knitting together as he makes every effort to stave off his orgasm. You take note of the way his fists clench, intertwined with each other behind the beads of sweat that graze his neck, and then his moans seem to heighten in pitch when you swirl your tongue around his base once more.
You glance up at him from between his legs, his adam’s apple bobbing with every slight noise emitting from the back of his jutted throat.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” he gasps in response to your quick movements. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna finish.”
And it’s already evident by his facial expressions, which contort into a desperate, silent plea for a finish, as his head jerks forward in a sudden motion.
His eyes squeeze tighter, heartbeat ringing throughout his ears in combination with the erotic, squelching noises of your lips gliding along his shaft. And then you pause for a brief second with his tip between your mouth, still.
“Chan,” you say to him tenderly. “Open your eyes.”
He obeys, eyes fluttering open to marvel at the sight of your hands with his length in their grasp, your pink lips continuing to work needy kisses down his dampened flesh. He exhales sharply at the sight of your mascara, now pooling beneath the apples of your cheeks as you stare up at him through hooded eyelids.
And when you take him in your mouth again, working your throat down to the base of his cock, his hips buck up toward the back of your tongue, earning a drooly gag as you struggle to keep him there.
He practically melts into the couch while your throat adjusts to the new position, his cock twitching upon your flattened tongue as you attempt to lick a stripe up his length. And then his heartbeat quickens when you begin a rhythmic bobbing action again, his mind dizzying at the erotic sight of you like this.
The room fills again with the sound of your tongue working his flesh. And he’s strangely brought back to the memory of popsicles, on a hot day- working his tongue around the base and gathering every last drop of sherbet between his wetted lips. Ridding himself of the sticky residue that finds purchase along the veins of his forearms, tracing his tongue along his skin, the same way you do along his shaft. When his hands come down to grasp his knees momentarily, his gaze falls to your face, and he admires the way you taste him with such desperation, as though he may be the one sacred thing left for you, too. There’s such a juxtaposition between the innocence he’s brought back to- carefree days spent collecting popsicle sticks along the pavement as the consumption of his favorite dessert was made with equal desperation. And the lewd sounds of you humming around his cock, the vibration of your throat sending delicious reverberations along his flesh and causing him to let out a breathy gasp at the sensation.
“I’m gonna cum,” Chan says, for the second time this evening.
“Yeah, cum for me,” you coo tenderly back at him, pulling away from him briefly to hover over his tip with your mouth. “Want you to feel good. Just relax for me.”
Chan’s hardly ever known relaxation- not in the sleepless nights he spends thinking about his career, or when he’s standing in the ring with copious amounts of eyes on him. Not when he’s filming a series for the whole world to scrutinize, or when he’s made aware of the publicity somewhere as unsuspecting as a convenience store.
But he knows it now when he’s with you, lying parallel to you in the same boxing ring after hours, his mind completely void of any self-loathing. He knows it when he’s imagining circumstances in which your careers don’t dictate the inevitable outcome of your relationship to each other.
And he knows it when he finally cums for you, his eyes not leaving the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock as he finds his release, shooting a thick, generous amount of his milky white load onto the flat of your tongue. At first he feels almost guilty, when you finally pull away from around his girth with a gentle pop. And then he muses curiously as he watches you swallow his arousal entirely, wiping the corners of your mouth with the backs of your hands and cleaning the remainder off your fingers with the lap of your tongue.
He almost grows hard all over again watching you devour him entirely, not letting a single drop go to waste, the same way he does with his popsicles. The gentle sounds of your tongue working along the pads of your fingers, swirling around the patterns of your fingertips like they’re just stained orange popsicle sticks. His mind at ease once more, nothing but a stillness in the air and the fleeting presence of another sacred moment to him- this time in the form of yourself.
His body drapes languidly over the couch, too exhausted to speak, simply getting clothed once more as you undo the hair tie and let your hair fall loosely over your shoulders again. Chan extends his hands, helping you off the floor again, and your sore knees straddle him once more, hoisting yourself onto his lap and letting your hands find the back of his neck.
For a minute, he says nothing, completely fascinated with this side of you, as his hands find your waist again.
“Let me return the favor?” Chan inquires just above a whisper, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head in response as he cocks his head to look at you.
“I… shouldn’t” is all you breathe back, hanging your head as he tries to meet your gaze.
He begins to ask why, but he stops himself, knowing that your previous statement still stands. This is wrong- you’re a journalist and he’s just a video subject. Not to mention, he’s just weeks away from the biggest fight of his life- and neither of you intend on ruining any of that for him. He knows all of this as much as you do- but he’s still disappointed that the circumstances appear to be unchanging.
Chan nods as you hoist yourself off his lap and back onto the leather of the couch, and then he reaches for his glass of wine again, scanning your expression in his peripheral vision as you fix your tousled hair. From beside him, your gaze meets his again, giving him a small shrug.
“I’m sorry,” you say to him, toying with the stitching on the leather of the couch. “You probably have tons of girls practically throwing themselves at you as it stands. I don’t need to be another.”
Chan chuckles, shaking his head and setting down his glass of wine. He fidgets with the lobe of his ear as he admires the blush upon your cheeks when you look at him once more.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he admits shyly. “But I’m sure you have your fair share of athletes trying to score a chance.”
It’s your turn to shake your head, chuckling softly as you avert his gaze.
“Not exactly,” you voice back at him. And then your gaze lingers on him, observing the way his lips appear to be smudged with your lipstick.
“Just one,” you conclude, hands finding purchase on your own knees as you maintain a comfortable distance from him.
Chan begins to say something, but then he’s silent again, awkwardly crossing his legs once more and forcing his attention on the television. Though the docuseries continues to play faintly in front of you, it’s painfully quiet between your breathless bodies, and Chan can’t seem to stop himself from catching glimpses of your seated figure while you try not to engage in eye contact with him. You know that if you do, it’ll only result in you practically throwing yourself at him all over again, so you remain facing the television, saying nothing in efforts to not warrant anything more between the two of you. It’s Chan who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat before grasping the remote between his fingers and lowering the volume to just above a muted speech.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks, not meeting your gaze as you sit comfortably beside each other.
“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say back to him, doing your best to evoke a nonchalant disposition. You bite back a smile, as does Chan, while he observes the interview that plays on the television.
“I beg to differ,” he then chimes in. “I believe the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”
The docuseries fills the silence that overtakes the room with hushed chatter as Chan awaits a response from you, and he watches as you lean forward to grasp your glass of wine between your fingers before speaking again.
“I’m just a boring journalist,” you say to him, keeping your gaze on the television. “I collect stories the same way you do medals. There’s not much else to say.”
And the statement is only half true- there’s certainly more you can indulge him in pertaining to your career as a journalist. Details of past athletes you’ve interviewed, moments you’ve shared that permanently altered your life, for better or for worse. Restless nights spent gathering footage, following orders from the crew to get closer, be intentional with your actions. You’re as enthralled in your own career as Chan is- perhaps not at the same level, but devoted, nonetheless.
“Do you like all of this?” Chan inquires a little quietly.
You’re silent for a passing moment, and then you take another sip of wine before answering.
“It’s complicated. I like telling stories. Not always the process it takes to uncover one. Sometimes it’s a little…” you ponder the words briefly, and Chan takes a sip from his glass, too, his eyes darting in your direction as he interjects.
“Voyeuristic?”
You meet his gaze again, not having taken him as someone who could read you so carefully.
“Yeah,” you respond. “That’s exactly how it feels.”
Chan slouches back into the sofa, downing the rest of his wine, and then he sighs deeply, a level of contentedness present in his tone.
“I can’t believe you got me crying on camera,” he says with a chuckle.
You chuckle, too, mirroring his relaxed posture.
“Trust me, the footage isn’t going anywhere,” you say to him. And then you pause, before speaking once more.
“Thank you,” you continue. “For being so honest with me. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.”
Chan turns his head in your direction, shooting you a small smile and a nod. He looks much more relaxed now, his once teary eyes now replaced by the glazed appearance of his blissful state. He looks comfortable like this- happy, even.
“Thank you,” he echoes. “For letting me be so honest. And for what it’s worth, I think you do a pretty damn good job at collecting stories.”
He turns back to the television, folding his arms over his chest now, as do you. And then he raises the volume on the television again, letting Baik Hyun-Man’s words echo in the otherwise quiet space between you.
“Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose,” the familiar words play from the television.
“And knowing that, maybe through tales like mine, of guts and glory, we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried.”
*
Sherbet popsicles remain out for the foreseeable future. Convenience stores are cleared of theme entirely, every freezer in the city decorated with an impromptu sign detailing the status of them.
The environment of the gym seems to grow heavy with anticipation as every passing day brings you closer to Chan’s title fight.
And perhaps the only thing harder than unveiling the very real fears Chan harbors toward his title fight, is resisting the urge to kiss him again.
At first you’re not sure it ever happened, when Chan greets you at the gym with a casual salute, as though he’s greeting his trainer.
“My partner in crime!” He’d exclaimed, like you hadn’t been practically pleasuring yourself on his lap just days ago, mouths breathing hot gasps into each other and hands grasping desperately at his toned muscles. As though you hadn’t devoured him entirely on the sticky leather of his sofa, the flavor of his salty release still familiar to you when you graze your fingertips along your lips.
And with the passing days, he assumes the role of a video subject painfully well, detailing all of his best techniques behind the lens and keeping a comfortable distance from your camera. Part of you is relieved, of course, as you witness Chan do exactly what he’s promised- after all, mixing business and pleasure comes at a cost to the entirety of the project. But when he intentionally averts your gaze while he trains with Mr. Seo now, or refrains from speaking of anything more personal than the mundanes of his daily routine, you can’t help but miss the Chan that was only just beginning to grace you with the details of how all of this really feels to him.
How the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, or that he can’t stand the way his tangible memories seem to slip from his grasp when they’re no longer sacred to him. And a myriad of other admissions, including the painful truth that he’s taken a remarkable liking to you, and yet he’s forced to pretend it’s nothing more than his erratic emotions leading up to the fight when he’s intentionally ignoring you like this.
At just a little over two weeks left until his title fight, Chan is visibly distressed, though he makes his best efforts to mask the fact, growing quiet when you’re not asking him questions, and evading any talk of his fears. It’s worrying to see him like this, and you think back to when his mother previously detailed his tendency to shut himself off from the world in response to his heightened emotions.
“He gets so wrapped up in it,” she had explained somberly. “especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does- all he thinks about.”
It’s made clear to you now when Chan trails off from his sentences, staring off into the distance as though he’s being overcome with disdain for himself. You can see what he means about thinking of himself when he boxes, as he throws particularly harsh uppercuts at the bag in the ring, his face glazed with a sheen layer of sweat as he avoids your concerned gaze from across the room. And when you find yourself alone with him again, he doesn’t so much as crack a smile from beside you, simply lying parallel to the floor as his eyes scan the now dark ceilings of the gym at nighttime.
The photographs on the gallery wall are too shadowy to make out at this hour, except for the one in the middle, the pearly white grin of renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man beaming down upon your languid bodies as you remain there, in complete silence. Chan thinks back to his schedule for what feels like the millionth time now- a training session tomorrow in the morning, a tour of the title fight ring in the afternoon, a series of smaller interviews to fill the week and a meeting with some of the sports directors leading up to his match. And following the eventful few days, part two of the docuseries’ broadcast. It’s one of the first times he’ll spend a few days without you in a while, and it feels admittedly unnerving to him, he realizes, as he chews on the inside of his cheek.
“What are you thinking about?” You break the silence, not breaking your eye contact from the pendant lamps that line the ceiling. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he shrugs casually.
“Not much,” Chan fibs.
Fulfilling the demanding traits of a perfect boxer. The fact that he hasn't slept properly in well over three days. Winning. Losing. Especially losing.
“Getting nervous for part two?” You query, and Chan’s eyes dart to your figure briefly.
He thinks back to the docuseries and all the interviews thus far, and then he shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he speaks again.
“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies again. “You’ll make me look like a winner.”
Chan’s chest rises and falls as he grows quiet once more. He thinks back to the success of part one, where he gained more respect than perhaps ever before, thousands of fans eagerly anticipating how he’ll perform on the evening of the title fight. And then he lets out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily.
“I miss popsicles,” Chan confesses.
You don’t find the words to reply for a passing moment, thinking back to the bright orange dessert he speaks of, perhaps not having realized he hasn’t consumed one in several weeks now. Chan sighs again, and then he repeats himself, his gaze now finding the wall, at Baik Hyun-Man’s beaming smile.
“I really fucking miss popsicles,” he says a little quieter this time around, and by the way he delivers the confession, you become aware that perhaps it’s not popsicles at all he speaks of.
Rather, Chan misses his innocence, his youthful days when none of this mattered so much to him. He misses training with Mr. Seo in his garage, a bright blue pair of kanpeki mitts around his bruised knuckles as he delivered much softer hits to the punching bag. He misses days spent at his mom’s house without these heavy burdens he bears- a lifelong promise to himself to make her proud, and simultaneously pushing her away, because he knows his obsession with boxing only brings out the very worst in him. He misses the summer days he lost to training sessions, he misses the life he knew before a winning streak was ever uttered in reference to him.
And he misses you, although you remain at this comfortable proximity to him- no camera in sight and a yearning to know him as intimately as he longs to know you. But the truth remains, that you’re just here to tell his story, not be a part of it. The relativity of a journalist to an athlete- new burdens he bears, new fears he harbors.
“I have an interview with Mr. Seo,” you voice from beside him. “Anything in particular I should ask about?”
Chan chuckles at your ability to ground him once again, and then his eyes scan the ceiling as he thinks it over.
“Anything you want,” he says simply. “He probably knows me better than anybody else.”
The cogs turn as you think over the seemingly endless possibility of questions for Mr. Seo- a voyeuristic journalist’s dream.
“I’ll see you after part two airs,” you say to him, sitting up from your spot on the ring. “And then we just have your final interview, following the match.”
Chan is quiet for a moment as he sits up, too, leaning back on the palms of his hands and observing the way you gather your bag from beside you. He thinks back to the start of this series, when you’d scolded him for being late, and when he first detailed to you his start to boxing. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were first stating your introductions to each other, and now you’ve quickly become just as important to Chan as boxing is.
“Everything’s going to be different,” Chan says, as you hoist yourself off the platform and sling your bag over your shoulder. You meet his gaze with furrowed brows, humming in response, as he brings his hands forward and toys with the taut bordering wire.
“Hm?”
“Things are just going to be different after this airs,” he concludes. “It happened the first time. It’s going to happen again. I can feel it.”
Whether he speaks of his upward trajectory to fame, the likeability of him to the masses, or his relationship to you, you’re unsure. But you entangle your fingers in the bordering wire across from him, too, letting your fingers caress the stringy metal as you meet his gaze.
The vibrating sound of the wire’s recoil fills the space between your bodies, so close to each other and yet worlds apart, as you let the pads of your fingers brush against his, and then you allow his fingers to intertwine with yours, the bruised knuckles of a boxer’s embracing the silky smooth flesh of a knackered journalist.
He brings your hand up as though he’s going to seal the action with a kiss, yet he doesn’t, simply letting your fingers graze along his lips as he waits for you to say something.
“Are you scared?” You ask him again, not yet moving your gaze from his tired eyes.
He doesn’t blink, or even let his racing heart produce another beat before he’s answering you truthfully this time, his breath tickling your knuckles as he exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in all this time.
“I’m terrified,” Chan confesses. And from the gray bags under his eyes, to the somber expression painted across his face, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerable state only you’ve had the pleasure of becoming so acquainted with.
*
The evening of Friday is the fourth day spent in the absence of Chan.
As he busies himself with smaller interviews, meetings with sports directors and preparations for his title fight, you occupy the office space with members of the network, the common area transformed into a makeshift theater as they project part two of Chan’s series on a large screen.
“A toast,” Lin says, grasping a glass of wine between her fingers as she holds it up to clink against yours. “To y/n, who managed to piece together a hell of a story from our stubborn boxer.”
Your colleagues fill the room with laughter and praise, and you shoot them a sheepish smile, shaking your head as they start up the series.
You think back to the reserved fears Chan carries with him, and the way he’d only uncovered the rest of his story to you- all of his worries, the reality of his exhaustion with boxing and how he’d taken a liking to the one person who made all of this feel a little less important in the grand scheme of things. And it’s a story that will never exist fully in its publication, per your promise to Chan to maintain its secrecy. It’s the one thing still sacred to him- the one thing that still belongs to him.
Lin mutters quietly as Chan’s interview plays in the background, leaning in to not disturb the careful focus that falls upon the employees as they watch him speak.
“Sometimes you have hundreds of eyes on you,” he voices on screen. “You have to be intentional with your actions. You have to know what to show people.”
As he recalls one of his early matches, Lin sets her glass of wine down on a table, folding her arms over her chest and leaning into the shell of your ear.
“Listen,” she says reluctantly. “You did a fantastic job getting all this out of him.”
“Thanks,” you say with a chuckle. “Wasn’t easy, but I think it’s sufficient.”
“We did manage to go in a… different direction, than what was originally passed along.”
You pause your actions of taking another sip of wine, turning to face her as she continues to face the projection screen.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing personal,” Lin explains. “It just wasn’t the same without it. Of course we tried different angles, but the footage on those memory cards- it was a lot to work with.”
As she speaks, your gaze falls back to the projection screen, where Mrs. Bang appears, hands folded nearly in her lap as she details all of Chan’s tendencies to shut himself off from the world.
“He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”
And then just as you’d feared, and although you specifically requested the footage be omitted from the film, Mrs. Bang begins to cry, expressing her worry for Chan and his future.
“You kept that footage in?” You say out loud, earning a few glances from your colleagues around you.
Lin gestures for you to lower your voice, taking a sharp breath before explaining.
“It wasn’t me,” she voices in a whisper, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “The network wanted it personal. It was still on the card when it was imported, and I was told to leave it in.”
“I can’t believe it,” you say, in disbelief as the footage continues to indulge a painful amount of personal information- albeit filmed, not intended for the docu series.
“What else did you keep in?” You say to her, heartbeat quickening in your chest when you remember your conversation with Chan. She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, failing to give an answer, and then without missing a beat, you lunge forward to collect the remote control, fiddling nervously with the buttons as you fast forward through the footage.
The room grows quiet as the footage scrolls rapidly through part two- candid shots of Chan in his car, more interviews, his blue boxing mitts, his training sessions in front of Mr. Seo.
And then before you can begin to ask her about it, your heart sinks in your chest when you’re met with the scene on-screen; one of Chan crying, his head hung in defeat as he sits on the familiar leather couch in his apartment.
“Losing scares the shit out of me,” he says between sniffles, as your camera captures him at a painfully close proximity.
All eyes are on you now, a heavy tension falling over the room as Chan continues to speak on the projection screen. He begins to detail the burdens of valuing his winning streak so much, and you can hardly make out his sentences as you practically toss the remote at Lin and gather your purse once more.
“I can’t believe this,” you say to her, scoffing as you meet her blank gaze. “That was supposed to be for my use. Not for the series. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t my decision,” she explains, trailing after you as you begin out of the common area. “They loved how personal it got. I’m just here to translate it into the series-”
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen to me. God, I should’ve checked the fucking memory card.”
“We wouldn’t have had the ratings we did for part one without this level of closeness,” Lin explains. She follows as you saunter to your desk, gathering a stack of papers and shoving them into your bag.
“I never should have listened to you,” you explain, as a stream of tears finally makes its way onto your reddened cheeks. “All this push to get closer to him, and for what? So you can get your stupid ratings? Well congrats, I hope you got what you were looking for.”
Lin pauses for a moment, and then she scowls in response. For a fleeting moment, you assume she’s going to apologize, or maybe offer to take the fall for you. But when she speaks once more, you’re disenchanted to find it’s the complete opposite.
“I hadn’t taken you to be one to put pleasure before business,” she begins. “He’s just a video subject. Unless there’s more we’re not seeing?”
“He’s a human being, first,” you interject. “His lows aren’t some sick form of entertainment for you to cash out on.”
“Then why were they filmed?” She wonders out loud, and you grow quiet at the question.
You want to argue back, and yet you can’t, not possessing a clear answer to the very fair question she poses to you.
She’s right, to some degree- perhaps in your desire to know Chan so intimately, you’d also begun to house a fascination for the way he opens up to you, recounting stories of his childhood and confessing to a long list of fears he harbors deeps down under the facade of a “perfect boxer”. The lines between business and pleasure had been blurred long ago- as were your intentions when you filmed him every chance you got. Perhaps in navigating the painful reality that you will never be more than a keen journalist relative to a charming boxer like himself, you’d put him on a pedestal the same way many now do. And now you’re no better than the voyeuristic tendencies your network pushed you to possess.
Bang Chan is not some “perfect athlete”, nor can he be reduced to the numerical value of trophies and medals. He doesn’t fit within the binary of a “winner” or a “loser”, and he certainly isn’t some cocky sports fanatic like you’d once taken him for.
He’s a human being- with tangible fears, and hopes for the future, and a profound love for the people who shaped him to be the person he is today. And though the fact remains, that he’s on an unbroken winning streak and about to participate in the biggest fight of his life, it’s just a fraction of who he really is.
“Did you really think this was going to end differently?” She voices. “You really don’t think that you played a role in his exploitation, either?”
“Stop,” you practically beg, glancing past her figure at the caravan of colleagues who’ve now exited the common room, too. They eye you curiously, whispering amongst themselves and awaiting your next move. For a moment, you’re reminded of the boxing ring in Chan’s gym- it’s as though you’re there on that raised platform, pairs of eyes eagerly anticipating your next strike from across your opponent. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, glancing around the room with such desperation as her words play in your head over and over again.
“If I recall correctly, the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody,” Lin states, using your own words against you.
Her voice is like an uppercut to the jaw, leaving you breathless and full of disdain, as she gives you a small shrug. And then before you can strike back, she pivots on her heel, joining your colleagues once more as she departs from your trembling figure.
In the context of this docuseries, you’re entirely complicit in the unjustified publication of Chan’s vulnerability to the whole world.
And in the context of a boxing match- perhaps nothing more than a loser.
Here's a masterlist of what I have read and/or am reading on AO3!
Currently everything I'm reading is primarily SKZ fics (some have referenced TxT or ATEEZ and it's cute) but I'm generally just reading to read and learn what people are writing/passionate about. It's honestly enlightening, in a good way (most times). Reviews are below the cut. ♥
You can find change notes in the QRTs, where I list if anything was added, removed, edited, etc.
Also apparently this post got SO LARGE that I now have to break it up into pieces...will likely make a Google Doc of the Other Finished Fics section.
Number of fics I've finished reading: 114
my ao3: think143
🔖 - unfinished work
📗 - completed work
📖 - currently reading/tracking
My Favorite (Finished) Fics
(In order of completion, not best/worst or anything like that)
hands-on learning 💖 (E) 25.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Porn with Feelings, Friends to Lovers
My Notes: I thought I would have more to say about this one but it's just really really good. A nice quick nighttime read before bed. There's just something about the ones with "feelings revelation" that make me sooooo happy. And yes, all of the smut is *chef's kiss*.
MFA (Most Fuckable Ass) 💖 (E) 53.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, Professor Lee Minho, Student Han Jisung, Slow Burn, Daddy Kink
My Notes: I burned through this fic in an evening and I am fanning myself like a Southern woman in the heat of summer on her front porch. So incredibly well-written, and I've found a fic author that I'll be following closely for a long time.
don't leave me tongue-tied 💖 (E) 57.5k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Porn with Feelings, Light Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Fluff
My Notes: This was honestly really endearing to read and see actual feelings come to light. Author commented to say that it's based on a manga called "My Quiet Best Friend's Just Tongue-Tied", but without the dub-con elements. Well-written and reads easily; comical when it needs to be!
Haebang 💖 (E) 193.6k
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
Notable Tags: Fluff, Smut, Porn With Plot, Sex Work, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Explicit Consent, Subspace, Porn with Feelings, BDSM, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Feelings Realization, Safewords
My Notes: Okay, hear me out; there is a LOT going on in this fic. A lot. The point of the Haebang retreat is that each member specializes in helping you find liberation with one aspect of sex; be it intimacy, dom/sub, etc, and each chapter follows each member at the start before things start to get a bit more involved. However, any time I try to word why I like this fic so much, I simply cannot. Also Seungmin is a nerd and we love him for it.
instinct 💖 (E) 53.4k
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Reader
Notable Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Alternate Universe - College/University, Light Dom/sub
My Notes:This was the first ABO fic I read and it makes every other one I've read after it pale in comparison. I love how the author describes what's going on in the reader's head without over-explaining or spoon feeding it to us. The relationship between Reader and Chan, plus all of the other housemates, is so so so good.
come on home 💖 (E) 206.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Angst, Smut, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Violence, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Denial of Feelings, Referenced Homophobia, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Feelings Realization, POV Alternating, Gangs, Guns, Shitty Exes
My Notes: The guns are there for a split second, but this fic is very centered on a incredibly difficult to read domestic abuse situation, and the liberation from said relationship. There's also the orientation realization of another character, but that instills a lot of angst and fear of loss while reading. However, the fic is still incredible, a powerful read, and definitely on the recommended list.
Wannabe Poet 💖 (E) 134.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Bad Poems, Bullied Han Jisung, Friends with Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Exhibitionism, Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sexual Assault.
My Notes: I'm all about found family and I feel like this fic really hit the nail on the head for it. I loved the concept of this fic from the beginning. Han texts a bad poem to a random number and makes a friend in Minho. Most of this fic seems centered on Han becoming comfortable with his true self and what he wants, not what his family wants for him. I really love the love that he finds not only in Minho, but in everyone around him. ♥
Five Stars 💔 but 💖 (E) 420.7k
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Cannibalism, Dismemberment, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Some Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Grooming, Murder, Mutual Pining, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Implied/Referenced Suicide
My Notes: I have to stress so so so so much that the writing on this fic is one of the best I've ever read. HOWEVER, it's also one of the most fucked up pieces of fiction I've ever read. Mental health issues are at the center of this bloody, sexy, kinky fic. It would truly be a horror movie if it were put onto screen. Please please please make sure to read ALL OF THE TAGS on this fic before deciding whether to read it or not. I had to take frequent breaks but it was difficult to make myself look away because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I have never screamed so much at a fic before in my life. I cried at least six times and four of those were in the last 50k words.
Heart Song 💖 (E) 63.1k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Physical Disability
My Notes: I just...I cried so much during this fic. In this universe, soulmates are identified by a dream that people have on the night of their 16th birthday. They dream about a significant memory from their soulmate's life, and when they awaken, their soulmate's first impression appears on their body written in their handwriting. The only problem is that...Han Jisung is blind, so he has never seen anything. Lee Minho leads his whole life thinking that he doesn't have a soulmate, because he saw nothing in his dream. I LOVE the author's storytelling style, the way they use angst in believable ways, and the way that they bring the characters together.
Speak With Your Eyes 💖 (E) 164k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Space, Hybrids, Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Space Corps, Miscommunication, Slow Burn, ONLY ONE BED, Found Family, Smut
My Notes: A ROMANCE IN SPACE?! Lee Know is an android hybrid, and unfortunately this universe has a lot of not very nice things that are in place regarding people who are not fully human. Lee Know saves Han's life, then Han saves Lee Know's life, then Lee Know saves Han's life again...you get the picture. It's incredibly well-written, a lovely drop into a different setting than I'm used to, and devourable in a day. Will be following this author for a while!
so sweet like chocolate 💖 (T) 71.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff
My Notes: I cannot stop gushing about this fic. The mutual pining is written incredibly addictingly and just aaaagh! Lee Know is a librarian, Jisung is a student who has never visited the library before, Jisung may have accidently thrown a pencil at Lee Know...it all becomes very fluffy at just the right pace. I read this so quickly and when it was over, and the author's note popped up saying "and that's the end!" I had to check the % progress on my kindle. I would devour any further stories written about this story, but I am also okay with how it ended, and imagining what happens next.
The Curse of Saturdays (T)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
opposites attract (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
chances taken (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Let Your Love Walk In (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
LMCat_98 has joined the chat (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
i need you now, but i don't know you yet (M)
Relationship(s): SKZ Ensemble/SKZ Ensemble
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
he ain't heavy, he's ours (M)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/SKZ Ensemble
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
A Beautiful Mess (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
strawberry chapstick (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Promises to keep, we won't ever need
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Loves Me, Loves Me Not
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
After Lust
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
abode of the saints
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
why did we ever meet
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Lonely Street
Relationship(s): Lee Felix/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
break in case of emergency
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Finger Lickin'
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Poles Apart
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
boys, biology, and other inconveniences
Relationship(s): Lee Minho/Yang Jeongin
Notable Tags: TBA
My Notes: TBA
Quaver and Storm 📖🔖 (E)
Notable Tags: SKZ Member/Reader, Dom/Sub, Fluff, Smut, Polyamory, Non-con elements
Leap of Faith 📖🔖 (M)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Kerosene 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Reader
The Stray Kids Gang 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
In Too Deep 📖🔖 (M)
Relationship(s): SKZ Member/Reader
We'll Be Alright 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho
Connected 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Original Female Character
I like the view right now 📖🔖(E)
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
The Force that Drives the Flower 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Lee Felix/Lee Minho
Animals Without Direction 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Everything you Crave 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
A Crack in the Glass 📖🔖(E)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Sin 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix
Boyfriend for Hire 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Waiting For Us 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, OC/Hwang Hyunjin, OC/Lee Felix
Other Fics I've Finished Reading
Due to Tumblr being a general jerk about post size, this is now in a google doc. You can view the list by clicking here. Sorry, I wish I could make this work better!! :(
Added to My Favorite (Finished) Fics
he ain't heavy, he's ours
A Beautiful Mess
strawberry chapstick
Promises to keep, we won't ever need
Loves Me, Loves Me Not
After Lust
abode of the saints
why did we ever meet
Lonely Street
break in case of emergency
Finger Lickin'
Poles Apart
boys, biology, and other inconveniences
Added to Other Fics I’ve Finished Reading:
Hwang Literature: Library on Wheels
For the Heart
Oddinary
Apple
His
Hating you (loving you)
You Had Me At 'Who the Fuck are You?'
what's mine is yours
Of Kimchi & Ink
you can hurt me, I don't care,
You Say That You're Fine (But You Laugh When You Lie)
Brainwaves and Boners
Roses and lemongrass
Straying from the path of Fate (following my heart)
Tame Me
Who Comes at Night
I’ll Be Yours If You’re Mine
heavenly blue
Working Beta
I’ll Devour Everything You Are
I Saw This Really Cute Guy at the Grocery Store the Other Day
little world fallin’ apart
The Lie of My Life
Mint and Magic
moonlight & memories
Undisclosed Desires
Sick thoughts
Added to To Be Read/Reading List:
Boyfriend for Hire
Waiting For Us
Other Changes
Put all of the Other Fics I've Finished Reading into a Google doc because this post got too large for Tumblr to handle... :(
✦summary: You embark on an unusual night for you, as a companion to a wealthy stranger man with a cold countenance, a warm heart and a very hot form of affection.
✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / oral sex / spanking / hair pulling / chocking / ceo lee know x fem reader / non idol felix x fem reader / mention of sex workers, scort / sugar daddy
word count: 12.3k
Part 2 ᯓ★
(masterlist)
Money did buy happiness, you thought; if it did you would be in your mansion worth millions, you would use your money to buy contacts to get your dream job without having to sweat a drop and you wouldn't be standing there right now listening to the landlady, while she yells at you and reminds you how far behind you are in your payments.
It was humiliating and you had no other excuse to tell her, it was obvious she didn't give a shit how much you studied and worked at the same time and it still wasn't enough. She finally left, insulting you a couple of times and flattering herself for being a good person by letting you stay and giving you a space in a very rushed and busy city like this one, where millions of people are looking for a place to live every day.
You wanted to feel unashamed, carefree but you couldn't do it and everything was a thousand times more embarrassing when you were helping your best friend pack as she was moving to a new and better apartment. You knew Hari since you moved into the building three years ago, she was your neighbor and you were the same age so you two quickly liked each other... but the day had come, she was able to move on and was going to a nice place.
Hari watched the whole scene with a bit of sadness, knowing deep down what it felt like to go through exactly the same thing and hear the same old lady screaming. And, as she took one of her boxes to pass it to the mover she thought if after all this time it would be good to finally confess a secret to you… she was terrified of feeling judged but, she appreciated you too much that she really wanted to tell you.
You sighed without further ado, smiling and turning back to your friend.
“Hey, if you need…” Hari wanted to say but you interrupted her immediately.
“I'm fine, really.”
You stared at her and gave her a fake smile. It wasn't new that you hated asking for help and that people feel sorry for you, first it was your male best friend who stupidly is a millionaire and now your best friend who you were supposed to share economic pains. You felt that everyone was moving forward but you, but you didn't want to be seen as a poor girl in distress, it was what you hated the most even though you appreciate their gestures and words in your heart, despite that it's hard for you to take it, as well as thank them and…. express yourself.
“If you need anything you know you can count on m...?”
“On you and Felix, I know.”
You rolled your eyes trying to appear annoyed but you weren't, it was obvious, they always reminded you. And you were extremely grateful just at the thought that they cared about you. You were aware that one of the very good solutions was simply to start dating your rich best friend who you know likes you… but you weren't like that, unfortunately, you were too proud to accept easy money.
“You should give him a chance” Hari added.
“I think I'm fucked up enough to fall in love and add another worry.”
Felix was sweet, caring, attractive and incredibly wealthy, you met him in college as he was studying cinematography. And you were studying performing arts, actress, your biggest dream. Strangely enough, you and Felix connected instantly in a course where you coincided, and you got along very well forming a nice friendship; he had a big and pure heart and was not at all the typical brainless rich kid, however you were the opposite of him, reserved and a bit pessimistic about life and clearly… in some big and tight economic problems.
You couldn't count the countless times Felix offered to help you financially, but you simply felt you were abusing the power of your cute and cuddly best friend.
He would offer you money, he would offer you one of his properties, all paid vacations, you knew it was every girl's dream and that if you told anyone other than Hari about all this, they would be sure to slap you and call you ‘stupid’ to your face. You recognized that he was all a dream come true and that was what you feared the most, that you might be a nightmare for him, your personalities were different and most of all, you felt so bad that you didn't have something to offer him; you felt it looked so wrong to be just him trying so hard even though you were trying twice as hard too and sometimes it seemed in vain.
Moreover, you were quite realistic and recognized well that guys like Felix, wealthy and from a long line of millionaire ancestors, a simple girl like you wasn't enough, and you could never end up with someone like him.
Hari laughed at your comment.
“Love isn't so bad... have you ever been in love?”
You looked at her perplexed, almost wanting to laugh in her face; Hari in love was a concept you didn't know.
“Have you?” you asked, emphasizing your shock.
Your friend just looked at you amused and continued her duty of clearing out her old home. She was nervous, she had a solution for you but wasn't sure if it was an option for you.
After a few hours of exhaustive work like moving your whole life to another place, both of you contemplated the completely empty apartment where you used to spend nights together having sleepovers. Hari sighed, ready to confess something no one else knew.
“Y/n” she spoke to you.
You made a sound indicating you were listening, but you weren't really, you couldn't stop looking at that wall, thinking about what you had to do as soon as possible to get extra money. Hari called your name again until this time she caught your attention, so you turned to look at her; she felt nervousness and wanted to swallow for a second, you furrowed your brow at her sudden strange reaction.
“If I tell you something, promise you won't judge.”
“Of course” you quickly answered without thinking, her behavior seemed odd, but suddenly you were so curious to know.
She looked at you with big eyes of ‘I'm serious’, while you returned the look more than obvious.
“What is it about?”
Hari took a breath, hesitant, and suddenly she had all your attention.
“Have you ever wondered how suddenly I get all this, finally moving, nicer clothes...?” she replied with another question.
You furrowed your brow and tilted your head a bit confused, not meaning to offend, but your friend's life wasn't something you were so concerned about since you saw her completely normal, it wasn't something to be alarmed about, every time you met she was still the same... you wondered if there was suddenly something you didn't notice and that you should feel like a bad friend about.
“Did you get a big promotion at your job...?” you speculated without an answer.
She smiled mockingly.
“There's someone” she finally spat out, unable to express it entirely.
You got excited, those words meant she was dating someone of whom you didn't know details and suddenly it excited you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and turned your whole body towards her, looking at her straight ahead, enthusiastic.
“Oh my God, Hari, why didn't you...”
“Or something like that” she cut you off abruptly.
Again, you looked at her confused, this time waiting for her to start talking. Hari looked at the floor and finally said:
“I have someone who gives me money.”
Silence embraced you, you didn't know what to say so you just laughed incredulously letting out a little air, Hari quickly looked at you with her expressive eyes of ‘you promised not to judge’, so you hurried to say:
“A sugar daddy or something like that? Well… good for you, I guess.”
“I think you need one” she cut off your sarcastic comment so now you laughed out loud. “Being a companion.”
“No thanks, I have enough dealing with Felix and his specific complex” you scoffed.
“I think you're not getting it… I don't know how to explain it but, I can live my life for 5 years without working a single day.”
You were in denial and totally ready to continue to contradict and mock your friend until that comment caught you by surprise.
“Wow, well that's…” you closed your eyes deeply trying to process the kind of conversation you were having. “I think you're exaggerating a bit here…”
“No” she interrupted you again, “this is different, I think you reject Felix because you know him and… these are just unknown men willing to pay a lot of money.”
“Do you really think you can give that kind of power to a man, of just giving you money without him expecting anything in return?” you added without thinking.
Silence returned… and it was when everything made sense and you understood that Hari did give something in return. You didn't want to say it out loud, but suddenly your best friend was a prostitute; you were really surprised. You couldn't help but open your eyes in surprise. Hari felt the need to explain herself before feeling judged.
“They are really wealthy men, it's something really exclusive and selective, you can choose and…”
You dissociated and stopped listening for a second, did they have methods? What did she mean? Why would she believe in the first place that you would be part of something like that?
“And are you with someone or do you have multiple relationships…?” you interrupted her.
You had no idea why you cared about that, you weren't a saint to judge, but maybe it was just curiosity. Hari rolled her eyes annoyed.
“At first a few until I finally found someone, I’m telling you it's surprising what can happen; so far it's him, he gave me the apartment, he'll decorate it and-”
You closed your eyes again incredulously.
“He bought you the apartment? I thought you rented it.”
“I had to lie.”
“And what happens when your fantasy and money run out?” you said mercilessly.
Hari smiled, you were too honest and straightforward sometimes.
“Well, I don't think that will happen for a long time and… Chan and I reached an agreement that I could work in his company as much as I want, even if our relationship ends and he stops supporting me.”
“Oh, so he has a name and now you're dating.”
“It's complicated, I like him but it's obvious that guys like him don't end up with the poor girl like a a TV show.”
And with a hooker, you thought. At least you were grateful that after all the senseless chatter something with common reasoning came out of your friend's mouth. You really had nothing against what she was doing, it just took you by surprise.
Hari sighed.
“I know you don't believe me, but do you remember that time months ago when we went out to eat and jokingly I showed you the meager ₩50,000 in my bank account?”
You nodded, still perplexed and cautious about what she might show you now. Hari took her phone and in a few swift movements with her fingers, handed it to you, displaying on the screen an incredible amount that made you sigh just seeing it. You couldn't believe it. How was it possible for someone to have so much money? Why would they give it to Hari?
“I think it's dangerous, maybe it's just sex with strangers but in exchange for that ridiculous amount… I don't know, you shouldn't trust strangers like that.”
Hari opened her mouth, offended, as she took her phone back.
“It's not always sex, it's about companionship.”
You pursed your lips, unable to believe it; maybe for old men with erectile dysfunction, you thought, but somehow or another, they are men looking for something.
“I'm just giving you an option to give it a chance. It's a really exclusive app, you even send your data to be accepted; it also comes with details of the people offering money for you, how they are, how much, and you can reject them all, you're in control. Come on, y/n, desperate times call for desperate measures…”
“I wouldn't categorize it that way, no thanks, Hari, I'm not that desperate, and by the way, how did you find out?”
“I went to a party months ago and overheard a couple of unknown girls talking about it, it changed my life” she quickly checked her phone again. “I have to go, he came for me, but think about it, okay? Just out of curiosity, like I did until I saw a really impressive amount. Also, they specify if they want companionship or something more…”
You rolled your eyes annoyed, it was crazy, you thought that Hari could live anonymously but your dream was to be an actress, what were you supposed to do if they ever found out that you practically sold yourself. Both of you left the apartment and stood there in the hallway for a few seconds.
“Do you want to meet Chan?”
Your attention returned to your friend as soon as she said those words and confusedly you thought in your mind “who?” until you realized who she was talking about. You were curious, you expected an older man but you were surprised to see that shiny black luxury truck and inside of it, an attractive young adult driving, he looked no more than thirty, or maybe less than forty. You had descended all those floors to meet the person your friend was talking about with enthusiasm and you were too surprised.
Chan got out of the car as soon as he saw Hari and opened the passenger door for her.
“She's my friend, y/n” your friend introduced you.
“Pleasure to meet you” you shook hands.
You were in absolute surprise and denial, suddenly everything started to feel like just a fever dream. You felt the heavy gaze of your friend's ‘partner’ and for a second you wondered if he was really the guy who slept with girls for money or the chauffeur of the lucky handsome rich man.
You gave him a small smile and Chan quickly looked at Hari with complicit eyes, silently asking if you knew who he was in her life to which Hari almost reading his mind nodded softly.
“I'll see you another day, goodbye” your friend said goodbye with a strong hug which you were too astonished to reciprocate.
And they both left, leaving you standing on the cold pavement of the parking lot with your thoughts floating.
You returned to your apartment with a million questions, questioning almost your existence. Imagining the possibility of getting into that silly app, you thought for a second that Hari must have had the greatest luck in the world to get the only handsome man in the whole system, whom you wouldn't be disgusted to sleep with even for a second. You thought if you really should pay attention to Felix, fall in love with him, live with him… but you shook your head vigorously to dismiss that idea, it was almost impossible not to fall in love with him but you didn't feel bitchy and cynical enough to take advantage of his love and money at the same time. You knew it was cruel and that he should be looking for someone because you understood each of his signals, and it was obvious that he was crazy about you but among the boring and miserable life you led, his attention was the only thing that kept you motivated.
You couldn't sleep and little by little you convinced yourself more, sex with a stranger? It shouldn't be so bad, having the same amount of money as Hari? it was such a bright dream for you. You could pay off your debts, look for a better place, and free yourself from the visit of the little witch every week. Now you were curious… if it was really reliable and if all your information was highly confidential.
You didn't even check the time and sent Hari a message: «How high security are we talking about in that app?» She replied «I'll tell you everything tomorrow» you noticed your friend's excitement when you realized how quickly she responded.
Until the next day arrived and after work you visited her new and remodeled apartment. It was unreal, you were breathless, the beautiful view and large windows, the harmony of its decoration, it was so bright to be true that if you managed to have money in this situation that you were about to get into, you wanted to keep it realistic, you were afraid that from one day to the next, you would have nothing, so changing your life drastically without having a fixed support was not an option for you, it wouldn't be something long term, just something to get you out of your soon predicament.
They sat on the couch in her spacious living room which was almost the size of your entire apartment.
“Do you want me to manage your account just to verify the data and all that?”
You nodded, you weren't sure what you were about to do, but there you were.
“Okay, all your data is done, they'll send you an e-nail confirmation and let you know if you've been selected to enjoy the app's services. So…”
You swallowed, watching as they wrote all your data to a strange email, your name, date of birth, occupation, your measurements, your physical appearance, number of sexual partners, if you've had any STDs and attach evidence that you're 100% clean, history of alcoholism and smoking…
“I think it's illegal for them to ask for so much data.”
“Don't worry, it'll be worth it.”
“Are you sure I won't end up in… some dark business?” you whispered the last sentence, terrified and nervous.
“Noo, you'll get all the data from the men who want to hire you, even their address while yours is never exposed.”
“I don't know, Hari, men naturally lie.”
Hari chuckled softly, sensing your nervousness.
“I'll put up a picture of you and send it, and…”
“Wait, what?”
“I sent it” she looked at you proudly. “It can take 24 to 48 hours to respond.”
Hours passed, and you were heating up your dinner when a call from Hari interrupted your time.
“You got approved, it was really fast. I'll come to see you.”
She hung up, and you took your food out of the microwave totally bewildered. An hour later, amid the serene night with little rain, your friend appeared at your door with a big smile.
“Why are you so excited? I'm literally about to sell my vagina to wetpussy.com.”
Hari laughed.
“But that will make you a millionaire overnight.”
“Mm” you expressed in disgust and let her in.
“I can't believe it was so fast, they really want you. You have the option to put your real name or a fake one, your real name you can only give if you want.”
“Please, a fake one.”
You were really regretting it.
“What name should I put you?”
“I don't know, just not mine.”
“Cheryl, like darling in French” she wrote with a smile “…except I need pictures…”
“Come on, I sent you the best ones.”
“I know, and you look spectacular, but there's an option where the money goes directly to your bank account once they unlock the function to see your photos…”
You felt like she didn't finish the sentence and you were a little annoyed by the situation, it irritated you to know that you had to do this, well, you didn't have to, and no one was forcing you, but you decided to do it.
“And?”
“They're spicy photos.”
“Absolutely not, is it necessary to do that?”
“Your face can't be seen, and the money goes directly to you. Every time someone opens the option, you get paid ₩10 million, well, it depends on how much the app values you.”
You were in denial until you almost regurgitated your dinner.
“That's an absurd amount.”
“I told you I wasn't joking, I didn't know what they were based on but according to Chan, they're based on dollars or something like that, so for them, it's quite little.”
“Fuck, does Chan have more sugar babies? Because if he continues, he'll go bankrupt.”
“I told you they're not ordinary people and they have to specify what they want, if you ever feel like they disrespect you and don’t follow what was previously established, you have every right to fine them and report them.”
“And make it a public legal issue? No thanks.”
“Then…”
“Well, I guess I have nothing to lose by taking a few lingerie photos, without showing my face!”
[…]
There you were, in the mall at a lingerie store on your day off, trying to find the best pieces that scream “classy slut”, you were so terrified, it means they must be men with a lot of money and extreme loneliness and desperation, so the least you could do was pretend to feel sorry for them and look pretty in a nice set.
You were spending your money on something you hoped would soon multiply by millions, until the sound of your phone startled you because you were so focused that you felt like you were doing something illegal. It was Felix.
“Hey.”
“Hey, where are you? It's your day off, right?” he said.
“Yes… I'm at the mall.”
You couldn't lie to him, the music and sound of people were so audible.
“At the usual one? No way, I'm here too, I'm buying a birthday present for Olivia, I wanted to ask you to help me.”
“Well if you want to wait…”
“Where exactly are you? I'll come find you.”
You didn't want to see him, you felt so guilty accepting dirty money from strangers and not the one he always offered you in the purest way without asking for anything in return, you felt terrible.
“I'm at…” you looked around trying to find another store to run away when he's near, but you couldn't. “Buying lingerie on the second floor.”
You told him the truth, you didn't think he would come. And you've always been someone without filters, except when it comes to Felix, only with him do you have a soft spot. There was a little silence.
“Do you have a date?”
His voice suddenly became serious and his tone of enthusiasm vanished.
“Well, it's complicated” you grimaced but he couldn't see you.
“I'm coming over there.”
Felix hung up on you suddenly and you just let out a sigh; you couldn't guess where he was to calculate his time and leave the store and meet him outside, but you really needed that outfit, your last nudes were taken when you were in high school when you did your first sexting with a guy in your class, who was a nice guy, Kim Seungmin from your science class, you fucked him in the basketball gym closet and he never ever told anyone, nor showed your nudes; but the situation was already twisted enough without putting up your old photos from when you were a minor, plus the light and angles weren't fancy enough to be worth 10 million won.
You rushed to find something fast and before you knew it, Felix had already arrived.
“I like that one” he said in his deep voice close to your ear taking you by surprise.
You turned to see him, today he looked cuter than usual, he had his hands clasped behind his back and a small smile on his sweet face.
“Felix…” you whispered.
“So, what's the occasion? Who are you going to wear that for?” he mumbled.
He wanted to hide his irritation in a soft tone, but he couldn't, he was annoyed.
“Oh, it's nothing, I just have to update my closet.”
“Then buy whatever you want and I'll pay for it” you were about to speak and he gently raised his index finger in objection. “Is it bothering you that I'm here? I can leave you my credit card and wait for you outside.”
Felix looked around innocently, he was surrounded by women's underwear and women. You smiled warmly at him.
“No, actually you can help me.”
You liked to play with Felix a little, you adored watching the way his face would lift and light up all over, his ears would perk up a little and his round eyes would get bigger, as happy as a loyal puppy.
Objectively yes he could help you, he was also an incredibly wealthy man, you thought maybe all millionaires shared the same neuron or tastes to get them turned on.
“I'm between this one and this one” you showed him the pairs you had selected.
“Take both of them. Or as many as you want.”
You wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, you were suffocating to the idea of what you were going to do; you loved shopping but today….
“Come on, take some more, your closet won't be filled with just two” Felix added.
You smiled at him and chose a few more so he would stop talking and you could leave at once. Felix paid without any problem while the cashier looked at you with contempt and envy when she saw the pretty boy who accompanied you, slim, elegant, blond with long hair and an innocent face bathed in freckles.
“Thank you, Lix” you gave him a quick kiss on his soft, rosy cheek.
If Felix had a dog's tail, you were sure he'd be wagging it vividly and endlessly with happiness.
“Have you eaten yet? Let's go get something to eat…” he mentioned excitedly, turning to look at you.
“Mm, later, now I'll help you choose the gift for your sister.”
“Oh, yes, sure, what do you think, Cartier or Tiffany? Although Van Cleef is very fashionable among young girls. And maybe a Dior bag, I think it's her favorite brand; my father will give her her first Birkin so my bag will be like a toy, I don't know what to give her.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, Felix was talking and you were listening.
[…]
“Do you wanna go to my place? There's a movie I want to see. Only you would listen to me while I pause the movie every 5 minutes to make a comment.”
Felix spoke while he was driving, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and noticed you distracted; you couldn't help it, you thought to yourself that you have to take good pictures and that maybe soon your pussy will be tasting a stranger's cock, for money, which made your hair stand on end. You came out of your trance when you realized Felix spoke.
“Yes, it's okay.”
You needed a distraction. And you missed movie nights —and commentary— with Felix, your best filmmaker friend.
“What are you doing on Saturday? You should go to Olivia's party, she's having a themed party after dinner with us; I don't know what her theme is yet, but I'll let you know. Olivia remembers you and likes you very much.”
Felix suggested trying to get your attention. You didn't even have to think about it, Felix's younger sister was a sweetheart like him, it was his older sister who was a tough crowd, you knew she didn't like you and that she thought you only hung out with her brother for his money, she almost fainted when she found out you were on scholarship and lived in a middle class neighborhood. It was enough for you to know that Felix drove you everywhere, that was too much for you.
“I'll think about it… I have a deadline this Sunday for a report.”
He pressed his lips together, knowing you were lying, but he didn't blame you, he thought maybe it would be too much pressure to meet his family.
“So… Are you going to tell me who you're going to wear that lingerie for? Is it someone from the university that I know?” Felix tried to be subtle, but he was dying to know who was going to touch you other than him.
You and Felix had almost done it for multiple times but you always stopped yourself, you couldn't do it because you were afraid he would do it so well and so sweetly that you would end up falling in love with him. He loved the way you made him completely horny, almost cumming in his pants.
And then you had a great idea, if you were going to get into that business you had to be cool and think it would only be a simple fuck, you wouldn't concentrate on anything but feeling a hard cock in your pussy… so you had to fuck Felix right now, there was no other way to prove you were an insensitive bitch than to fuck the only man you have ever felt love and respect for.
You tried to get flirtatious and quickly changed your mood.
“Maybe you're right, he's someone you know very well.”
You spoke slowly and seductively, staring at him, you must have recognized that you really have a very attractive best friend, he quickly noticed your heavy look and the change of mood, so he swallowed nervously and looked at you surprised with opening his pretty eyes in pity and that didn't help you at all, he looked fucking cute when he was like that.
“Oh yeah?” he added playfully looking sideways and running his tongue along the inside of his cheeks.
You moved closer to him and brushed his cheek with the tip of your nose seductively, while your left hand traveled dangerously from his thigh to his crotch where you massaged his growing bulge.
“Let's go to your place and you tell me what you think of each of the sets you bought me, for him.”
You noticed the irregularity of Felix's breathing, you didn't want to act clumsy and end up fucking him in the car, even though it was incredibly spacious enough… but you knew that when Felix was aroused and totally yielding to your charms and touches, he wasn't thinking clearly.
“Let's listen to music while we wait” you added amused.
You moved away from him and played music through the screen of his modern car, almost letting out a giggle, you didn't know if Felix hated you for that or was just turned on and, for him it was the second option, all the way he was uncomfortable with his pants drowning his cock, but he didn't know how to ask you nicely that if possible you could give him a handjob right there, to which he concluded that there was no decent way to say it so he waited until finally arriving at his pent-house.
As you entered the elevator you both kissed desperately, you almost smiled between the kisses knowing how much fun it would be to finally taste your best friend. Felix was holding all the shopping bags tightly, or at least he was trying to, he wanted to keep his hands on your waist and glued you to him, so once you reached his apartment, he let go of the bags and kept kissing you mercilessly, it felt so good, his warm hands on your waist, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth and your lips joined with a huge appetite. You realized he wanted to take control and if he did, you would end up making love slowly and not just fucking, so you gently pushed him away, he saw you confused with puffy lips and a look of lust.
“Let me show you how good it all looks on me.”
You gave him a quick kiss and took his hand, directing him to the couch where he sat.
He licked his lips as he bit them, stretched out his arms and settled back, trying to ignore his throbbing sex. He loved the way you played with it.
You took the first piece of black full body lace lingerie. You undressed in front of him and slowly and painfully slipped it on, Felix was struggling with his immense desire to make you his.
“Help me.”
You dropped onto his lap pretending to have trouble putting the garment on, you were so wet, you wanted to feel him like you had never wanted to feel him before. Felix put his hands on your body and quickly reached for your pussy, pulling the tight, thin fabric away from your center and began to play with your clit. You moaned, losing control of your initial plan as you were surrendered to his touch.
You unbuttoned his pants, removing them and his underwear in exasperation. And there was your friend's hard, firm cock lightly lubricated in semen, as nice and thin as he was, it looked exquisite, and you were going to ride it so well.
“Felix, the condom” you practically begged.
He gasped at the touch of your hand and firm grip, “over there,” he mumbled pointing to a cabinet with a drawer, you thought for a second if he fucks regularly or why he had condoms in accessible and strategic places. You walked by the condom, feeling your wetness with every step and positioned yourself in front of him, your knees on either side of his thighs.
“You should take pictures of me, with each of the lingerie, exclusively for you; I want you to know that I'm really grateful every time you do something nice for me” you stared at him as you opened the wrapper.
You put the condom on him, you could see how gorgeous, red and swollen his cock was ready for you, and slowly, carefully pulling the fabric apart, you sat on it, inserting it and feeling every inch as you went down.
“Shit, y/n, move for me” Felix gasped.
You moaned as you felt it buried in your pussy and began to enjoy yourself endlessly, jumping on his erection as each squat made you lose your breath. Felix held you tightly by the waist, accentuating each movement. You gave yourself thrusts leaning on his thighs and, when you felt his cock throbbing and his body getting weaker and weaker indicating his orgasm, you hugged him on his shoulders and kept moving your hips and ass with agility.
Felix completely agreed that you would take control and held your ass helping you a little until, between gasps and almost crying, Felix finally cummed. You were so possessed by adrenaline, you could feel your orgasm so close, that you accelerated your squats and held your breath for a second until you finally exploded in a sea of sighs and glistening fluid.
You dropped your tired body on Felix's shoulder, feeling his scent and immediately regretted it, it had been amazing, but you always thought the first time you would fuck Felix would be so sweet, on a warm day, maybe in spring, involving roses and a date… not in such a dirty way on a cold October night on his living room couch.
“You know I like you a lot, y/n. Let's stay that way.”
And you said something really stupid, something you had no intention of saying. You wondered what he meant, whether to continue to stay like this fucking, or cuddling?
“I like you too.”
You kept hiding in his neck, you were a coward who can't accept that you were capable of feeling something for someone.
And if that wasn't enough to make you feel bad, he gave you the sweetest cuddles once you came out of his cock, he tended you carefully and told you how pretty you looked.
After that he took your long awaited pictures and after taking your last one, he made sure to reward you so well that he ended up eating your pussy.
You ended the night by taking a shower together, and fucking you again in there; you watched the movie while he commented on each annotation he made, but Felix fell asleep halfway through, in your arms. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know if you were going to continue that way with him and you still weren't ready to take the big step of accepting his money just because suddenly you go out and he gives you everything, his sister already hated you… what would people think; you cared more about your situation with him than about what they would think if I slept with a stranger for money situation, although, nobody had to know it was for money, if somehow someone found out, you could say it was just a fuck, you thought.
So, resigned to the fact that you still had to pay your rent, you sent the pictures to Hari, to which she quickly replied with a «wow! I got em» Thirty minutes later, a screenshot of what your profile looked like, it was embarrassing for you. «I'll be sure to get you the best deals😉», she wrote back.
The next morning you woke up in Felix's bed, wearing his clothes; he must have moved you and you hadn't even noticed, you reached for your phone and couldn't believe your eyes, notifications from your bank account app, you had received ₩ 40 million.
You were ready to tell Hari that you had enough with what you were getting just for the pictures, you couldn't believe it.
[…]
And, on the other side of the city, in one of the best, luxurious and exclusive hotels in the place, the hotel owner himself, the young and wealthy Hwang Hyunjin and his friend who fit in the same category as him, Lee Minho, were having brunch.
“Ah, Lee Minho, he can finally have brunch with you in his busy schedule” Hyunjin told him.
Hyunjin had arrived and Minho was waiting for him, sitting in one of the hotel's restaurants next to the large window with a view of the city. Hyunjin was more into art, but being the only son of his powerful father who owned hotel chains, he gave him that one right on his 18th birthday, since then Hyunjin has taken more than good care of it, and decorates it in his favorite pieces of art, his favorite part.
Minho stood up to greet him, shaking hands and a quick hug.
“Busy me? If it's you who's going around the country with your galleries” Minho replied, sitting down.
“I know, I know, it's unbelievable. Have you ordered lunch yet?”
“Yes.”
“I'll order the same” Hyunjin shouted to his employee as he sat in his chair facing Minho.
“Big day tomorrow, huh?” added Minho.
“Of course, you have to be there, I even left the presidential suite just for you.”
Hyunjin leaned back in his chair clasping his hands together with a smile on his face. Minho laughed softly.
“I don't get ready in hotels anymore.”
“Well, do it for me this time, like old times. Besides… you have a plus one to my gallery event.”
Minho's soft, amused look tensed a little when he heard his friend.
“Oh yeah? Well, I think I'll go alone.”
“In fact it's mandatory that you go with someone, so I got you that someone.”
“No thanks, I'd rather not go.”
Hyunjin smiled sideways seeing how cute his friend was getting when he was getting into his temper.
“It's a girl, but if you want a boy you have to tell me before tonight” he joked.
“Why can't I be your date then?”
“I'm sorry, I'm already going with someone tomorrow. But I think it's time for you to start seeing more people.”
Minho gave him a dirty look, he didn't want to have that conversation at their meeting after weeks of not being aware of their lives.
“I'm fine, I'm busy.”
“When was the last time you fucked someone” Hyunjin blurted out in amusement trying to smooth the conversation.
“It's none of your business.”
“I'll take that as you haven't done it in a long time.”
“If you care so much why don't you fuck me in the suite.”
Hyunjin laughed, gently touching his nose, though deep down he believed this was no time for joking… or at least it was a little since he didn't know how to tell him what he had to say.
“I would but you'd have to pay back every penny I spent on the pretty girl.”
“You paid money to a girl to sleep with me against my will? Artists are weird, I thought we were in the 21st century.”
Hyunjin couldn't hold it in anymore so he licked his lips and finally confessed:
“Soyul will be there.”
Minho's smirk left his face little by little and his heart almost stopped when he heard after so long the name of his ex-girlfriend; and that was exactly what Hyunjin was referring to and of the expression on his friend's part that Hyunjin feared for. He couldn't lie to him, Soyul was one of his biggest investors, she had to be present and he couldn't fool his friend; he knew he still wasn't over her, not even after two long years since their breakup; in fact, the idea of getting him someone started a few weeks ago, at their meeting where a drunken Minho confessed to him in tears the deep pain and misery he felt after the one he considered the love of his life left him. That was for Hyunjin the straw that broke the camel's back, he was not going to see his friend depressed.
“So?” Minho tried to sound nonchalant.
“She's going with her boyfriend… and I think you're still not over her….”
“And you decided to hire a hooker? That's why you left me the suite, isn't it, motherfucker?”
“She's not a-, well, if you don't want to fuck her, don't, just let her keep you company at my event.”
“Weren't the regular girls available?”
“All the normal girls in our social circle know Soyul and let's face it, they are very gossipy, it will be embarrassing for you for them to know that you haven't moved on with….”
“I can go alone” he interrupted him, he couldn't bear to hear him say his ex-girlfriend's name one more time.
“Come on, Minho, give yourself a chance, she is really pretty, she is an actress and…”
“A porn actress?” he interrupted him, not taking it seriously.
Meanwhile, their waitress was delivering their food and drinks, trying to act normal after overhearing the conversation.
“She's a real actress. I'll text you all her information. She's a Scorpio like you if you care about zodiac signs.”
Minho didn't answer, he didn't feel like dealing with anything else.
“They're freaky” Hyunjin poke as he picked up his cutlery, Minho frowned. “Scorpios. They say they’re good in bed.”
[...]
“I got wonderful news”
Hari suddenly appeared with a huge smile at your work.
“Hello to you too?”
“Can you take a break?”
“I'll be back in 5” you shouted and took off your apron to go out with your friend.
“I'm about to close a deal, I think you should have the money by now. You have to quit your job now, you have a date on Saturday.”
You were perplexed.
“Hari, what did you do?” you felt your phone vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans.
And there it was, your bank account with an imaginable amount, you opened your mouth in surprise, this was starting to get serious with an amount like that.
“I told you.”
“But who is it? What does he look like?” you didn't know how to react.
“Don't worry, they are Chan's friends, they are 100% reliable.”
“Is it more than one?” you opened your eyes in surprise.
“It's not… it’s complicated, a friend of Chan's, Hyunjin hired you for his friend Minho, who said he agreed, he just didn't use the app. I wanted to negotiate for him to pay for both of them but I guess he was pretty generous. Anyway, he just wants you to accompany Minho to Hyunjin's exclusive exhibition and pretend to be in a relationship with him for at least two hours?”
It was a lot of information to process, you didn't know what to say.
“Hyunjin will explain you more in detail but seriously you have to go otherwise you will be fined that same amount paid and a little more. You can leave as soon as you feel uncomfortable since apparently Minho has a strong personality.”
“Believe me, I'll leave as soon as I walk through the door.”
[…]
There you were on your Saturday night, standing in front of the door of a luxurious hotel, you walked in and met the handsome young man who was in charge of filling your bank account. You walked shyly toward him and greeted him with embarrassment. His dress code was clear: a short black dress fitted to your silhouette, comfortable shoes and normal underwear. He was going to dress you.
You looked at him, there he was, the famous Hwang Hyunjin himself from the large dynasty of the Hwangs, very influential people; he was taller than you, he had sharp eyes and thick lips, he was more attractive in person and he had to tell you the same.
“You look spectacular, chérie” he mentioned flirtatiously. “Come here” he invited you to come closer and you did.
You weren't a big fan of this, but you had to admit that something inside you grew and made you feel incredibly horny, the atmosphere of the hotel, the tense silence and the incredibly handsome man in front of you, in addition to your submissive behavior… rarely turned you on a bit.
“Do you want me to call you a make up artist or your make up it’s fine?” he gently touched your hair.
You looked up to see him.
“I think, it’s okay like this.”
You were nervous and slightly horny.
You did your best job with your make up and hair already, the make up was natural and elegant but still visible, matte nude eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner, elongated lashes, soft blush and lipgloss. Your hair was styled with soft waves.
“Great, so we don’t waste more time. You look beautiful already, actually you look better than the photos” he put his hands in his pants pockets and looked at you up and down biting his lip. “The dress is ready in the room, but you know what actually, bring it right here. Dress in front of me.”
Hyunjin was already aroused and was fighting his instincts to seduce and touch you, yet you were his friend's tonight, but he thought it only fair to see first what he had paid for. He sat comfortably on the couch and waited for you to return.
On the other hand you were more than nervous and strangely agitated with excitement, that dark-haired man dressed in a tight suit all white because that was the theme of the party and finally there it was, a dress whose style and logo you could recognize so well. A white Versace mini dress that you assumed would fit to your mid thighs, you thought you had only seen that style in black so it was strange to see it in the brand's signature pearl white; until you saw the name Hyunjin embroidered on the label, was it designed for you? A shiny black Jimmy Choo silhouette heels, and a white crossbody bag from the same designer of the dress, you were speechless, so amazed that you almost forgot Hyunjin's request, he wanted you to change in front of him, then you saw something that terrified you, a beautiful white lingerie that went perfect under the dress, he wanted to see you naked.
You wanted it to be quick, almost like pulling off a bandit, so you tried to take everything and brought it close to him where you found him sitting on the couch ready for his little private show. You undid your black dress at the bottom so as not to ruin your hair and unthinkingly removed your underwear. Hyunjin was engrossed, he wondered why he didn't choose you, but for him after seeing your naked body. He was struggling as hard as he could to keep an erection from appearing in his pants, but it was too late.
You took off your low sandals ready to put on your underwear but he interrupted you.
“Let me help you.”
He took the garment and squatted down while helping you slide your panties to your area. Hyunjin enjoyed every second of the soft touch of your legs and then stood up to help you fasten your strapless bra. You could feel the tension in the air so you just bit your lip, resisting his hot touches and his warm breath on the back of your neck.
Finally you put on your dress and heels and you looked completely different, you never thought you would get to wear something like that to a type of event you don't frequent. You awkwardly moved the things from your bag to the new one and tried to regain your sanity.
“Something's missing” he spoke and grabbed your left wrist.
Hyunjin put on you the characteristic white clover bracelet with gold from the refined Van Cleef jewelry.
“Well, you've seen Minho. This is the key and it's two floors up from here” he added, handing you the access card. “I want to see the two of you together in the gallery, he may even could offer you the double of money so you can leave, but please, you have to go with him.”
Hyunjin now spoke in a commanding tone giving you instructions, his hot moment had passed, he had to concentrate.
“And please… let me know if you and Minho fuck, if the idiot doesn't touch you we can maybe go to…. how about Santorini?”
It seemed that you had your feelings locked in a box and that you acted according to a fever dream. You thought you were an actress and could get out of it easily, you just had to act. Your role was now about a rich girl wannabe.
You entered the room unannounced as instructed by Hyunjin and took a few steps forward until Minho heard the door open, interrupting his grooming time so he came out of his room wrapped in a towel and still with slightly wet hair.
“I didn't order room serv…” he said.
Minho stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at you standing there. You didn't know what to do, you were frozen in place; you looked at him, he looked handsome and was half naked, except for the towel covering his private parts, you couldn't help seeing him, his worked body, muscular arms but not exaggerated, his abdomen marked with a small scar above his navel and…. you felt bad but you thought he was looking directly at you too, his marked penis above the white towel. Minho smiled sideways at your nerve to look at him and could tell your mild surprise as you looked at his package, a valid reaction he thought.
“You're in the wrong room or are you lost?”
Minho could predict why you were there, after all you could only get in with the key.
He looked at you sternly waiting for an answer. You took a breath and spoke.
“I will be your companion today at the art exhibition.”
Minho laughed and let out a breath.
“I don't remember ordering a hooker either. That fucker Hyunjin sent you, didn’t he?”
The term took you by surprise and you were offended, you were about to defend yourself when he continued speaking.
“Seriously, you can go, I'll pay you more than whatever that bastard gave you, just go” he waved his hands in a gesture for you to leave.
“I won't.”
“Will you make me call security?”
“Do it” you challenged.
Minho exhaled in annoyance and touched his forehead in concern.
“I'm going to kill Hwang Hyunjin.”
Without another word he went back to his room and thirty minutes later he came out ready dressed in a white suit with his serious expression. He looked at you for a few seconds with contempt as he passed by you and headed towards his door ready to leave, you ran towards him, leaving at the same time.
“I don't know what Hyunjin is up to but when I see him I'll…”
He was expressing himself annoyed until more people entering the elevator interrupted him.
“I'll get my car keys” he said to you indifferently as he walked away towards the hotel counter.
You followed Minho, keeping a distance; you glanced around, being able to see from the huge waiting room to the large entrance to the restaurant where you could also see and your heart stopped for a moment when you spotted a long dyed blonde hair sitting at one of the tables.
You turned quickly, hoping he couldn't see you, but as if fate would have it, you managed to see him leave his seat and approach the foyer. In panic you slipped into the waiting room where you sat with your back turned.
Felix went straight to Minho.
“Lee Minho” he blond greeted him enthusiastically.
“Hey, Yongbokkie, what brings you here.”
Minho turned to look at Felix and frowned when he saw that you were no longer behind his back, he looked at you for a few seconds until he deduced that you might have finally run away, which made him happy and disappointed at the same time.
“It's Olivia's birthday dinner”.
“Oh, congratulate her for me” the blond smiled at him.
“Are you about to leave?” Felix said.
“Yes, I'm going to Hyunjin's.”
“Sure, sure, maybe I'll stop by later.”
Minho just smiled at him and asked a few more trivial questions about his parents.
“Mr. Lee, your car is outside waiting for you” the employee interrupted them.
“I have to go Felix, I'll see you later.”
“Of course.”
You were hiding, praying that Felix wouldn't recognize your hair and suddenly you saw him chatting with your 'date' for tonight, apparently they were friends so you felt more terrified, what if by chance Minho decides to tell Felix? Oh you would be ruined. After the short talk you saw Minho leaving towards the exit so once again you slipped away almost running to catch up with Minho. He was surprised to see you back by his side. Minho said,
“Mm, the night was just starting to get nice when I thought you had left.”
You gave him a dirty look and followed him to his car where you sat in the passenger seat. When Minho put on his seat belt he noticed the shiny gold detail on the strap of your dress, it was the medusa logo characteristic of that high fashion Italian brand.
“The bastard dressed you in Versace, you already look more like his than mine.”
You stood still not knowing what to say, it was maybe the first nice thing he had said to you during all your short time together.
Minho inspected you quickly, he was so upset that his friend didn’t lie, and just like Hyunjin said, you were a really pretty girl.
“But he didn't put earrings on you, if you're going to come with me you have to look your best.”
Once again he spoke in a resigned tone and arrived at Tiffany's jewelry store. Minho was resigned to the fact that you would accompany him tonight so he thought if you were going to make Soyul jealous, you really had to do it. Besides he had already inspected you, at first glance you were too pretty and that dress fit you like a dream so that speeded things up.
Once again, you had to go behind him and you entered the luxurious establishment.
“Good evening, Mr. Lee, how can I help you? Would you like something to drink?” the worker hurried to say to you once you entered, with a smile, looking quickly towards you.
You noticed how she looked at you in surprise since Minho hadn't brought another girl since two years ago when he was still in a relationship.
“Nothing for me in particular, I'm looking for earrings for women.”
“Of course, I'll show you.”
Minho followed the young woman and you followed Minho, who led you deeper into one of the display counters; you had come a lot of times with Felix every time it was a special occasion for his family since he had been raised among only women, he always offered to buy you some jewelry but you flatly refused. And now there you were, about to accept them from a stranger.
“Choose” he ordered you. “Quickly, I don't like to be late” he looked at his watch.
Timidly you leaned down to look at each one of the fine jewelry until a pair of gold diamond earrings in the shape of a flower caught your attention.
“These” you murmured to Minho.
The clerk stood waiting for his confirmation.
“I'll take those.”
He quickly took care of paying for them without looking at the price and they were finally delivered in their characteristic turquoise box with a white bow.
He got into the car first and left the box there, you snorted for a second annoyed at how ungentlemanly and attentive he was, one second you felt like a princess wearing Versace and taking you to Tiffany & Co. and the next you had to run to keep up with him.
As soon as you got in, he said curtly:
“Use them, we're about to get to Hyunjin's.”
You watched him take the steering wheel attractively and noticed two boxes in between of you. You didn't know why you took the other one and Minho, noticing it, quickly placed his hand on yours stopping you.
“It's the other box.”
You looked at him, he acted a little strange; you took the other box and put on those sparkling diamonds.
You had taken the old engagement ring that Minho bought for Soyul before they broke up, he was ready to give it up as it was of no use to him, it was made to fit his ex-girlfriend's finger.
When you arrived you saw that it was not a simple exhibition, but a chateau style mansion with many cars parked at the grand entrance, you got nervous, just like Minho, normally he didn't get like this but it would be the first time he would see Soyul accompanied by the man why she left him and also he had his first kind of date after so long.
Minho let out a breath.
“Well, we have to do it right. You're an actress, right? Create a character right now so we can both be on the same page.”
You didn't know what to say.
“I can change my name and….”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Which one is right for you?”
“Anything…”
“Choi Eunjoo… photographer from…”
“A place far away, what about Jeju?” he mentioned intensely, he was nervous.
You nodded. You had chosen the name of an inactive random actress who studied at the same university as you, who was a friend of Felix's mother and whose cinematography he forced you to watch while your friend argued how good she looked at her age. If they try to look you up for your name, they would be surprised to see only her and her inactive projects in the early 2000s.
“Okay, let's go.”
You both walked down the dirt road, once you came out of the darkness and Minho noticed people watching, he grabbed you by the waist.
“And what is your real name, Eunjoo?” he whispered to you.
[…]
It was better than you expected, you didn't imagine that there would be a construction like this in the modern city, you drank Champagne while you didn't leave Minho's side even for a second; after a couple of drinks you both relaxed completely and walked around the house and admired Hyunjin's paintings. This was maybe a normal Saturday for Minho, but it was for you a dream, you felt like Cinderella, once the clock struck 12 and the charm would be completely gone.
At one point in a room you both finally met Hyunjin, Minho came over to greet him and you shyly watched them chat, Hyunjin gave you a complicit look and smile, he hadn't seen Minho relaxed in years, sadly it was short lived as Soyul entered the room.
You noticed Minho's jaw tighten and saw where his eyes were fixed, on a pretty slim woman with the face of a celebrity. You quickly understood and walked over to Minho, linking your arm around his.
“You're here” she said to him.
She quickly looked at you.
“I'm still Hyunjin's friend.”
“Jung Soyul, nice to meet you” she introduced herself.
You held hands and Minho saw something that broke his heart once again, an engagement ring on her finger, suddenly the alcohol left his body, he felt sick, the suit was suffocating him.
“Choi Eunjoo” you smiled at her.
“So are you dating?”
Hyunjin could notice the sour look she had on you and that caused him satisfaction.
“Yes” Minho went ahead to say.
“I haven’t see you before, Choi Eunjoo.”
She said hypocritically, blinking repeatedly.
“Oh, it's just that, I'm an indie photographer from Jeju and… I met Minho and the rest is history.”
“Oh, now that's romantic.”
“More romantic than getting to know each other when you're in another relationship” Hyunjin added amusedly, taking a sip of his drink.
Soyul gave him a dirty look. And Minho didn't find it funny, he wanted to get out of there. Soyul knew him so well and noticed his expression, meanwhile you were analyzing the look of pity she was giving your boss, so you turned to see him, he looked serious and pale. You quickly approached his ear, covering your lips and whispered to him:
“We can get out of here if you want, pretend I'm saying something nice to you and smile naturally. You're acting weird.”
And so he did, Minho smiled softly; he hadn't felt the touch of another woman in years, suddenly your warm breath and soft lips brushing minimally against his ear pleased him.
“We haven't seen the whole exhibition yet, excuse me” he added, taking your hand.
You moved far enough away and, in a crowded room, he let go of your hand and walked out the large doors to what you could see was a balcony. You didn't know whether to follow him, but you did anyway.
He had unbuttoned his suit and a few buttons on his shirt, he felt suffocated. You saw him leaning against the white stone railing.
“Should I ask what's got you like this?” you said softly.
“You don't have to follow me around all the time” he added defensively. “Soyul cheated on me and now she is going to marry that motherfucker, what a great night to find out.”
You didn't say anything, you didn't know how to comfort someone and in a way, Minho was grateful for your silence.
“Well, once I say it out loud it sounds pathetic” he added.
“Hyunjin told me it was complicated for you…” you approached him and hesitated to touch him, but slowly rubbed your hand on his back, “that he wants the best for you and you start to meet new people.”
Minho let out a chuckle and watched you carefully, he hadn't given himself the task of observing how pretty you looked in that dress, under the moonlight, the way your eyes sparkled and how your lips looked so appetizing, Minho found himself losing his temper a bit for you so he quickly rejected any feelings and immaturely, he became elated and said:
“I don't know why I'm saying this things to a hooker anyway.”
He brushed off your touch and walked away leaving you absolutely lost and somewhat hurt.
The rest of the night you didn't find Minho and you were starting to get scared, you felt out of place, lost in a huge house, full of rich people laughing in their own social circle, you were so sensitive you wanted to cry, you wondered if Minho had abandoned you there.
You checked the time, past midnight and 5 minutes, it was time to go. You tried to look for a way out until you made it, you felt so embarrassed that you would ask for a cab but the signal on your phone there was terrible.
Suddenly you felt a big hand grab your wrist, you turned around scared and found the man you almost cried for tonight.
“Let's get out of here.”
Confused, he led you to his car and you parted on the road in silence. Minho had pondered all night and wanted to take the next step, to finally be with a woman other than his ex-girlfriend, but he didn't know exactly how to ask you.
As you merged into the city you realized he was heading in an unknown direction until you reached the hills in one of the more upscale neighborhoods and finally saw that he had taken you to his house.
You thought he was a selfish piece of shit and there were two options, suddenly he wanted to fuck you or he went home exhausted and sad and would let you call a cab to take you home. But what you didn't know was that he was cynically leaning towards the first option.
You got out of the car and now he was the one running towards you.
“Why that face y/n?” he said, approaching you.
You looked at him indignantly, suddenly he was calling you by name and wanted to have you close, you thought he must be drunk.
“Let's go inside, you have to be a good girl and thank me for the earrings, I'll make sure to buy you more pairs.”
He grabbed you by the waist, you noticed how his voice became gravelly, but that wasn't how you fell and he knew he said a couple of hurtful things but he didn't know how to apologize.
You questioned whether you should play along, fuck him and call it a day and go home, as sadly you had to play along, or so you thought.
You stared into his eyes, those big dark eyes in a cute cat shape, he was attractive and from what you saw earlier he had a good dick, so you decided that if you would cry at least make sure it was worth it.
“What do you have in mind?” you rounded his neck and moved your face closer.
He smiled mischievously and, the next thing you knew, you were both in his home entrance devouring each other's lips. Minho had a lot of dirty ideas while he was away from you during the party, the alcohol made him horny. He took off his coat and untucked his shirt and undid his belt. He slipped his hands under your dress lifting it and shamelessly squeezed and massaged your ass, drawing you to his body where you began to feel his erection rubbing against you; Minho loved the idea of touching your bare ass since you only had tiny panties on, you moaned as you felt his lips and tongue on your neck, for some reason his mouth was so soft and you were a complete sucker when you were treated to a lot of physical contact during sex.
You parted and an act of lust, he sought to undo your dress and bra, he stared at you, semi naked for him and began to move his kisses down your breasts without breaking eye contact, it looked fucking good to watch him as he moved down your body and feasted himself on your tits until he moved down to your underwear and wet pussy. By this point you were panting and in need of action. His sharp nose brushed against your mons pubis and he slowly slid your underwear down your legs until he stripped them from you.
He parted your legs a little and you felt his hot breath on your area screaming for attention. Minho took your pussy with his big hands and parted your folds, sticking his tongue out shyly and giving your whole pussy a deep, dirty kiss. You gave a little cry of excitement and didn't think you were capable of standing in heels while he ate you out.
Minho felt so good, with his thumb he stimulated your clit as you gave little spasms into him from your excitement. He noticed that you were becoming increasingly impossible to hold so he stopped, carried you suddenly upstairs to his room. Minho laid you down on his bed while he stayed on the edge of it finishing undressing himself. You watched the spectacle with excitement, from his notorious veins to his hands undoing buttons that looked tiny and finally his pants releasing his big firm erect cock, your heart raced faster just watching it, it was delicious, he was incredibly endowed, it was big and thick with notorious veins, you bit your lip thinking how incredibly painful but pleasurable that would feel in your pussy.
Minho saw your reaction and quickly positioned himself over you, he took your wrists and held them with one hand above your head.
“Did you like what you see, little whore?”
You nodded, unable to speak properly, if you tried to say anything it would surely be in a needy tone. You could feel him slapping your belly every time he came closer to you.
“You want it in your mouth?”
You almost screamed please, but before you could speak, Minho lay back waiting to be satisfied. On your knees and arching your back purposely giving him a view of your dripping pussy, you took his big cock and inserted it into your mouth tasting every vein. Minho sat up and began to fuck you with two fingers inserting them into your vagina. You are a mess, completely wet, with cum and saliva sliding down the corner of your lips, you didn't think it could have been better until you feel his hands on your hips and he tries to position you on top of him.
You helped him a little and for the first time you were experiencing the 69 position.
You were panting between his big dick, your nose was starting to get slippery and little tears were coming out of your eyes. On the other hand Minho had his tongue deep inside you, he was tasting your labia, and stimulating your clitoris and from time to time he passed your wetness stimulating your exposed ass.
You stopped sucking him off when you felt your climax near, you sat up while resting your hands on his marked abdomen, only your gasps and grotesque sound of Minho devouring your pussy could be heard in the room, occasionally he would let out tinies 'mmmh' enjoying every second of you. You clung more to his abdomen and lifted your ass gently so as not to rest all your weight on him; you threw your head back blinded with pleasure.
“I'm gonna cum” you announced in a desperate, choked cry.
And just when you didn't think it could have been any better, Minho accelerated his licking and sucked harder, bringing you to the edge until you collapsed in his mouth. Your orgasm had been so strong that it hurt your abdomen a little.
You pulled away from him, embarrassed and soaking wet but Minho was more than happy. He leaned back on his elbows and wiped his mouth with a smile, it had been a long time since he had the intimacy of good sex, let alone eating such an appetizing nice pussy like yours, he smiled as he was satisfied that he was still excellent in bed.
You looked at his naked body again, his hard cock was needy and sensitive and within seconds you were horny again. Minho grabbed you roughly by the face and kissed you heatedly. He pulled away from you and with his hand made a motion indicating you to turn around, confused you showed him your ass and put yourself in four.
Minho without thinking caressed your buttocks and then spanked you hard 5 times in a row, each stroke exalted you and made you moan pleasurably, your skin was burning with pain, you could predict that your ass was thus as red as your riotous cheeks.
Minho played with your pussy a little, reinserting his fingertips, you saw him take a condom and within seconds you felt the latex on the tip of his penis teasing your entrance. Until you felt him slowly insert half of his erection and then insert the rest all at once causing you to let out a soft cry. You arched your back again as you gently moved your ass, adjusting yourself to his massive cock, filling your insides.
“I'm going to fuck you hard, kitten.”
He murmured and without warning and without mercy he began to ram you bestially making the sound of his pelvis slapping your buttocks resonate along with the sounds of your wet and well lubricated cunt. You couldn't help but moan every time he was inside, you felt like you were going to swoon all over him, it felt so good for you as well as for him, finally, the adrenaline and desire to fuck someone who wasn't as vanilla as his ex-girlfriend, Minho always liked to fuck hard.
You were in paradise, you were wearing diamonds and he was abruptly pounding your insides. Minho was holding you by the hips but soon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, riding you wonderfully; his view was beautiful, he pulled his grip tighter and pressed you to his body, your back rubbing against his bare chest, you could feel his cock protruding from your lower belly, thrusting you hard. In one swift movement, he held you with his strong right arm whose naughty fingers pinched and stimulated your clit and with his left hand he began to gently choke you. He gasped from time to time in your ear “fuck” over and over again. You both synchronized your climax and you felt the grip of his hand on your neck getting tighter and tighter until you couldn't breathe, you adored it, you loved how your body was fighting for oxygen but at the same time seeking the culmination of your pleasure, your heart beat faster and oxytocin shot out of your system and in desperation you placed your hands on his hand on your neck, you felt every vein exalted from his strong grip.
You thought you were going to pass out but it was only your shuddering second orgasm, Minho slowly released you and cum on the condom still inside you. You ended up exhausted, racing and with your limbs trembling.
You had never been fucked so well that you almost felt the need to tell him I love you so you could have him forever.
The next morning you woke up naked, still in his comfortable bed. When you opened your eyes you found Minho buttoning his shirt, he looked all tidy and was getting ready.
“Are you going somewhere on Sunday?”
You spoke, hoarse and still asleep.
Minho turned to see you and smiled, he thought you looked cute with your hair in disarray and your face a little puffy, but after a second he regretted it. He refused to feel anything for you other than just desire.
“You have to go. The driver is outside.”
He told you coldly and walked out of his room, leaving you slightly heartbroken.
Your car enters the driveway across the street. You kill the engine and turn off the headlights, but you’re not leaving the car. You’re not looking for something either—he observes no movement from his kitchen window. You’re just sitting there, perfectly still and your eyes probably closed. Over time, he’s managed to break it down into three levels, but he needs to see your face to determine which one it is.
Level one is code sky. Either because it’s Sunday night, or there is some minor annoyance you refuse to let go of. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.
Level two is code azure. Someone with a high social rank is involved. A family member, a close friend, or worst case scenario, your boss. You will need to extensively talk it out, and he will knock some sense into you. Problem solved.
Level three is code midnight. Something drastic has happened. He has observed only two instances in five years, immediately praying to every deity he knows to never witness it again.
He knows when you have the blues. All shades of it.
➥ Read the full story here.
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✦summary: You embark on an unusual night for you, as a companion to a wealthy stranger man with a cold countenance, a warm heart and a very hot form of affection.
✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / oral sex / spanking / hair pulling / chocking / ceo lee know x fem reader / non idol felix x fem reader / mention of sex workers, scort / sugar daddy
word count: 12.3k
Part 2 ᯓ★
(masterlist)
Money did buy happiness, you thought; if it did you would be in your mansion worth millions, you would use your money to buy contacts to get your dream job without having to sweat a drop and you wouldn't be standing there right now listening to the landlady, while she yells at you and reminds you how far behind you are in your payments.
It was humiliating and you had no other excuse to tell her, it was obvious she didn't give a shit how much you studied and worked at the same time and it still wasn't enough. She finally left, insulting you a couple of times and flattering herself for being a good person by letting you stay and giving you a space in a very rushed and busy city like this one, where millions of people are looking for a place to live every day.
You wanted to feel unashamed, carefree but you couldn't do it and everything was a thousand times more embarrassing when you were helping your best friend pack as she was moving to a new and better apartment. You knew Hari since you moved into the building three years ago, she was your neighbor and you were the same age so you two quickly liked each other... but the day had come, she was able to move on and was going to a nice place.
Hari watched the whole scene with a bit of sadness, knowing deep down what it felt like to go through exactly the same thing and hear the same old lady screaming. And, as she took one of her boxes to pass it to the mover she thought if after all this time it would be good to finally confess a secret to you… she was terrified of feeling judged but, she appreciated you too much that she really wanted to tell you.
You sighed without further ado, smiling and turning back to your friend.
“Hey, if you need…” Hari wanted to say but you interrupted her immediately.
“I'm fine, really.”
You stared at her and gave her a fake smile. It wasn't new that you hated asking for help and that people feel sorry for you, first it was your male best friend who stupidly is a millionaire and now your best friend who you were supposed to share economic pains. You felt that everyone was moving forward but you, but you didn't want to be seen as a poor girl in distress, it was what you hated the most even though you appreciate their gestures and words in your heart, despite that it's hard for you to take it, as well as thank them and…. express yourself.
“If you need anything you know you can count on m...?”
“On you and Felix, I know.”
You rolled your eyes trying to appear annoyed but you weren't, it was obvious, they always reminded you. And you were extremely grateful just at the thought that they cared about you. You were aware that one of the very good solutions was simply to start dating your rich best friend who you know likes you… but you weren't like that, unfortunately, you were too proud to accept easy money.
“You should give him a chance” Hari added.
“I think I'm fucked up enough to fall in love and add another worry.”
Felix was sweet, caring, attractive and incredibly wealthy, you met him in college as he was studying cinematography. And you were studying performing arts, actress, your biggest dream. Strangely enough, you and Felix connected instantly in a course where you coincided, and you got along very well forming a nice friendship; he had a big and pure heart and was not at all the typical brainless rich kid, however you were the opposite of him, reserved and a bit pessimistic about life and clearly… in some big and tight economic problems.
You couldn't count the countless times Felix offered to help you financially, but you simply felt you were abusing the power of your cute and cuddly best friend.
He would offer you money, he would offer you one of his properties, all paid vacations, you knew it was every girl's dream and that if you told anyone other than Hari about all this, they would be sure to slap you and call you ‘stupid’ to your face. You recognized that he was all a dream come true and that was what you feared the most, that you might be a nightmare for him, your personalities were different and most of all, you felt so bad that you didn't have something to offer him; you felt it looked so wrong to be just him trying so hard even though you were trying twice as hard too and sometimes it seemed in vain.
Moreover, you were quite realistic and recognized well that guys like Felix, wealthy and from a long line of millionaire ancestors, a simple girl like you wasn't enough, and you could never end up with someone like him.
Hari laughed at your comment.
“Love isn't so bad... have you ever been in love?”
You looked at her perplexed, almost wanting to laugh in her face; Hari in love was a concept you didn't know.
“Have you?” you asked, emphasizing your shock.
Your friend just looked at you amused and continued her duty of clearing out her old home. She was nervous, she had a solution for you but wasn't sure if it was an option for you.
After a few hours of exhaustive work like moving your whole life to another place, both of you contemplated the completely empty apartment where you used to spend nights together having sleepovers. Hari sighed, ready to confess something no one else knew.
“Y/n” she spoke to you.
You made a sound indicating you were listening, but you weren't really, you couldn't stop looking at that wall, thinking about what you had to do as soon as possible to get extra money. Hari called your name again until this time she caught your attention, so you turned to look at her; she felt nervousness and wanted to swallow for a second, you furrowed your brow at her sudden strange reaction.
“If I tell you something, promise you won't judge.”
“Of course” you quickly answered without thinking, her behavior seemed odd, but suddenly you were so curious to know.
She looked at you with big eyes of ‘I'm serious’, while you returned the look more than obvious.
“What is it about?”
Hari took a breath, hesitant, and suddenly she had all your attention.
“Have you ever wondered how suddenly I get all this, finally moving, nicer clothes...?” she replied with another question.
You furrowed your brow and tilted your head a bit confused, not meaning to offend, but your friend's life wasn't something you were so concerned about since you saw her completely normal, it wasn't something to be alarmed about, every time you met she was still the same... you wondered if there was suddenly something you didn't notice and that you should feel like a bad friend about.
“Did you get a big promotion at your job...?” you speculated without an answer.
She smiled mockingly.
“There's someone” she finally spat out, unable to express it entirely.
You got excited, those words meant she was dating someone of whom you didn't know details and suddenly it excited you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and turned your whole body towards her, looking at her straight ahead, enthusiastic.
“Oh my God, Hari, why didn't you...”
“Or something like that” she cut you off abruptly.
Again, you looked at her confused, this time waiting for her to start talking. Hari looked at the floor and finally said:
“I have someone who gives me money.”
Silence embraced you, you didn't know what to say so you just laughed incredulously letting out a little air, Hari quickly looked at you with her expressive eyes of ‘you promised not to judge’, so you hurried to say:
“A sugar daddy or something like that? Well… good for you, I guess.”
“I think you need one” she cut off your sarcastic comment so now you laughed out loud. “Being a companion.”
“No thanks, I have enough dealing with Felix and his specific complex” you scoffed.
“I think you're not getting it… I don't know how to explain it but, I can live my life for 5 years without working a single day.”
You were in denial and totally ready to continue to contradict and mock your friend until that comment caught you by surprise.
“Wow, well that's…” you closed your eyes deeply trying to process the kind of conversation you were having. “I think you're exaggerating a bit here…”
“No” she interrupted you again, “this is different, I think you reject Felix because you know him and… these are just unknown men willing to pay a lot of money.”
“Do you really think you can give that kind of power to a man, of just giving you money without him expecting anything in return?” you added without thinking.
Silence returned… and it was when everything made sense and you understood that Hari did give something in return. You didn't want to say it out loud, but suddenly your best friend was a prostitute; you were really surprised. You couldn't help but open your eyes in surprise. Hari felt the need to explain herself before feeling judged.
“They are really wealthy men, it's something really exclusive and selective, you can choose and…”
You dissociated and stopped listening for a second, did they have methods? What did she mean? Why would she believe in the first place that you would be part of something like that?
“And are you with someone or do you have multiple relationships…?” you interrupted her.
You had no idea why you cared about that, you weren't a saint to judge, but maybe it was just curiosity. Hari rolled her eyes annoyed.
“At first a few until I finally found someone, I’m telling you it's surprising what can happen; so far it's him, he gave me the apartment, he'll decorate it and-”
You closed your eyes again incredulously.
“He bought you the apartment? I thought you rented it.”
“I had to lie.”
“And what happens when your fantasy and money run out?” you said mercilessly.
Hari smiled, you were too honest and straightforward sometimes.
“Well, I don't think that will happen for a long time and… Chan and I reached an agreement that I could work in his company as much as I want, even if our relationship ends and he stops supporting me.”
“Oh, so he has a name and now you're dating.”
“It's complicated, I like him but it's obvious that guys like him don't end up with the poor girl like a a TV show.”
And with a hooker, you thought. At least you were grateful that after all the senseless chatter something with common reasoning came out of your friend's mouth. You really had nothing against what she was doing, it just took you by surprise.
Hari sighed.
“I know you don't believe me, but do you remember that time months ago when we went out to eat and jokingly I showed you the meager ₩50,000 in my bank account?”
You nodded, still perplexed and cautious about what she might show you now. Hari took her phone and in a few swift movements with her fingers, handed it to you, displaying on the screen an incredible amount that made you sigh just seeing it. You couldn't believe it. How was it possible for someone to have so much money? Why would they give it to Hari?
“I think it's dangerous, maybe it's just sex with strangers but in exchange for that ridiculous amount… I don't know, you shouldn't trust strangers like that.”
Hari opened her mouth, offended, as she took her phone back.
“It's not always sex, it's about companionship.”
You pursed your lips, unable to believe it; maybe for old men with erectile dysfunction, you thought, but somehow or another, they are men looking for something.
“I'm just giving you an option to give it a chance. It's a really exclusive app, you even send your data to be accepted; it also comes with details of the people offering money for you, how they are, how much, and you can reject them all, you're in control. Come on, y/n, desperate times call for desperate measures…”
“I wouldn't categorize it that way, no thanks, Hari, I'm not that desperate, and by the way, how did you find out?”
“I went to a party months ago and overheard a couple of unknown girls talking about it, it changed my life” she quickly checked her phone again. “I have to go, he came for me, but think about it, okay? Just out of curiosity, like I did until I saw a really impressive amount. Also, they specify if they want companionship or something more…”
You rolled your eyes annoyed, it was crazy, you thought that Hari could live anonymously but your dream was to be an actress, what were you supposed to do if they ever found out that you practically sold yourself. Both of you left the apartment and stood there in the hallway for a few seconds.
“Do you want to meet Chan?”
Your attention returned to your friend as soon as she said those words and confusedly you thought in your mind “who?” until you realized who she was talking about. You were curious, you expected an older man but you were surprised to see that shiny black luxury truck and inside of it, an attractive young adult driving, he looked no more than thirty, or maybe less than forty. You had descended all those floors to meet the person your friend was talking about with enthusiasm and you were too surprised.
Chan got out of the car as soon as he saw Hari and opened the passenger door for her.
“She's my friend, y/n” your friend introduced you.
“Pleasure to meet you” you shook hands.
You were in absolute surprise and denial, suddenly everything started to feel like just a fever dream. You felt the heavy gaze of your friend's ‘partner’ and for a second you wondered if he was really the guy who slept with girls for money or the chauffeur of the lucky handsome rich man.
You gave him a small smile and Chan quickly looked at Hari with complicit eyes, silently asking if you knew who he was in her life to which Hari almost reading his mind nodded softly.
“I'll see you another day, goodbye” your friend said goodbye with a strong hug which you were too astonished to reciprocate.
And they both left, leaving you standing on the cold pavement of the parking lot with your thoughts floating.
You returned to your apartment with a million questions, questioning almost your existence. Imagining the possibility of getting into that silly app, you thought for a second that Hari must have had the greatest luck in the world to get the only handsome man in the whole system, whom you wouldn't be disgusted to sleep with even for a second. You thought if you really should pay attention to Felix, fall in love with him, live with him… but you shook your head vigorously to dismiss that idea, it was almost impossible not to fall in love with him but you didn't feel bitchy and cynical enough to take advantage of his love and money at the same time. You knew it was cruel and that he should be looking for someone because you understood each of his signals, and it was obvious that he was crazy about you but among the boring and miserable life you led, his attention was the only thing that kept you motivated.
You couldn't sleep and little by little you convinced yourself more, sex with a stranger? It shouldn't be so bad, having the same amount of money as Hari? it was such a bright dream for you. You could pay off your debts, look for a better place, and free yourself from the visit of the little witch every week. Now you were curious… if it was really reliable and if all your information was highly confidential.
You didn't even check the time and sent Hari a message: «How high security are we talking about in that app?» She replied «I'll tell you everything tomorrow» you noticed your friend's excitement when you realized how quickly she responded.
Until the next day arrived and after work you visited her new and remodeled apartment. It was unreal, you were breathless, the beautiful view and large windows, the harmony of its decoration, it was so bright to be true that if you managed to have money in this situation that you were about to get into, you wanted to keep it realistic, you were afraid that from one day to the next, you would have nothing, so changing your life drastically without having a fixed support was not an option for you, it wouldn't be something long term, just something to get you out of your soon predicament.
They sat on the couch in her spacious living room which was almost the size of your entire apartment.
“Do you want me to manage your account just to verify the data and all that?”
You nodded, you weren't sure what you were about to do, but there you were.
“Okay, all your data is done, they'll send you an e-nail confirmation and let you know if you've been selected to enjoy the app's services. So…”
You swallowed, watching as they wrote all your data to a strange email, your name, date of birth, occupation, your measurements, your physical appearance, number of sexual partners, if you've had any STDs and attach evidence that you're 100% clean, history of alcoholism and smoking…
“I think it's illegal for them to ask for so much data.”
“Don't worry, it'll be worth it.”
“Are you sure I won't end up in… some dark business?” you whispered the last sentence, terrified and nervous.
“Noo, you'll get all the data from the men who want to hire you, even their address while yours is never exposed.”
“I don't know, Hari, men naturally lie.”
Hari chuckled softly, sensing your nervousness.
“I'll put up a picture of you and send it, and…”
“Wait, what?”
“I sent it” she looked at you proudly. “It can take 24 to 48 hours to respond.”
Hours passed, and you were heating up your dinner when a call from Hari interrupted your time.
“You got approved, it was really fast. I'll come to see you.”
She hung up, and you took your food out of the microwave totally bewildered. An hour later, amid the serene night with little rain, your friend appeared at your door with a big smile.
“Why are you so excited? I'm literally about to sell my vagina to wetpussy.com.”
Hari laughed.
“But that will make you a millionaire overnight.”
“Mm” you expressed in disgust and let her in.
“I can't believe it was so fast, they really want you. You have the option to put your real name or a fake one, your real name you can only give if you want.”
“Please, a fake one.”
You were really regretting it.
“What name should I put you?”
“I don't know, just not mine.”
“Cheryl, like darling in French” she wrote with a smile “…except I need pictures…”
“Come on, I sent you the best ones.”
“I know, and you look spectacular, but there's an option where the money goes directly to your bank account once they unlock the function to see your photos…”
You felt like she didn't finish the sentence and you were a little annoyed by the situation, it irritated you to know that you had to do this, well, you didn't have to, and no one was forcing you, but you decided to do it.
“And?”
“They're spicy photos.”
“Absolutely not, is it necessary to do that?”
“Your face can't be seen, and the money goes directly to you. Every time someone opens the option, you get paid ₩10 million, well, it depends on how much the app values you.”
You were in denial until you almost regurgitated your dinner.
“That's an absurd amount.”
“I told you I wasn't joking, I didn't know what they were based on but according to Chan, they're based on dollars or something like that, so for them, it's quite little.”
“Fuck, does Chan have more sugar babies? Because if he continues, he'll go bankrupt.”
“I told you they're not ordinary people and they have to specify what they want, if you ever feel like they disrespect you and don’t follow what was previously established, you have every right to fine them and report them.”
“And make it a public legal issue? No thanks.”
“Then…”
“Well, I guess I have nothing to lose by taking a few lingerie photos, without showing my face!”
[…]
There you were, in the mall at a lingerie store on your day off, trying to find the best pieces that scream “classy slut”, you were so terrified, it means they must be men with a lot of money and extreme loneliness and desperation, so the least you could do was pretend to feel sorry for them and look pretty in a nice set.
You were spending your money on something you hoped would soon multiply by millions, until the sound of your phone startled you because you were so focused that you felt like you were doing something illegal. It was Felix.
“Hey.”
“Hey, where are you? It's your day off, right?” he said.
“Yes… I'm at the mall.”
You couldn't lie to him, the music and sound of people were so audible.
“At the usual one? No way, I'm here too, I'm buying a birthday present for Olivia, I wanted to ask you to help me.”
“Well if you want to wait…”
“Where exactly are you? I'll come find you.”
You didn't want to see him, you felt so guilty accepting dirty money from strangers and not the one he always offered you in the purest way without asking for anything in return, you felt terrible.
“I'm at…” you looked around trying to find another store to run away when he's near, but you couldn't. “Buying lingerie on the second floor.”
You told him the truth, you didn't think he would come. And you've always been someone without filters, except when it comes to Felix, only with him do you have a soft spot. There was a little silence.
“Do you have a date?”
His voice suddenly became serious and his tone of enthusiasm vanished.
“Well, it's complicated” you grimaced but he couldn't see you.
“I'm coming over there.”
Felix hung up on you suddenly and you just let out a sigh; you couldn't guess where he was to calculate his time and leave the store and meet him outside, but you really needed that outfit, your last nudes were taken when you were in high school when you did your first sexting with a guy in your class, who was a nice guy, Kim Seungmin from your science class, you fucked him in the basketball gym closet and he never ever told anyone, nor showed your nudes; but the situation was already twisted enough without putting up your old photos from when you were a minor, plus the light and angles weren't fancy enough to be worth 10 million won.
You rushed to find something fast and before you knew it, Felix had already arrived.
“I like that one” he said in his deep voice close to your ear taking you by surprise.
You turned to see him, today he looked cuter than usual, he had his hands clasped behind his back and a small smile on his sweet face.
“Felix…” you whispered.
“So, what's the occasion? Who are you going to wear that for?” he mumbled.
He wanted to hide his irritation in a soft tone, but he couldn't, he was annoyed.
“Oh, it's nothing, I just have to update my closet.”
“Then buy whatever you want and I'll pay for it” you were about to speak and he gently raised his index finger in objection. “Is it bothering you that I'm here? I can leave you my credit card and wait for you outside.”
Felix looked around innocently, he was surrounded by women's underwear and women. You smiled warmly at him.
“No, actually you can help me.”
You liked to play with Felix a little, you adored watching the way his face would lift and light up all over, his ears would perk up a little and his round eyes would get bigger, as happy as a loyal puppy.
Objectively yes he could help you, he was also an incredibly wealthy man, you thought maybe all millionaires shared the same neuron or tastes to get them turned on.
“I'm between this one and this one” you showed him the pairs you had selected.
“Take both of them. Or as many as you want.”
You wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, you were suffocating to the idea of what you were going to do; you loved shopping but today….
“Come on, take some more, your closet won't be filled with just two” Felix added.
You smiled at him and chose a few more so he would stop talking and you could leave at once. Felix paid without any problem while the cashier looked at you with contempt and envy when she saw the pretty boy who accompanied you, slim, elegant, blond with long hair and an innocent face bathed in freckles.
“Thank you, Lix” you gave him a quick kiss on his soft, rosy cheek.
If Felix had a dog's tail, you were sure he'd be wagging it vividly and endlessly with happiness.
“Have you eaten yet? Let's go get something to eat…” he mentioned excitedly, turning to look at you.
“Mm, later, now I'll help you choose the gift for your sister.”
“Oh, yes, sure, what do you think, Cartier or Tiffany? Although Van Cleef is very fashionable among young girls. And maybe a Dior bag, I think it's her favorite brand; my father will give her her first Birkin so my bag will be like a toy, I don't know what to give her.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, Felix was talking and you were listening.
[…]
“Do you wanna go to my place? There's a movie I want to see. Only you would listen to me while I pause the movie every 5 minutes to make a comment.”
Felix spoke while he was driving, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and noticed you distracted; you couldn't help it, you thought to yourself that you have to take good pictures and that maybe soon your pussy will be tasting a stranger's cock, for money, which made your hair stand on end. You came out of your trance when you realized Felix spoke.
“Yes, it's okay.”
You needed a distraction. And you missed movie nights —and commentary— with Felix, your best filmmaker friend.
“What are you doing on Saturday? You should go to Olivia's party, she's having a themed party after dinner with us; I don't know what her theme is yet, but I'll let you know. Olivia remembers you and likes you very much.”
Felix suggested trying to get your attention. You didn't even have to think about it, Felix's younger sister was a sweetheart like him, it was his older sister who was a tough crowd, you knew she didn't like you and that she thought you only hung out with her brother for his money, she almost fainted when she found out you were on scholarship and lived in a middle class neighborhood. It was enough for you to know that Felix drove you everywhere, that was too much for you.
“I'll think about it… I have a deadline this Sunday for a report.”
He pressed his lips together, knowing you were lying, but he didn't blame you, he thought maybe it would be too much pressure to meet his family.
“So… Are you going to tell me who you're going to wear that lingerie for? Is it someone from the university that I know?” Felix tried to be subtle, but he was dying to know who was going to touch you other than him.
You and Felix had almost done it for multiple times but you always stopped yourself, you couldn't do it because you were afraid he would do it so well and so sweetly that you would end up falling in love with him. He loved the way you made him completely horny, almost cumming in his pants.
And then you had a great idea, if you were going to get into that business you had to be cool and think it would only be a simple fuck, you wouldn't concentrate on anything but feeling a hard cock in your pussy… so you had to fuck Felix right now, there was no other way to prove you were an insensitive bitch than to fuck the only man you have ever felt love and respect for.
You tried to get flirtatious and quickly changed your mood.
“Maybe you're right, he's someone you know very well.”
You spoke slowly and seductively, staring at him, you must have recognized that you really have a very attractive best friend, he quickly noticed your heavy look and the change of mood, so he swallowed nervously and looked at you surprised with opening his pretty eyes in pity and that didn't help you at all, he looked fucking cute when he was like that.
“Oh yeah?” he added playfully looking sideways and running his tongue along the inside of his cheeks.
You moved closer to him and brushed his cheek with the tip of your nose seductively, while your left hand traveled dangerously from his thigh to his crotch where you massaged his growing bulge.
“Let's go to your place and you tell me what you think of each of the sets you bought me, for him.”
You noticed the irregularity of Felix's breathing, you didn't want to act clumsy and end up fucking him in the car, even though it was incredibly spacious enough… but you knew that when Felix was aroused and totally yielding to your charms and touches, he wasn't thinking clearly.
“Let's listen to music while we wait” you added amused.
You moved away from him and played music through the screen of his modern car, almost letting out a giggle, you didn't know if Felix hated you for that or was just turned on and, for him it was the second option, all the way he was uncomfortable with his pants drowning his cock, but he didn't know how to ask you nicely that if possible you could give him a handjob right there, to which he concluded that there was no decent way to say it so he waited until finally arriving at his pent-house.
As you entered the elevator you both kissed desperately, you almost smiled between the kisses knowing how much fun it would be to finally taste your best friend. Felix was holding all the shopping bags tightly, or at least he was trying to, he wanted to keep his hands on your waist and glued you to him, so once you reached his apartment, he let go of the bags and kept kissing you mercilessly, it felt so good, his warm hands on your waist, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth and your lips joined with a huge appetite. You realized he wanted to take control and if he did, you would end up making love slowly and not just fucking, so you gently pushed him away, he saw you confused with puffy lips and a look of lust.
“Let me show you how good it all looks on me.”
You gave him a quick kiss and took his hand, directing him to the couch where he sat.
He licked his lips as he bit them, stretched out his arms and settled back, trying to ignore his throbbing sex. He loved the way you played with it.
You took the first piece of black full body lace lingerie. You undressed in front of him and slowly and painfully slipped it on, Felix was struggling with his immense desire to make you his.
“Help me.”
You dropped onto his lap pretending to have trouble putting the garment on, you were so wet, you wanted to feel him like you had never wanted to feel him before. Felix put his hands on your body and quickly reached for your pussy, pulling the tight, thin fabric away from your center and began to play with your clit. You moaned, losing control of your initial plan as you were surrendered to his touch.
You unbuttoned his pants, removing them and his underwear in exasperation. And there was your friend's hard, firm cock lightly lubricated in semen, as nice and thin as he was, it looked exquisite, and you were going to ride it so well.
“Felix, the condom” you practically begged.
He gasped at the touch of your hand and firm grip, “over there,” he mumbled pointing to a cabinet with a drawer, you thought for a second if he fucks regularly or why he had condoms in accessible and strategic places. You walked by the condom, feeling your wetness with every step and positioned yourself in front of him, your knees on either side of his thighs.
“You should take pictures of me, with each of the lingerie, exclusively for you; I want you to know that I'm really grateful every time you do something nice for me” you stared at him as you opened the wrapper.
You put the condom on him, you could see how gorgeous, red and swollen his cock was ready for you, and slowly, carefully pulling the fabric apart, you sat on it, inserting it and feeling every inch as you went down.
“Shit, y/n, move for me” Felix gasped.
You moaned as you felt it buried in your pussy and began to enjoy yourself endlessly, jumping on his erection as each squat made you lose your breath. Felix held you tightly by the waist, accentuating each movement. You gave yourself thrusts leaning on his thighs and, when you felt his cock throbbing and his body getting weaker and weaker indicating his orgasm, you hugged him on his shoulders and kept moving your hips and ass with agility.
Felix completely agreed that you would take control and held your ass helping you a little until, between gasps and almost crying, Felix finally cummed. You were so possessed by adrenaline, you could feel your orgasm so close, that you accelerated your squats and held your breath for a second until you finally exploded in a sea of sighs and glistening fluid.
You dropped your tired body on Felix's shoulder, feeling his scent and immediately regretted it, it had been amazing, but you always thought the first time you would fuck Felix would be so sweet, on a warm day, maybe in spring, involving roses and a date… not in such a dirty way on a cold October night on his living room couch.
“You know I like you a lot, y/n. Let's stay that way.”
And you said something really stupid, something you had no intention of saying. You wondered what he meant, whether to continue to stay like this fucking, or cuddling?
“I like you too.”
You kept hiding in his neck, you were a coward who can't accept that you were capable of feeling something for someone.
And if that wasn't enough to make you feel bad, he gave you the sweetest cuddles once you came out of his cock, he tended you carefully and told you how pretty you looked.
After that he took your long awaited pictures and after taking your last one, he made sure to reward you so well that he ended up eating your pussy.
You ended the night by taking a shower together, and fucking you again in there; you watched the movie while he commented on each annotation he made, but Felix fell asleep halfway through, in your arms. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know if you were going to continue that way with him and you still weren't ready to take the big step of accepting his money just because suddenly you go out and he gives you everything, his sister already hated you… what would people think; you cared more about your situation with him than about what they would think if I slept with a stranger for money situation, although, nobody had to know it was for money, if somehow someone found out, you could say it was just a fuck, you thought.
So, resigned to the fact that you still had to pay your rent, you sent the pictures to Hari, to which she quickly replied with a «wow! I got em» Thirty minutes later, a screenshot of what your profile looked like, it was embarrassing for you. «I'll be sure to get you the best deals😉», she wrote back.
The next morning you woke up in Felix's bed, wearing his clothes; he must have moved you and you hadn't even noticed, you reached for your phone and couldn't believe your eyes, notifications from your bank account app, you had received ₩ 40 million.
You were ready to tell Hari that you had enough with what you were getting just for the pictures, you couldn't believe it.
[…]
And, on the other side of the city, in one of the best, luxurious and exclusive hotels in the place, the hotel owner himself, the young and wealthy Hwang Hyunjin and his friend who fit in the same category as him, Lee Minho, were having brunch.
“Ah, Lee Minho, he can finally have brunch with you in his busy schedule” Hyunjin told him.
Hyunjin had arrived and Minho was waiting for him, sitting in one of the hotel's restaurants next to the large window with a view of the city. Hyunjin was more into art, but being the only son of his powerful father who owned hotel chains, he gave him that one right on his 18th birthday, since then Hyunjin has taken more than good care of it, and decorates it in his favorite pieces of art, his favorite part.
Minho stood up to greet him, shaking hands and a quick hug.
“Busy me? If it's you who's going around the country with your galleries” Minho replied, sitting down.
“I know, I know, it's unbelievable. Have you ordered lunch yet?”
“Yes.”
“I'll order the same” Hyunjin shouted to his employee as he sat in his chair facing Minho.
“Big day tomorrow, huh?” added Minho.
“Of course, you have to be there, I even left the presidential suite just for you.”
Hyunjin leaned back in his chair clasping his hands together with a smile on his face. Minho laughed softly.
“I don't get ready in hotels anymore.”
“Well, do it for me this time, like old times. Besides… you have a plus one to my gallery event.”
Minho's soft, amused look tensed a little when he heard his friend.
“Oh yeah? Well, I think I'll go alone.”
“In fact it's mandatory that you go with someone, so I got you that someone.”
“No thanks, I'd rather not go.”
Hyunjin smiled sideways seeing how cute his friend was getting when he was getting into his temper.
“It's a girl, but if you want a boy you have to tell me before tonight” he joked.
“Why can't I be your date then?”
“I'm sorry, I'm already going with someone tomorrow. But I think it's time for you to start seeing more people.”
Minho gave him a dirty look, he didn't want to have that conversation at their meeting after weeks of not being aware of their lives.
“I'm fine, I'm busy.”
“When was the last time you fucked someone” Hyunjin blurted out in amusement trying to smooth the conversation.
“It's none of your business.”
“I'll take that as you haven't done it in a long time.”
“If you care so much why don't you fuck me in the suite.”
Hyunjin laughed, gently touching his nose, though deep down he believed this was no time for joking… or at least it was a little since he didn't know how to tell him what he had to say.
“I would but you'd have to pay back every penny I spent on the pretty girl.”
“You paid money to a girl to sleep with me against my will? Artists are weird, I thought we were in the 21st century.”
Hyunjin couldn't hold it in anymore so he licked his lips and finally confessed:
“Soyul will be there.”
Minho's smirk left his face little by little and his heart almost stopped when he heard after so long the name of his ex-girlfriend; and that was exactly what Hyunjin was referring to and of the expression on his friend's part that Hyunjin feared for. He couldn't lie to him, Soyul was one of his biggest investors, she had to be present and he couldn't fool his friend; he knew he still wasn't over her, not even after two long years since their breakup; in fact, the idea of getting him someone started a few weeks ago, at their meeting where a drunken Minho confessed to him in tears the deep pain and misery he felt after the one he considered the love of his life left him. That was for Hyunjin the straw that broke the camel's back, he was not going to see his friend depressed.
“So?” Minho tried to sound nonchalant.
“She's going with her boyfriend… and I think you're still not over her….”
“And you decided to hire a hooker? That's why you left me the suite, isn't it, motherfucker?”
“She's not a-, well, if you don't want to fuck her, don't, just let her keep you company at my event.”
“Weren't the regular girls available?”
“All the normal girls in our social circle know Soyul and let's face it, they are very gossipy, it will be embarrassing for you for them to know that you haven't moved on with….”
“I can go alone” he interrupted him, he couldn't bear to hear him say his ex-girlfriend's name one more time.
“Come on, Minho, give yourself a chance, she is really pretty, she is an actress and…”
“A porn actress?” he interrupted him, not taking it seriously.
Meanwhile, their waitress was delivering their food and drinks, trying to act normal after overhearing the conversation.
“She's a real actress. I'll text you all her information. She's a Scorpio like you if you care about zodiac signs.”
Minho didn't answer, he didn't feel like dealing with anything else.
“They're freaky” Hyunjin poke as he picked up his cutlery, Minho frowned. “Scorpios. They say they’re good in bed.”
[...]
“I got wonderful news”
Hari suddenly appeared with a huge smile at your work.
“Hello to you too?”
“Can you take a break?”
“I'll be back in 5” you shouted and took off your apron to go out with your friend.
“I'm about to close a deal, I think you should have the money by now. You have to quit your job now, you have a date on Saturday.”
You were perplexed.
“Hari, what did you do?” you felt your phone vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans.
And there it was, your bank account with an imaginable amount, you opened your mouth in surprise, this was starting to get serious with an amount like that.
“I told you.”
“But who is it? What does he look like?” you didn't know how to react.
“Don't worry, they are Chan's friends, they are 100% reliable.”
“Is it more than one?” you opened your eyes in surprise.
“It's not… it’s complicated, a friend of Chan's, Hyunjin hired you for his friend Minho, who said he agreed, he just didn't use the app. I wanted to negotiate for him to pay for both of them but I guess he was pretty generous. Anyway, he just wants you to accompany Minho to Hyunjin's exclusive exhibition and pretend to be in a relationship with him for at least two hours?”
It was a lot of information to process, you didn't know what to say.
“Hyunjin will explain you more in detail but seriously you have to go otherwise you will be fined that same amount paid and a little more. You can leave as soon as you feel uncomfortable since apparently Minho has a strong personality.”
“Believe me, I'll leave as soon as I walk through the door.”
[…]
There you were on your Saturday night, standing in front of the door of a luxurious hotel, you walked in and met the handsome young man who was in charge of filling your bank account. You walked shyly toward him and greeted him with embarrassment. His dress code was clear: a short black dress fitted to your silhouette, comfortable shoes and normal underwear. He was going to dress you.
You looked at him, there he was, the famous Hwang Hyunjin himself from the large dynasty of the Hwangs, very influential people; he was taller than you, he had sharp eyes and thick lips, he was more attractive in person and he had to tell you the same.
“You look spectacular, chérie” he mentioned flirtatiously. “Come here” he invited you to come closer and you did.
You weren't a big fan of this, but you had to admit that something inside you grew and made you feel incredibly horny, the atmosphere of the hotel, the tense silence and the incredibly handsome man in front of you, in addition to your submissive behavior… rarely turned you on a bit.
“Do you want me to call you a make up artist or your make up it’s fine?” he gently touched your hair.
You looked up to see him.
“I think, it’s okay like this.”
You were nervous and slightly horny.
You did your best job with your make up and hair already, the make up was natural and elegant but still visible, matte nude eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner, elongated lashes, soft blush and lipgloss. Your hair was styled with soft waves.
“Great, so we don’t waste more time. You look beautiful already, actually you look better than the photos” he put his hands in his pants pockets and looked at you up and down biting his lip. “The dress is ready in the room, but you know what actually, bring it right here. Dress in front of me.”
Hyunjin was already aroused and was fighting his instincts to seduce and touch you, yet you were his friend's tonight, but he thought it only fair to see first what he had paid for. He sat comfortably on the couch and waited for you to return.
On the other hand you were more than nervous and strangely agitated with excitement, that dark-haired man dressed in a tight suit all white because that was the theme of the party and finally there it was, a dress whose style and logo you could recognize so well. A white Versace mini dress that you assumed would fit to your mid thighs, you thought you had only seen that style in black so it was strange to see it in the brand's signature pearl white; until you saw the name Hyunjin embroidered on the label, was it designed for you? A shiny black Jimmy Choo silhouette heels, and a white crossbody bag from the same designer of the dress, you were speechless, so amazed that you almost forgot Hyunjin's request, he wanted you to change in front of him, then you saw something that terrified you, a beautiful white lingerie that went perfect under the dress, he wanted to see you naked.
You wanted it to be quick, almost like pulling off a bandit, so you tried to take everything and brought it close to him where you found him sitting on the couch ready for his little private show. You undid your black dress at the bottom so as not to ruin your hair and unthinkingly removed your underwear. Hyunjin was engrossed, he wondered why he didn't choose you, but for him after seeing your naked body. He was struggling as hard as he could to keep an erection from appearing in his pants, but it was too late.
You took off your low sandals ready to put on your underwear but he interrupted you.
“Let me help you.”
He took the garment and squatted down while helping you slide your panties to your area. Hyunjin enjoyed every second of the soft touch of your legs and then stood up to help you fasten your strapless bra. You could feel the tension in the air so you just bit your lip, resisting his hot touches and his warm breath on the back of your neck.
Finally you put on your dress and heels and you looked completely different, you never thought you would get to wear something like that to a type of event you don't frequent. You awkwardly moved the things from your bag to the new one and tried to regain your sanity.
“Something's missing” he spoke and grabbed your left wrist.
Hyunjin put on you the characteristic white clover bracelet with gold from the refined Van Cleef jewelry.
“Well, you've seen Minho. This is the key and it's two floors up from here” he added, handing you the access card. “I want to see the two of you together in the gallery, he may even could offer you the double of money so you can leave, but please, you have to go with him.”
Hyunjin now spoke in a commanding tone giving you instructions, his hot moment had passed, he had to concentrate.
“And please… let me know if you and Minho fuck, if the idiot doesn't touch you we can maybe go to…. how about Santorini?”
It seemed that you had your feelings locked in a box and that you acted according to a fever dream. You thought you were an actress and could get out of it easily, you just had to act. Your role was now about a rich girl wannabe.
You entered the room unannounced as instructed by Hyunjin and took a few steps forward until Minho heard the door open, interrupting his grooming time so he came out of his room wrapped in a towel and still with slightly wet hair.
“I didn't order room serv…” he said.
Minho stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at you standing there. You didn't know what to do, you were frozen in place; you looked at him, he looked handsome and was half naked, except for the towel covering his private parts, you couldn't help seeing him, his worked body, muscular arms but not exaggerated, his abdomen marked with a small scar above his navel and…. you felt bad but you thought he was looking directly at you too, his marked penis above the white towel. Minho smiled sideways at your nerve to look at him and could tell your mild surprise as you looked at his package, a valid reaction he thought.
“You're in the wrong room or are you lost?”
Minho could predict why you were there, after all you could only get in with the key.
He looked at you sternly waiting for an answer. You took a breath and spoke.
“I will be your companion today at the art exhibition.”
Minho laughed and let out a breath.
“I don't remember ordering a hooker either. That fucker Hyunjin sent you, didn’t he?”
The term took you by surprise and you were offended, you were about to defend yourself when he continued speaking.
“Seriously, you can go, I'll pay you more than whatever that bastard gave you, just go” he waved his hands in a gesture for you to leave.
“I won't.”
“Will you make me call security?”
“Do it” you challenged.
Minho exhaled in annoyance and touched his forehead in concern.
“I'm going to kill Hwang Hyunjin.”
Without another word he went back to his room and thirty minutes later he came out ready dressed in a white suit with his serious expression. He looked at you for a few seconds with contempt as he passed by you and headed towards his door ready to leave, you ran towards him, leaving at the same time.
“I don't know what Hyunjin is up to but when I see him I'll…”
He was expressing himself annoyed until more people entering the elevator interrupted him.
“I'll get my car keys” he said to you indifferently as he walked away towards the hotel counter.
You followed Minho, keeping a distance; you glanced around, being able to see from the huge waiting room to the large entrance to the restaurant where you could also see and your heart stopped for a moment when you spotted a long dyed blonde hair sitting at one of the tables.
You turned quickly, hoping he couldn't see you, but as if fate would have it, you managed to see him leave his seat and approach the foyer. In panic you slipped into the waiting room where you sat with your back turned.
Felix went straight to Minho.
“Lee Minho” he blond greeted him enthusiastically.
“Hey, Yongbokkie, what brings you here.”
Minho turned to look at Felix and frowned when he saw that you were no longer behind his back, he looked at you for a few seconds until he deduced that you might have finally run away, which made him happy and disappointed at the same time.
“It's Olivia's birthday dinner”.
“Oh, congratulate her for me” the blond smiled at him.
“Are you about to leave?” Felix said.
“Yes, I'm going to Hyunjin's.”
“Sure, sure, maybe I'll stop by later.”
Minho just smiled at him and asked a few more trivial questions about his parents.
“Mr. Lee, your car is outside waiting for you” the employee interrupted them.
“I have to go Felix, I'll see you later.”
“Of course.”
You were hiding, praying that Felix wouldn't recognize your hair and suddenly you saw him chatting with your 'date' for tonight, apparently they were friends so you felt more terrified, what if by chance Minho decides to tell Felix? Oh you would be ruined. After the short talk you saw Minho leaving towards the exit so once again you slipped away almost running to catch up with Minho. He was surprised to see you back by his side. Minho said,
“Mm, the night was just starting to get nice when I thought you had left.”
You gave him a dirty look and followed him to his car where you sat in the passenger seat. When Minho put on his seat belt he noticed the shiny gold detail on the strap of your dress, it was the medusa logo characteristic of that high fashion Italian brand.
“The bastard dressed you in Versace, you already look more like his than mine.”
You stood still not knowing what to say, it was maybe the first nice thing he had said to you during all your short time together.
Minho inspected you quickly, he was so upset that his friend didn’t lie, and just like Hyunjin said, you were a really pretty girl.
“But he didn't put earrings on you, if you're going to come with me you have to look your best.”
Once again he spoke in a resigned tone and arrived at Tiffany's jewelry store. Minho was resigned to the fact that you would accompany him tonight so he thought if you were going to make Soyul jealous, you really had to do it. Besides he had already inspected you, at first glance you were too pretty and that dress fit you like a dream so that speeded things up.
Once again, you had to go behind him and you entered the luxurious establishment.
“Good evening, Mr. Lee, how can I help you? Would you like something to drink?” the worker hurried to say to you once you entered, with a smile, looking quickly towards you.
You noticed how she looked at you in surprise since Minho hadn't brought another girl since two years ago when he was still in a relationship.
“Nothing for me in particular, I'm looking for earrings for women.”
“Of course, I'll show you.”
Minho followed the young woman and you followed Minho, who led you deeper into one of the display counters; you had come a lot of times with Felix every time it was a special occasion for his family since he had been raised among only women, he always offered to buy you some jewelry but you flatly refused. And now there you were, about to accept them from a stranger.
“Choose” he ordered you. “Quickly, I don't like to be late” he looked at his watch.
Timidly you leaned down to look at each one of the fine jewelry until a pair of gold diamond earrings in the shape of a flower caught your attention.
“These” you murmured to Minho.
The clerk stood waiting for his confirmation.
“I'll take those.”
He quickly took care of paying for them without looking at the price and they were finally delivered in their characteristic turquoise box with a white bow.
He got into the car first and left the box there, you snorted for a second annoyed at how ungentlemanly and attentive he was, one second you felt like a princess wearing Versace and taking you to Tiffany & Co. and the next you had to run to keep up with him.
As soon as you got in, he said curtly:
“Use them, we're about to get to Hyunjin's.”
You watched him take the steering wheel attractively and noticed two boxes in between of you. You didn't know why you took the other one and Minho, noticing it, quickly placed his hand on yours stopping you.
“It's the other box.”
You looked at him, he acted a little strange; you took the other box and put on those sparkling diamonds.
You had taken the old engagement ring that Minho bought for Soyul before they broke up, he was ready to give it up as it was of no use to him, it was made to fit his ex-girlfriend's finger.
When you arrived you saw that it was not a simple exhibition, but a chateau style mansion with many cars parked at the grand entrance, you got nervous, just like Minho, normally he didn't get like this but it would be the first time he would see Soyul accompanied by the man why she left him and also he had his first kind of date after so long.
Minho let out a breath.
“Well, we have to do it right. You're an actress, right? Create a character right now so we can both be on the same page.”
You didn't know what to say.
“I can change my name and….”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Which one is right for you?”
“Anything…”
“Choi Eunjoo… photographer from…”
“A place far away, what about Jeju?” he mentioned intensely, he was nervous.
You nodded. You had chosen the name of an inactive random actress who studied at the same university as you, who was a friend of Felix's mother and whose cinematography he forced you to watch while your friend argued how good she looked at her age. If they try to look you up for your name, they would be surprised to see only her and her inactive projects in the early 2000s.
“Okay, let's go.”
You both walked down the dirt road, once you came out of the darkness and Minho noticed people watching, he grabbed you by the waist.
“And what is your real name, Eunjoo?” he whispered to you.
[…]
It was better than you expected, you didn't imagine that there would be a construction like this in the modern city, you drank Champagne while you didn't leave Minho's side even for a second; after a couple of drinks you both relaxed completely and walked around the house and admired Hyunjin's paintings. This was maybe a normal Saturday for Minho, but it was for you a dream, you felt like Cinderella, once the clock struck 12 and the charm would be completely gone.
At one point in a room you both finally met Hyunjin, Minho came over to greet him and you shyly watched them chat, Hyunjin gave you a complicit look and smile, he hadn't seen Minho relaxed in years, sadly it was short lived as Soyul entered the room.
You noticed Minho's jaw tighten and saw where his eyes were fixed, on a pretty slim woman with the face of a celebrity. You quickly understood and walked over to Minho, linking your arm around his.
“You're here” she said to him.
She quickly looked at you.
“I'm still Hyunjin's friend.”
“Jung Soyul, nice to meet you” she introduced herself.
You held hands and Minho saw something that broke his heart once again, an engagement ring on her finger, suddenly the alcohol left his body, he felt sick, the suit was suffocating him.
“Choi Eunjoo” you smiled at her.
“So are you dating?”
Hyunjin could notice the sour look she had on you and that caused him satisfaction.
“Yes” Minho went ahead to say.
“I haven’t see you before, Choi Eunjoo.”
She said hypocritically, blinking repeatedly.
“Oh, it's just that, I'm an indie photographer from Jeju and… I met Minho and the rest is history.”
“Oh, now that's romantic.”
“More romantic than getting to know each other when you're in another relationship” Hyunjin added amusedly, taking a sip of his drink.
Soyul gave him a dirty look. And Minho didn't find it funny, he wanted to get out of there. Soyul knew him so well and noticed his expression, meanwhile you were analyzing the look of pity she was giving your boss, so you turned to see him, he looked serious and pale. You quickly approached his ear, covering your lips and whispered to him:
“We can get out of here if you want, pretend I'm saying something nice to you and smile naturally. You're acting weird.”
And so he did, Minho smiled softly; he hadn't felt the touch of another woman in years, suddenly your warm breath and soft lips brushing minimally against his ear pleased him.
“We haven't seen the whole exhibition yet, excuse me” he added, taking your hand.
You moved far enough away and, in a crowded room, he let go of your hand and walked out the large doors to what you could see was a balcony. You didn't know whether to follow him, but you did anyway.
He had unbuttoned his suit and a few buttons on his shirt, he felt suffocated. You saw him leaning against the white stone railing.
“Should I ask what's got you like this?” you said softly.
“You don't have to follow me around all the time” he added defensively. “Soyul cheated on me and now she is going to marry that motherfucker, what a great night to find out.”
You didn't say anything, you didn't know how to comfort someone and in a way, Minho was grateful for your silence.
“Well, once I say it out loud it sounds pathetic” he added.
“Hyunjin told me it was complicated for you…” you approached him and hesitated to touch him, but slowly rubbed your hand on his back, “that he wants the best for you and you start to meet new people.”
Minho let out a chuckle and watched you carefully, he hadn't given himself the task of observing how pretty you looked in that dress, under the moonlight, the way your eyes sparkled and how your lips looked so appetizing, Minho found himself losing his temper a bit for you so he quickly rejected any feelings and immaturely, he became elated and said:
“I don't know why I'm saying this things to a hooker anyway.”
He brushed off your touch and walked away leaving you absolutely lost and somewhat hurt.
The rest of the night you didn't find Minho and you were starting to get scared, you felt out of place, lost in a huge house, full of rich people laughing in their own social circle, you were so sensitive you wanted to cry, you wondered if Minho had abandoned you there.
You checked the time, past midnight and 5 minutes, it was time to go. You tried to look for a way out until you made it, you felt so embarrassed that you would ask for a cab but the signal on your phone there was terrible.
Suddenly you felt a big hand grab your wrist, you turned around scared and found the man you almost cried for tonight.
“Let's get out of here.”
Confused, he led you to his car and you parted on the road in silence. Minho had pondered all night and wanted to take the next step, to finally be with a woman other than his ex-girlfriend, but he didn't know exactly how to ask you.
As you merged into the city you realized he was heading in an unknown direction until you reached the hills in one of the more upscale neighborhoods and finally saw that he had taken you to his house.
You thought he was a selfish piece of shit and there were two options, suddenly he wanted to fuck you or he went home exhausted and sad and would let you call a cab to take you home. But what you didn't know was that he was cynically leaning towards the first option.
You got out of the car and now he was the one running towards you.
“Why that face y/n?” he said, approaching you.
You looked at him indignantly, suddenly he was calling you by name and wanted to have you close, you thought he must be drunk.
“Let's go inside, you have to be a good girl and thank me for the earrings, I'll make sure to buy you more pairs.”
He grabbed you by the waist, you noticed how his voice became gravelly, but that wasn't how you fell and he knew he said a couple of hurtful things but he didn't know how to apologize.
You questioned whether you should play along, fuck him and call it a day and go home, as sadly you had to play along, or so you thought.
You stared into his eyes, those big dark eyes in a cute cat shape, he was attractive and from what you saw earlier he had a good dick, so you decided that if you would cry at least make sure it was worth it.
“What do you have in mind?” you rounded his neck and moved your face closer.
He smiled mischievously and, the next thing you knew, you were both in his home entrance devouring each other's lips. Minho had a lot of dirty ideas while he was away from you during the party, the alcohol made him horny. He took off his coat and untucked his shirt and undid his belt. He slipped his hands under your dress lifting it and shamelessly squeezed and massaged your ass, drawing you to his body where you began to feel his erection rubbing against you; Minho loved the idea of touching your bare ass since you only had tiny panties on, you moaned as you felt his lips and tongue on your neck, for some reason his mouth was so soft and you were a complete sucker when you were treated to a lot of physical contact during sex.
You parted and an act of lust, he sought to undo your dress and bra, he stared at you, semi naked for him and began to move his kisses down your breasts without breaking eye contact, it looked fucking good to watch him as he moved down your body and feasted himself on your tits until he moved down to your underwear and wet pussy. By this point you were panting and in need of action. His sharp nose brushed against your mons pubis and he slowly slid your underwear down your legs until he stripped them from you.
He parted your legs a little and you felt his hot breath on your area screaming for attention. Minho took your pussy with his big hands and parted your folds, sticking his tongue out shyly and giving your whole pussy a deep, dirty kiss. You gave a little cry of excitement and didn't think you were capable of standing in heels while he ate you out.
Minho felt so good, with his thumb he stimulated your clit as you gave little spasms into him from your excitement. He noticed that you were becoming increasingly impossible to hold so he stopped, carried you suddenly upstairs to his room. Minho laid you down on his bed while he stayed on the edge of it finishing undressing himself. You watched the spectacle with excitement, from his notorious veins to his hands undoing buttons that looked tiny and finally his pants releasing his big firm erect cock, your heart raced faster just watching it, it was delicious, he was incredibly endowed, it was big and thick with notorious veins, you bit your lip thinking how incredibly painful but pleasurable that would feel in your pussy.
Minho saw your reaction and quickly positioned himself over you, he took your wrists and held them with one hand above your head.
“Did you like what you see, little whore?”
You nodded, unable to speak properly, if you tried to say anything it would surely be in a needy tone. You could feel him slapping your belly every time he came closer to you.
“You want it in your mouth?”
You almost screamed please, but before you could speak, Minho lay back waiting to be satisfied. On your knees and arching your back purposely giving him a view of your dripping pussy, you took his big cock and inserted it into your mouth tasting every vein. Minho sat up and began to fuck you with two fingers inserting them into your vagina. You are a mess, completely wet, with cum and saliva sliding down the corner of your lips, you didn't think it could have been better until you feel his hands on your hips and he tries to position you on top of him.
You helped him a little and for the first time you were experiencing the 69 position.
You were panting between his big dick, your nose was starting to get slippery and little tears were coming out of your eyes. On the other hand Minho had his tongue deep inside you, he was tasting your labia, and stimulating your clitoris and from time to time he passed your wetness stimulating your exposed ass.
You stopped sucking him off when you felt your climax near, you sat up while resting your hands on his marked abdomen, only your gasps and grotesque sound of Minho devouring your pussy could be heard in the room, occasionally he would let out tinies 'mmmh' enjoying every second of you. You clung more to his abdomen and lifted your ass gently so as not to rest all your weight on him; you threw your head back blinded with pleasure.
“I'm gonna cum” you announced in a desperate, choked cry.
And just when you didn't think it could have been any better, Minho accelerated his licking and sucked harder, bringing you to the edge until you collapsed in his mouth. Your orgasm had been so strong that it hurt your abdomen a little.
You pulled away from him, embarrassed and soaking wet but Minho was more than happy. He leaned back on his elbows and wiped his mouth with a smile, it had been a long time since he had the intimacy of good sex, let alone eating such an appetizing nice pussy like yours, he smiled as he was satisfied that he was still excellent in bed.
You looked at his naked body again, his hard cock was needy and sensitive and within seconds you were horny again. Minho grabbed you roughly by the face and kissed you heatedly. He pulled away from you and with his hand made a motion indicating you to turn around, confused you showed him your ass and put yourself in four.
Minho without thinking caressed your buttocks and then spanked you hard 5 times in a row, each stroke exalted you and made you moan pleasurably, your skin was burning with pain, you could predict that your ass was thus as red as your riotous cheeks.
Minho played with your pussy a little, reinserting his fingertips, you saw him take a condom and within seconds you felt the latex on the tip of his penis teasing your entrance. Until you felt him slowly insert half of his erection and then insert the rest all at once causing you to let out a soft cry. You arched your back again as you gently moved your ass, adjusting yourself to his massive cock, filling your insides.
“I'm going to fuck you hard, kitten.”
He murmured and without warning and without mercy he began to ram you bestially making the sound of his pelvis slapping your buttocks resonate along with the sounds of your wet and well lubricated cunt. You couldn't help but moan every time he was inside, you felt like you were going to swoon all over him, it felt so good for you as well as for him, finally, the adrenaline and desire to fuck someone who wasn't as vanilla as his ex-girlfriend, Minho always liked to fuck hard.
You were in paradise, you were wearing diamonds and he was abruptly pounding your insides. Minho was holding you by the hips but soon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, riding you wonderfully; his view was beautiful, he pulled his grip tighter and pressed you to his body, your back rubbing against his bare chest, you could feel his cock protruding from your lower belly, thrusting you hard. In one swift movement, he held you with his strong right arm whose naughty fingers pinched and stimulated your clit and with his left hand he began to gently choke you. He gasped from time to time in your ear “fuck” over and over again. You both synchronized your climax and you felt the grip of his hand on your neck getting tighter and tighter until you couldn't breathe, you adored it, you loved how your body was fighting for oxygen but at the same time seeking the culmination of your pleasure, your heart beat faster and oxytocin shot out of your system and in desperation you placed your hands on his hand on your neck, you felt every vein exalted from his strong grip.
You thought you were going to pass out but it was only your shuddering second orgasm, Minho slowly released you and cum on the condom still inside you. You ended up exhausted, racing and with your limbs trembling.
You had never been fucked so well that you almost felt the need to tell him I love you so you could have him forever.
The next morning you woke up naked, still in his comfortable bed. When you opened your eyes you found Minho buttoning his shirt, he looked all tidy and was getting ready.
“Are you going somewhere on Sunday?”
You spoke, hoarse and still asleep.
Minho turned to see you and smiled, he thought you looked cute with your hair in disarray and your face a little puffy, but after a second he regretted it. He refused to feel anything for you other than just desire.
“You have to go. The driver is outside.”
He told you coldly and walked out of his room, leaving you slightly heartbroken.
Here's a masterlist of what I have read and/or am reading on AO3!
Currently everything I'm reading is primarily SKZ fics (some have referenced TxT or ATEEZ and it's cute) but I'm generally just reading to read and learn what people are writing/passionate about. It's honestly enlightening, in a good way (most times). Reviews are below the cut. ♥
my ao3: think143
🔖 - unfinished work
📗 - completed work
📖 - currently reading/tracking
My Favorite (Finished) Fics
(In order of completion, not best/worst or anything like that)
hands-on learning 💖 (E) 25.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Porn with Feelings, Friends to Lovers
My Notes: I thought I would have more to say about this one but it's just really really good. A nice quick nighttime read before bed. There's just something about the ones with "feelings revelation" that make me sooooo happy. And yes, all of the smut is *chef's kiss*.
MFA (Most Fuckable Ass) 💖 (E) 53.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, Professor Lee Minho, Student Han Jisung, Slow Burn, Daddy Kink
My Notes: I burned through this fic in an evening and I am fanning myself like a Southern woman in the heat of summer on her front porch. So incredibly well-written, and I've found a fic author that I'll be following closely for a long time.
don't leave me tongue-tied 💖 (E) 57.5k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Porn with Feelings, Light Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Fluff
My Notes: This was honestly really endearing to read and see actual feelings come to light. Author commented to say that it's based on a manga called "My Quiet Best Friend's Just Tongue-Tied", but without the dub-con elements. Well-written and reads easily; comical when it needs to be!
Haebang 💖 (E) 193.6k
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Stray Kids Ensemble
Notable Tags: Fluff, Smut, Porn With Plot, Sex Work, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Explicit Consent, Subspace, Porn with Feelings, BDSM, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Feelings Realization, Safewords
My Notes: Okay, hear me out; there is a LOT going on in this fic. A lot. The point of the Haebang retreat is that each member specializes in helping you find liberation with one aspect of sex; be it intimacy, dom/sub, etc, and each chapter follows each member at the start before things start to get a bit more involved. However, any time I try to word why I like this fic so much, I simply cannot. Also Seungmin is a nerd and we love him for it.
instinct 💖 (E) 53.4k
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Reader
Notable Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Alternate Universe - College/University, Light Dom/sub
My Notes:This was the first ABO fic I read and it makes every other one I've read after it pale in comparison. I love how the author describes what's going on in the reader's head without over-explaining or spoon feeding it to us. The relationship between Reader and Chan, plus all of the other housemates, is so so so good.
come on home 💖 (E) 206.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Angst, Smut, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Violence, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Denial of Feelings, Referenced Homophobia, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Feelings Realization, POV Alternating, Gangs, Guns, Shitty Exes
My Notes: The guns are there for a split second, but this fic is very centered on a incredibly difficult to read domestic abuse situation, and the liberation from said relationship. There's also the orientation realization of another character, but that instills a lot of angst and fear of loss while reading. However, the fic is still incredible, a powerful read, and definitely on the recommended list.
Wannabe Poet 💖 (E) 134.2k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Bad Poems, Bullied Han Jisung, Friends with Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Exhibitionism, Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sexual Assault.
My Notes: I'm all about found family and I feel like this fic really hit the nail on the head for it. I loved the concept of this fic from the beginning. Han texts a bad poem to a random number and makes a friend in Minho. Most of this fic seems centered on Han becoming comfortable with his true self and what he wants, not what his family wants for him. I really love the love that he finds not only in Minho, but in everyone around him. ♥
Five Stars 💔 but 💖 (E) 420.7k
Relationship(s): Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Cannibalism, Dismemberment, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Some Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Grooming, Murder, Mutual Pining, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Implied/Referenced Suicide
My Notes: I have to stress so so so so much that the writing on this fic is one of the best I've ever read. HOWEVER, it's also one of the most fucked up pieces of fiction I've ever read. Mental health issues are at the center of this bloody, sexy, kinky fic. It would truly be a horror movie if it were put onto screen. Please please please make sure to read ALL OF THE TAGS on this fic before deciding whether to read it or not. I had to take frequent breaks but it was difficult to make myself look away because I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I have never screamed so much at a fic before in my life. I cried at least six times and four of those were in the last 50k words.
Heart Song 💖 (E) 63.1k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Physical Disability
My Notes: I just...I cried so much during this fic. In this universe, soulmates are identified by a dream that people have on the night of their 16th birthday. They dream about a significant memory from their soulmate's life, and when they awaken, their soulmate's first impression appears on their body written in their handwriting. The only problem is that...Han Jisung is blind, so he has never seen anything. Lee Minho leads his whole life thinking that he doesn't have a soulmate, because he saw nothing in his dream. I LOVE the author's storytelling style, the way they use angst in believable ways, and the way that they bring the characters together.
Speak With Your Eyes 💖 (E) 164k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - Space, Hybrids, Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Space Corps, Miscommunication, Slow Burn, ONLY ONE BED, Found Family, Smut
My Notes: A ROMANCE IN SPACE?! Lee Know is an android hybrid, and unfortunately this universe has a lot of not very nice things that are in place regarding people who are not fully human. Lee Know saves Han's life, then Han saves Lee Know's life, then Lee Know saves Han's life again...you get the picture. It's incredibly well-written, a lovely drop into a different setting than I'm used to, and devourable in a day. Will be following this author for a while!
so sweet like chocolate 💖 (T) 71.7k
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Notable Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff
My Notes: I cannot stop gushing about this fic. The mutual pining is written incredibly addictingly and just aaaagh! Lee Know is a librarian, Jisung is a student who has never visited the library before, Jisung may have accidently thrown a pencil at Lee Know...it all becomes very fluffy at just the right pace. I read this so quickly and when it was over, and the author's note popped up saying "and that's the end!" I had to check the % progress on my kindle. I would devour any further stories written about this story, but I am also okay with how it ended, and imagining what happens next.
The Curse of Saturdays 📗 (T)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
opposites attract 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Bang Chan/Lee Minho
chances taken 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
Let Your Love Walk In 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
LMCat_98 has joined the chat 📗 (E)
Relationship(s): Han Jisung/Lee Minho
i need you now, but i don't know you yet 📗 (M)
Relationship(s): SKZ Ensemble/SKZ Ensemble
To Be Read/Reading List
Leap of Faith 📖🔖 (M)
Relationship(s): Stray Kids Ensemble/Reader
Dream Drabbles 📖🔖 (E)
Relationship(s): Each chapter is a one-shot with member/reader
Added to My Favorite (Finished) Fics:
The Curse of the Saturdays
Opposites Attract
Chances taken
Let your love walk in
LMCat_98 has joined the chat
I need you now but I don’t know you yet
Added to Other Fics I’ve Finished Reading:
Everything’s Prettier Underwater
Reach Out and Touch
Bl (backwards love)
Bury me at make out creek
Always on my mind
The Royal Pack
Unfinished/Removed
A Glitch
It’s in My Blood
Maniac
The Bottom of the Ladder
We run this jungle
Notes: 3.3k words. Includes making out, oral (f receiving), protected sex that turns into unprotected sex, fingering, sexual acts during a short facetime call, edging (f receiving), mentions of porn, talks about being safe with other people, reader just came back from sleeping with someone else and she talks about things they did. I think that's it!
“I know it's late, but are you busy?” You ask through the phone. You look out of the window as you sit in the middle of the bus as the only passenger.
You hear Seungmin scoff softly. “No, I’m not busy. But I have a feeling I might be.”
“See you in 10 minutes?” You semi ask, rather stating it.
“On my way.” He replies with a hint of playfulness in his voice.
The moment you step out of the bus, you already see him standing by the bus stop.
“Ahw you're picking me up? How sweet of you.” You joke, walking up to him and heading to your apartment together.
“I wasn't gonna wait by your front door like a creep.” He says, stepping inside your small apartment and taking off his jacket. “You wanna rant first and fuck later, or rant while we get started already?”
You feel slightly embarrassed that he knew you had to rant about this date. And even more embarrassed that you need him so much, that you mutter out a quick ‘second option please.’
Seungmin chuckles and scoffs. “Tsk, you should have just called me right away.”
He starts to kiss your neck while he sneaks his hands to the small of your back. Still kissing, he guides you to your bedroom as you speak about the date.
“He’s an okay guy, but he's obsessed with FaceTiming me? Or just FaceTime in general, I think.” You start, softly panting as Seungmin kisses you quickly in between sentences.
He takes off his shirt and turns you around to unzip your skirt for you. He softly hums that he hears what you're saying.
You give him a kiss back and unzip his jeans, sliding your hand over his boxers. It seems you're not the only one who's in the mood tonight.
“How many times have you gone out with him?” Seungmin asks, guiding you onto your bed. He hovers over you and quickly unbuttons your blouse.
“Few times. But this was the first fuck though.” You answer, taking off your blouse entirely. You then take off your stockings and lay back down again. “He just.. didn't do it for me. And I’m sorry but the dates were kinda boring.”
“He kept talking about FaceTime?” Seungmin asks with an amusing smile. He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties and drags them down.
He’s not wasting any time and presses his lips on your thigh, slowly kissing his way up to your pussy. He leaves a few licks, earning a very satisfied moan from you.
“Mhm.” You reply, your thoughts getting hazy as you focus on Seungmin's mouth on you. “Always that fucking FaceTime.”
Suddenly you get jolted out of your focus by your phone ringing. You reach for it on your nightstand and check your screen.
“Speak of the devil.” You say, showing a curious Seungmin that your previous date is trying to FaceTime you.
Seungmin’s eyes turn darker and he smiles. “You're not a rude girl, aren't you. Answer it.”
“If you behave.” You say to him, fully knowing he won't.
You prop yourself up against your pillow and throw your blanket over your semi-exposed chest. You click answer and immediately regret it, as Seungmin goes right back to eating you out.
“Hi, what's up?” You say to the man on the screen, biting the inside of your cheek when Seungmin licks down your folds.
“Hey, sugar plum. Just wanted to check if you got home safely.” The man says with a smile.
Seungmin hums softly against your pussy, sending vibrations through your whole body.
“Yeah, I’m home.” You manage to say. Holding your phone with one hand, the other sneaks to Seungmin’s hair. You tangle your fingers in it and gently tug on it. He chuckles, a little too loud.
“Is there someone with you?” The man asks, slightly confused by the muffled noise he heard.
“No.” You quickly answer, suppressing a moan as Seungmin teases your sensitive cunt with his tongue. “I’m watching… porn.”
You look at the screen and see the man smirk at you. Your cheeks are red and you definitely look like you're watching something naughty.
“Mh, you could have just said you wanted a round two, sugar plum.” He chuckles.
Seungmin looks up at you and you see him when you quickly look over your phone screen. He’s got a devious smile on his face and locks eyes with you as he inserts two fingers into your wet hole.
You shut your eyes and say; “gotta go, bye!”
Then ending the call and throwing your phone next to you on the bed as you open your eyes again to curse at Seungmin.
The position you're in allows you to watch his fingers go in and out of you and you know you can't hold it in for much longer.
He knows it too, and stops moving when his fingers are inside you.
“So. Sugar plum?” He states, slightly tilting his head in amusement.
“Are you really not gonna let me cum?” You dodge the remark.
“Nope.” He says, popping the ‘p’. He slowly removes his fingers and licks them off, not breaking any eye contact with you. “You gotta tell me about him, what you guys did. And maybe then you can cum.”
“For fucks sake, Seungmin.” You sigh, slightly frustrated. “I haven't had an orgasm since the last time we fucked. You can't do this to me.”
He raises an eyebrow and hovers over you, straddling your lap and toying with the straps of your bra. “You haven't had an orgasm in a month? Is no one fucking you well enough or what?”
His face is dangerously close to yours and you’re trying to keep yourself from kissing him.
“If you must know, this guy today was the only one I’ve fucked since you and I made this arrangement.” You confess. You're annoyed that you're telling him this, but part of you wants him to know.
Seungmin gives you a content smile and undoes your bra from the front; he’d known exactly which bra you were wearing the moment he laid eyes on your blouse.
He takes your face in between his hands and roughly kisses you.
“Did he play with you?” He asks, roaming his hands over your chest. “It seems like he really had no idea what you like, if you're still so sensitive right now.”
You moan as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples, as he presses his lips against your neck and sucks on the skin there.
“I just sucked him off and then we had sex.” You mumble, slightly embarrassed at how lame it sounds. “It was doggy style and he came really quickly, so I pretended to cum too.”
Seungmin sits up and brushes his lips against yours.
“You faked it?” He asks, pressing a quick kiss on your mouth. “Did you ever do that with me?”
“No.” You immediately answer, giving him a kiss back. You feel his clothed hard on against your crotch and you want to beg him to fuck you, to let you cum. But you know he’s not done with this yet. “I sure hope it never seems like it.”
“So he's allowed to give you a pet name while he can't even fuck you right, and I’m fucking you well and can't call you anything?” He asks, and you can't figure out if he's serious or not.
He covers your breasts with his large hands and massages them, plays with them, as he still kisses you.
“Do you want to?” You ask, backing away from his lips to look at him and gauge his reaction.
He gives you a small nod. “Makes this less… porn like.”
You chuckle and you see him smile as well. “Not the porn comment.”
“You started it.” He smirks, getting off your lap and heading to the other night stand. He knows your room by now and that you keep your condoms there.
“Did you two French kiss?” He then asks as he opens the wrapper.
“Pfft no.” You snort, getting yourself comfortable on your bed. “You know I only do that with people I like romantically, and I definitely don't like him like that. Which I need to tell him asap.”
Seungmin rolls on the condom and sighs extra dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to make up for his mistakes then.”
As soon as he gets back in bed with you, you can't help but wonder. “You don't want anything to get started?”
“Not to sound horny, but just making out and playing with you already made me really fucking hard.” Seungmin confesses, getting back on top of you. “And I’m not gonna cum before you like the other guy did.”
You scoff in amusement. “Aren't you sweet.”
“Anything for you, babe.” He says, then frowns for a second and then nods. “Yeah, ‘babe’ sounds best, I think. I was gonna say ‘baby’, but I really think ‘babe’ suits you better.”
“My god, you have so much energy tonight.” You reply with a laugh, as you wrap your legs around his waist.
“Better make good use of it.” He semi-jokes, giving you a kiss as he always does before pushing himself into you fully.
You simultaneously let out a satisfied moan and the both of you chuckle right away.
Seungmin leans in to kiss you some more as he slowly but steadily moves his hips against yours. He feels amazing, as he always does and your body doesn't have to get used to him at all.
You wrap your arms around his back and your legs around his hips so his body is as close to yours as possible while still kissing each other.
“I missed.. this.” Seungmin softly says in between kisses. He then lets his mouth travel to your neck and leaves a trail of soft kisses on your skin.
“Me too.” You reply quietly, you aren't sure if you want him to hear it or not.
Your hands travel to his hair, firmly tangling your fingers with it as he thrusts into you. Soft moans and pants can be heard in the bedroom, you're never shy to let yourself be heard by Seungmin.
A quick thought crosses your mind. You feel kind of bad you slept with another guy. You know there's nothing between you and Seungmin except for sex, but you still feel bad.
“I need you to-” you say, but Seungmin cuts you off with a smirk. “I know babe.”
He immediately puts his hand in between your bodies, his long fingers playing with your clit the same, familiar way.
It gets you very close very quickly. Seungmin knows it too by the way you shut your eyes, throw your head back and let out a whining moan.
Just before you cum, he stops every movement and chuckles at your confused expression.
“Seungmin...” you plead as he leaves you hanging for the second time tonight.
He pulls out entirely and leans in to kiss you. “I like it when you're so needy. He really didn't do much to you now, did he?”
“Could you please, please just fuck me and let me cum?” You ask, slightly frustrated at the games he’s been playing. He seems different tonight, but you can put your finger on it. “I really don't want to talk about this random guy with you.”
“Switch with me.” Seungmin then says, and the two of you switch positions.
You sit on top of him, his dick buried deep inside of you, and you rock your hips quite quickly. You're way too sensitive and desperately need to cum.
“I’ll never get tired of this view.” He says, eyeing you up and down. “You're absolutely gorgeous, you know that right?”
The sudden compliment takes you aback and you just give him a quick nod.
But you can't help but wonder why Seungmin is acting this way today. As you look at him, you notice that his eyes seem softer, his touch more careful and his fucking more… loving?
It does something to you, this more gentle side of him and you mentally curse at yourself. You promised yourself you wouldn't let your feelings get involved.
Seungmin’s hands roam over your hips and up to your breasts. You slightly lean into his touch, slowing down your pace. His hands feels nice on your bare skin, and you let out a soft ‘fuck’ as you realize what you're doing.
You're making love to him.
Thanking the universe that he has his eyes closed, you let yourself go and try to fuck the frustration away. He’s always been very good at feeling what you need, what your body needs. So he instinctively moved along with you.
The sight of your fuck buddy underneath you, turns you on so much. His eyes are shut closed, he’s biting his lower lip as he lets out the most beautiful moans, his messy hair looks so cute and the droplets of sweat on his tan skin make your heart skip a beat.
Yet again you press your lips on his, and it doesn't surprise you that it feels different this time. Seungmin’s hands are now on your hips again, holding you steady as he fucks into you.
You're close, yet again. But you don't cum, you try with all your might not to. You don't want this to end just yet.
“You okay?” Seungmin asks, as he obviously notices that you didn't cum while you probably should have.
You sit up again and nod. You trace his abs with your pointer finger. Stupid, beautiful abs. Your eyes meet his. Stupid, beautiful eyes.
“Can we switch again?” You ask a little shyly. When you see his eyebrows frowned, you chuckle. “I’m just getting a little tired in this position, that's all.”
Seungmin smiles, his nose scrunching up a little. “Of course we can.”
Your face feels hot when he’s on top of you again. His hand is back down your folds, he knows you love his fingers just as much as you love his cock.
Every touch you get from him now feels different, better. His lips on your shoulder, the soft nibbles he leaves there as he pumps his fingers in and out of you just the way you like it.
“We can just finish like this, if you want?” Seungmin mumbles by your ear, then leaves a wet kiss on your lips.
“No.” You speak against his mouth. “Want you to cum with me.”
Seungmin smiles and his fingers leave your cunt slowly. You whimper, as you miss his touch already. He wants to say something, but he stops himself before he does. He looks a bit hesitant.
“What is it?” You ask, brushing his messy hair out of his eyes. “You can talk to me.”
“I need to know one last thing about you-know-who.” He mumbles, and you know he's annoyed at himself that he started talking about him again.
You scoff but give him a reassuring smile. “And that is?”
Seungmin swallows, he’s so close to you that you can clearly see his Adam's apple move. He’s nervous.
“Were you safe with him?” He then asks, averting his eyes to the pillow next to you.
“Yeah, of course I was.” You ask, slightly taken aback by both the question and how shy he seems to be. “Why?”
Seungmin opens his mouth but closes it again quickly. He doesn't look at you and you feel him drawing circles on your stomach with his pointer and middle finger as a way to keep himself distracted.
You chuckle as you take his chin in your hand and make him look at you. “Seungmin, spit it out. Why do you want to know if I’ve been safe with him?”
He gives you a quick kiss and buries his face in the crook of your neck. He's definitely never been this affectionate before.
“Because I really want to cum inside you if you’ll let me.” He mumbles against your skin. The hand that's been drawing on your stomach now gently caresses your side. His thumb is slowly rubbing against the goosebumps that just came up from hearing what he said to you.
“I know we said we wouldn't do this, but I really want-” he then adds as he kind of gets off your body and lays next to you. He covers his eyes with his hands and nervously chuckles.
His head is facing yours and can't help but to cut him off. “You can.”
“As long as you’ve been safe with anyone else too.” You add with a slight hint of caution.
“Uh. Would you believe me if I said there hasn't been anyone else since you?” He asks, propping himself up on one arm and looking at you.
You never mind it when he looks at you, at your body. He always seems to appreciate what he sees and you're always thankful for that.
“Fuck off, that's not true.” You say, turning towards him and giving him a push against his chest.
He smiles and guides you back on your back again, then getting on top of you. He kisses you, passionately and long.
His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you allow him access into your mouth. For the first time ever.
You hadn't imagined ever French kissing your fuck buddy, as you both knew the reason. Then why did he try, and why did you let him?
His tongue cautiously plays with yours, never forcing anything. Just as when you fuck, your bodies know exactly what you need from each other. You shiver slightly when you taste him, knowing you’d get addicted to this.
“Believe me now?” Seungmin said, slightly cocky as he eventually backed off from the kiss.
You didn't care much about the rules anymore, you had to feel him. “Seungmin, baby. Please just fuck me?”
He chuckles at the pet name and quickly discards the condom before fully pushing into you.
The two of you let out a harmonious groan that makes the other get shy. But you both just don't care anymore.
You grab onto the back of Seungmin’s neck with one hand and press your lips on his. You kiss him hard and you need him so close to you, that you tongue him again.
He gets a little sloppy, both with kissing and fucking, but it turns you on even more.
“You feel so good in me.” You say, chasing his lips again after you speak the words. Your mouth feels bare without them against you.
Seungmin grips your ass to move you up a little so he can fuck you even deeper, and it knocks the air out of your lungs.
He stops kissing you and starts harshly marking your neck as he quickens his pace. He won't take long anymore and neither do you.
You start clenching around his cock, moaning his name without any restriction.
He pants next to your ear, his face buried into your pillow. “Taking me so well baby. Feels so, so fucking good.”
His praises take you to your high and you wrap your arms around his back as you finally cum. And it doesn't take long before he spills himself into your throbbing hole.
Seungmin rests his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath.
You nuzzle your nose against his, then place the softest kiss on his flushed lips.
“So.. we French kissed twice.” He says, fixing your hair a bit. It's not doing much but you know he's trying to distract himself from something again.
You scoff amused. “You're literally still in me with your bare dick, and you focus on the French kissing?”
He gives you a playful shrug and gets out of you. He lays next to you on your bed, your sheets covering both of your lower bodies.
You turn towards him, a million things run through your head right now. But the only thing you want is him, here with you.
“Since we’re pretty much ignoring all our rules tonight anyway.” He says, facing you. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek. “Can I stay?”
↳ When the God of Love is tasked with humiliating a beautiful mortal girl, he finds himself much vexed to discover her immune to his skills. Determined to discover the root of the problem, he takes to mortal form and embarks upon a dastardly ruse that requires his getting close to her. The God of Love thinks he knows all. The God of Love knows nothing.
↳ Lee Know x female reader
↳ Enemies to lovers romance trope. A retelling of the Greek myth Eros and Psyche. College au, angst and conflict, developing romance and yearning, quest and high stakes, Greek mythology and frequent reference to gods/goddesses etc, fantasy and myth meets modern day, mild drug use, smut throughout.
! Explicit content, adult themes, 20.1k, suitable for 18+ readers only !
“Thus, my dearest son, I charge you with this quest.”
Minho knelt reverently before his mother, head bowed low. Rarely did he question her whims or ways, for what the Goddess Aphrodite coveted, the Goddess Aphrodite claimed, and may the Fates help anyone who stood in her way, kin or otherwise.
Still; this all felt too bizarre.
“May I ask why, mother?”
Aphrodite smiled gently, her eyes—an infinite silvery galaxy of lovers’ souls—trained to him. As self-assured as he was, even Minho’s composure wavered under the gaze of the most apocalyptically beautiful of the twelve Olympians.
“It just seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for a mortal girl,” he hastily added.
“You are correct, dear child. It is awful trouble. Trouble that I would not have you go to if it had not been ordained that this girl’s beauty will inspire a cult of worshippers that will revere her as the most beautiful creature to ever have lived. As more beautiful than even the Goddess of Love herself. They will make to her sacrifices and votive offerings and pray to her as though she is divine. I cannot have that, child. There is a natural order to things, and we must maintain it.”
Minho supposed that was answer enough.
“Relay to me again what you must do,” Aphrodite said.
“I am to go to her bedroom while she sleeps, and take with me a hog.”
“The hairiest and foulest you can find,” Aphrodite added.
“Yes, mother. I am to shoot her with one of my arrows and ensure that the first thing she sees when she awakes is the beast.”
Aphrodite smiled, her golden skin shimmering under the vast, heavenly sun. “She will fall in love with the monster, thus disgracing herself and ensuring that her Fate shall never come to pass. No mortal shall ever worship a pig-lover!” She laughed, melodic and triumphant.
Compassion in his very nature, Minho could not help but feel a sliver of sympathy for the girl that, for all intents and purposes, was innocent. She could no more control the beauty she was born with than her Fate— now it would be a sad and lonely one. She would be reviled by other mortals and mocked by the Gods, and spend her life in misery.
But an order was an order.
“Go now, my son,” Aphrodite commanded. “Take your bow and quiver, and make without delay to the girl.”
“Yes, mother.”
Minho stood, bowed, and from his divine palace retrieved his golden bow and quiver of enchanted arrows. Forged by Hephaestus and blessed by his mother, the arrows could pierce the heart of any mortal or deity with true, unbreakable love.
Such was his onus, his purpose, his charge as Eros.
--
Minho always enjoyed visiting the mortal world.
It was true that his reason for spending much of his time there pertained to the never-ending demands of love’s machinations, but even on the days when he sought to take a small break, he lounged in the warm waterfalls and on the snowy mountains and near the pellucid oceans, marvelling at the luscious spectacles of Mother Gaia— a different sort of ephemeral elegance to that of his heavenly home.
Mortals entertained him endlessly; such funny, flighty creatures. They warred and fucked and loved and killed and worked so hard for ultimately trivial reward. He often wondered what would have become of them, had Prometheus never gifted them fire. They certainly wouldn’t have built up centuries of civilisation and developed what Minho now overlooked from a wisp of cloud: the University of Oxford. So far as he understood it, this was a place where mortals gathered to learn— a little like the Mouseion, which he was admittedly less familiar with than he ought to have been. More importantly than any of that, however: this was where his charge resided.
Securing his bow and stepping off the cloud, he drifted down and over the sprawling campus on plush, white wings. The cool midnight air flowed through his onyx hair; starlight kissed his deep, rich complexion. A peaceful glide to the ground it would have been, had the ghastly pig strapped to his back not squealed for the duration.
Landing softly on the dewy lawn, Minho wriggled his naked toes on the grass and looked around. The building ahead, domed and Victorian in grand architecture, was signposted ‘Goodhart’. Being the dead of night, there was no sign of life from any of the single-paned windows; just as he had hoped. Invisible as he was to mortal eyes, the pig remained very much discernible. Nothing like a floating farm animal to incite panic.
With a short, sharp hop he glided gracefully up and away from the grass to the top floor, three stories up. Through each window he peered into dark rooms in which girls softly slumbered, until he came upon one that wasn’t: she was sat at her desk, illuminated by the amber glow of a tabletop lamp. Before her was spread textbooks and notepads, pencils and post-its, an open laptop and cold mug of coffee. Minho watched for several moments. She scrawled something to a cluttered page, tapped her laptop and scrolled. She dropped her pen and raised her arms, stretching out her spine and shoulders with satisfying cracks. She yawned and checked the time, then groaned: “Oh, god.” Her head fell to the desk with a heavy sigh.
Minho had counted on her being asleep. This was due to take much longer now that she wasn’t. Resigned to a wait of indeterminate length, he perched on the rooftop ledge above her window, pig tucked between his legs as he laid back and gazed up at the stars and constellations that decorated the now cloudless sky. There was Hercules, favourite son of Heracles, raised up to the heavens by the Cloud Gatherer himself in honour of his father’s legendary labours. There was Aries, the ram to whom the most coveted Golden Fleece once belonged. There was Andromeda, the wife of the great hero Perseus, who saved her from an unthinkable fate at the hands of the foul sea-dwelling monster Cetus. And in admiring these constellations and recounting the tales of ancient times gone by, Minho drifted into a contented sleep.
It was warmth on his skin that stirred him to the twitter of birds and chatter of mortals. Opening his eyes and rubbing them of their crust, he—for a moment—forgot entirely where he was. Indeed, it was the sore twinge to his skin that firstly informed him he was on Earth, and secondly, that he had Helios to thank for the sunburn. Immortality does not equal invulnerability. With a mean glare skywards, he clambered to his feet and stretched out his joints, possessively checking his bow, relieved to find it still where it should be.
It was at that moment that a wailing screech pierced the air, most alarmingly offensive to Minho’s sensitive ears. More commotion stirred and drew him closer; he crossed the ivy-laced rooftop of Goodhart House with nimble proficiency, peering down at the lawn where it seemed a dozen or more students had gathered.
“What do we do?!” He heard a girl cry out.
“Kill it!”
“We can’t kill it, idiot. It’s huge.”
“W— Well, just, get rid of it!”
“How do you suggest we do that?”
“Call security! Call someone!”
Intrigued, Minho hopped from the rooftop and fluttered to a nearby oak on whose thick branch he gently perched. From the gathering of girls, a familiar squeal and snort erupted: Minho froze. With a stroke of bewilderment, he looked down between his legs, then back to the lawn.
Shit.
The girls screamed and parted from their tight cluster as a splotchy, hairy hog barrelled towards them, slavering drool that splashed them as it passed. Over the lawn it charged and across the campus to yet more cries of distant fear and panic, until it disappeared entirely from view. Aflutter with confusion and fright, the girls drew back together, as though expecting yet more horrid creatures to spring from the ground. Luckily for them, Minho was fresh out. In fact, he was just considering where he might obtain a second beast when from the Goodhart building lobby, a girl strolled out. Confidence in her stride and an easy smile on her face, she was rushed by the gaggle of girls, every one of them relaying to her with varying degrees of dramatics what had just occurred. Minho watched intently; she laughed and hugged them, offered assurances and validation. By no small feat she managed to calm them, after which she took her leave, jogging across the lawn and towards the path with books bundled in her arms. Minho followed, from treetop to rooftop across campus until she entered where he could not, disappearing from his sight into a grand school building.
His mother had been right, he thought. She was beautiful; that was, for a mortal girl. After all, Minho had indulged with deities and nymphs the beauty (and flexibility) of which mortals could not utter into words, and so yes; she was beautiful, for a mortal girl. Rather astoundingly beautiful, for a mortal girl. But that was neither here nor there. He had a quest to complete, and was now distinctly lacking the beast required to complete it. He would just have to find another and bring it back. If not a hog, then something equally as detestable.
Something that would appease mother.
--
In the small and dark hours, Minho returned once more to Goodhart.
Pleased this time to see that the girl was slumbering soundly, he braced himself on the sill of the window and pushed it carefully. It gave with no resistance, as did all things he impressed upon. He climbed through it and into the girl’s room, and found himself immediately taken with what he caught wind of: the sweet and tantalising scent of honey— a substance that had something of a catnip-like appeal to Gods and deities in all forms. Minho paused, his mouth watering. The room itself was of no remarkable make: he had visited the habitats of mortal girls before, their comforts and wants manifesting in soft things, light things, warm things, pink things.
In his hand the creature he plotted with stirred and unsettled; he opened his palm and hushed the spindly tarantula softly. Besotted, it twitched its mandibles and allowed Minho to place it at the foot of the bedspread, where it waited. With a grace of movement unique to the Goddess of Love’s offspring, Minho drew his bow from his back and prepared an arrow, aiming at the sleeping girl. This was usually his favourite part; the anticipation, the thrill, watching how his efforts panned out in those few and rare seconds after his arrow struck and the love searched for a home. Perhaps that was why his heart hung heavily as he took a deep breath and loosed the arrow; in this, there was to be no thrill. He acted solely in service to his mother, and while other deities would surely press that that was ample reward in itself, something inside him ached.
Ever sure in its path, the arrow struck the girl in her breast, setting upon her a heat that woke her immediately. She gasped and made a sound akin to a moan: Minho stiffened, struck by it. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her sleep-warm skin and bed hair appealing to him in ways he had erstwhile made fun of mortals for admiring. Groggy but seemingly able to perceive enough, she blinked at the end of her bed; at the patient tarantula that sat there. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes again, grimaced and took another look. The tarantula shimmied its eight legs. Certain that his mission had been a success, Minho could bear to watch no longer; he moved to the open window, braced himself upon the sill.
“How on earth did you get in here?”
He turned back. The girl rose carefully from bed and retrieved the glass of water from her bedside, rushing to the window where he stood. A mere inch from him and yet completely unaware, she tossed the water over the sill, the streaming moonlight briefly bathing her face. Minho swallowed and watched as she grabbed a slip of paper from her desk. With care and precise technique, she slipped the paper under the spider, poised the glass atop it, and trapped it.
“You don’t belong here,” she said softly, moving back to the window; back to Minho. “Here, little one. Go home safely now.”
Stretching across him, she leaned out to a gathering of strong ivy that crawled across the close facia. She released the creature onto it, smiling as it clicked its mandibles and scuttled away.
Several things crossed Minho’s mind as he held his breath and waited for the girl to move away. The first was that something, somewhere, had clearly gone awfully wrong. What just happened was not the work of a woman obsessively in love with a horrible spider, but rather that of a pitying Samaritan. The next thing he considered was perhaps more confounding than his failure: he had broken into a clammy sweat, his heart pounded, his vision swum with her nearness. The God of love loves all, loves unconditionally, loves fairly. He does not fall in love.
Thirdly and finally, he thought the worst of all.
He had failed his mother.
Aphrodite was not to be failed.
--
“What is it that you mean to tell me, exactly?”
Aphrodite sat poised on her regal throne of curved ram’s horns and silk, her infinite beauty radiating beneath her golden skin and through her calm, silvery eyes. Her hair, braided intricately and woven with wildflowers, seemed to throb and glow with the very essence of life and love. Minho knelt before her and summoned his courage.
“I mean to say, mother, that I failed.”
Aphrodite brought her palm to her chin. “I do not understand, dear child.”
“I failed to curse her, mother. It just... It didn’t work.”
“So you said. Therein lies my perplexment. You said your arrow struck her?”
“Yes, mother.”
“And yet she remained unaffected?”
“Yes, mother. She didn’t fall in love at all.”
“You must have missed.”
Minho looked up, about to voice his protest when Aphrodite spoke again, “The arrows of Eros cannot be defied. Whomsoever is struck by them must fall in love with the first creature they then see. That is, and always will be, the way of things.”
“But, mother—”
“You must go back down to Earth. Back to the girl. Make sure your aim is true this time.”
“Mother, it wasn’t my aim that was off, it was something else—”
“Are you suggesting there is a defect in Hephaestus’s weapon?” she asked. “Should we visit your uncle together and put this to him?”
Minho swallowed. “No, mother.”
Aphrodite smiled. “Very well then. It is decided. You shall go back to Earth and do a thorough job of things.”
Minho stood from his kneel, anxiety turning over in him. Whatever help he had sought to gain from his mother clearly wasn’t his to take, and so he would have to figure this one out on his own.
“And, darling?”
“Yes, mother?”
“Do not come back until the deed is done.”
Minho nodded dutifully, his heart sunk low.
“Yes, mother.”
--
Now, things were personal.
Not only had the mortal girl somehow resisted his arrows, embarrassed him in front of his mother—a woman whose opinion mattered to him above anyone—but she had also earned him effective banishment. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother’s warning was to be interpreted literally: he would not be allowed to return to heaven or his palace until his task was complete, and so what had begun as a run-of-the-mill task was now a quest of redemption. Minho simply despised working harder than he had to.
So, yes. This was personal.
The more he thought on it, the more he supposed his mother to be right. He must have missed. Yes, it looked an awful lot like he struck her clean in the breast— before this he’d have sworn his immortality on it. And yes, he had never been known to miss a shot, ever. And yes; she reacted as he had witnessed every other mortal react in the afterglow of the landing shot. But still. He must have missed. There could be no other explanation.
Resigned to a third attempt, Minho returned at night to Goodhart. This time, he would watch a while longer. He most definitely wouldn’t take to the (rather comfortable) rooftop and admire the constellations; this was serious business, and he ought to treat it as such. Gliding up to her window and perching on the exterior sill, he was surprised to see the room empty. It was late: late enough for most mortals to be going about their quaint evening routines, such as they were. The desk lamp was switched on and a gathering of clothes was strewn about the unkempt bed alongside an open, transparent toiletry bag. A closed laptop balanced atop the bedside table, where also rested stacked books of romance fiction. White, fluffy slippers peeked out from beneath the bed’s skirt, the small wardrobe door had been left ajar. It was curiosity that drove him to crack open the window, and from inside he once again caught the delectable scent that had so tempted him the night before: honey. It warmed him and made his mouth water, the sweet notes inspiring a rumble in his gut that he mentally hushed—as though it could be heard—when the door opened and the girl walked in. Robed in merely a thin towel, her hair wet about her shoulders, he held his breath and gawked. Something about her—something he couldn’t explain but most desperately wished to—was inexplicably appealing. On her entrance the smell of sweet nectar strengthened, and Minho widened the gap in the window to steal a stronger whiff. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself, glancing to the window that, to her mind, was swinging loosely.
“Thought I’d closed you,” she mumbled, crossing the room and leaning again into Minho’s space. His heart thumped as she reached out to close it: confoundingly annoying, but what good was it to deny?
And then, something quite unfathomable happened.
She froze mid-reach, and stared at Minho.
--
You had never been the type to much believe in fairy tales, myth or folklore.
Being a student of the arts, you were aware enough that such tales were always a product of their time and culture, born to serve one purpose or another. Urban legends to keep folk from the woods at night, fables to sow the seeds of conformity, myths to elevate men to the status of Gods, for hubris and ambition does much to produce good literature.
So does insanity, for its part, and that was precisely what you felt to be stewing in as you looked upon the barely corporeal form of a creature—a man? —perched daintily on your windowsill. He was naked save for a thin white skirt that seemed not to touch him, but float about him. A broad and firm chest tapered to a svelte waist and thick, muscled thighs. Hair of impossible black framed features that you could not entirely comprehend for their beauty, and as though to that end, his face remained a blur save for the shimmering silver of eyes that stared back. A pair of feathery, white wings closed around and under him, and this, you promptly decided, could not be real. If you were to touch him, he would disappear. And so you reached out, hand trembling and warming the nearer you got, as though pushing your arm into a pocket of hot steam. The angel(?) watched, statuesque, and as the very tips of your fingers grazed the smooth upper chest that you were sure you would simply pass through, a pop erupted, as though piercing a vacuum. An extraordinary bout of colour bloomed and spread across his skin, the opaque veil giving way to an iridescent, dazzling gold that shimmered and sparked under the moonlight, yet where your fingers had touched was a deep, purple blotch— a scar on perfection. His features cleared and you saw him with perfect clarity: sharp yet feminine, strikingly gorgeous with plush lips and strong brow. Like nothing you’d ever seen; nothing that ever should be seen. Despite your wants you cried out in shock, recoiled, and slammed the window shut. The angel flitted from the sill, great wings beating gracefully as it hovered for but a moment, spun around, and darted away into the night.
Sleep did not come that night.
Nor did the angel, ever again.
--
She saw him.
She tried to touch him.
Never in all his centuries had Minho experienced such a thing, and were he not on such frosty terms with his mother, he would have turned to her for advice, for he found himself utterly confounded.
A mortal girl saw him.
Had a part of him somehow broken? Was she not mortal after all? Had there been some cosmic imbalance that simply happened to allow for the veil between worlds to thin with comically inopportune timing? Minho had no answers, and knew his frantic worrying would produce none. Thus, he resolved to a plan. The way he saw it, all attempts made so far had depended on his stealth and gentile as Eros, God of Love. Therefore, perhaps a different approach was called for; an approach that would put him in direct contact with the girl that he might work her out— he would have to if he hoped to curse her and appease his mother. Working in the shadows had earned him nothing but a headache.
It was time to step into the light.
--
The Oxford university cafeteria was not a place one went to eat their lunch.
No; the cafeteria was a grand old affair more fitting the pages of Hogwarts, and was treated as such. A hub of activity for passing students that would meet between lectures or seminars to spread the campus gossip like Burberry-clad town criers. It amused you to play a small part in it; you would listen when the girls from your house clucked and fussed over the slightest thing that, if nothing else, distracted from the general stresses of undergraduate life. Ever aware of the way you carried yourself—mother had made sure to drill that one down since birth—you received all news with a complacent smile, unaffected.
Such was the plan today— to pass through on your way to your next class, touch base with the latest triviality, and carry on your day. Yet as you stepped into the high-ceilinged cafeteria and looked around, something struck you as distinctly different.
The whole place was abuzz, humming with chatter and the excited exclamations. Students gathered tightly around the benches and tables, those newly arrived being swarmed upon by peers that sought to be the first to tell them the great news: news you would soon come into possession of.
“Hey!” Your good friend and classmate, Gina, called to you. “Over here!”
You rushed to her, backpack tight to your shoulder. “What on earth’s going on?” you asked. “Half the student body must be here.”
“Girl, you haven’t heard?”
“Haven’t heard what?”
“Oh my God—” She turned to the girl behind her, tapped her shoulder. “She hasn’t heard yet!”
The girl gasped. “You haven’t?! Everyone’s talking about it!”
“Talking about what?”
“I can’t believe you haven’t—”
“Gina.” You pinned her with a stern glare. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Gina drew closer, her voice no lower despite the closed distance as she said, “There’s a new student.”
“A... What? Is that it?”
“He’s not just any student,” she added.
“I heard his biological mother owns Gucci,” a nearby girl added.
“I heard he’s a self-made billionaire,” said another.
“You’re both wrong. He’s the Dean’s son,” Gina tutted.
You held a hand up, head spinning. “Wait. Time out. All this fuss is over a new student?”
“Gucci heir.”
“Billionaire!”
“Dean’s son—”
You rolled your eyes at the objecting chorus. “Whatever. He’s still just a student.”
Gina shook her head. “You clearly haven’t met him.”
“I don’t need to meet him.”
“Oh yeah?” Gina stared over your shoulder. “That’s too bad, because you’re about to.”
You followed her gaze, as did every other student present. The cafeteria burst into a fuss of noise, whispered elation and an air of giddy delight that infected even you with the way your heart pounded indiscriminately. Through a convenient gap in the crowd you looked across to the gently swinging double doors where a person had just entered: a man. A man that met your eyes as soon as yours did his, through tinted sunglasses that utterly failed to conceal the liquid mercury beneath. Under your skin bloomed a molten wanting unlike anything hitherto felt, and in the next breath, a dizzy spell of desire. Mid-length hair the colour of onyx and skin near unsettlingly flawless, it felt merciful to look away from him; to right yourself and steady your feet. Leather jacket tight about his broad shoulders, the man grinned and with no more than a single stride attracted to him the swarm of students that each sought to introduce themselves and make friendly, Gina included. At home amongst the chaos, the man took it all in and with apparent gratitude, unphased by the riot he incited. It took all possible strength to turn and briskly cross the cafeteria, the more distance put between you and them, the better.
Outside and with the summer sun offering a calming warmth of clarity to your head and shoulders, you diverted from the path to the lawn and stopped near a willow tree for breath. It had been all too much. All too reminiscent of your own experience as a naïve Fresher— how the ‘hottest girl on campus’ had been so violently hitched to her pedestal.
“Hello.”
With a shriek you whirled around: there he was. Sunglasses removed and sitting backwards on his head, silver pools of liquid metal pinned you from under strands of thick black.
“Wh— What?”
The man smiled; white, dazzling. “I said hello.”
“Hello?”
“Isn’t that what people say when they meet for the first time?”
You shook your head, scrambling for sense. The shadow of the leafy canopy above danced over the grass, disorienting. As though nature itself responded to his very presence as your peers did.
“But this...” You swallowed, summoned the nerve to look at him. “This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
--
Minho’s ichor ran cold— a first for a man whose heavenly blood was perpetually warmed by divinity.
“We’ve never met,” he said flatly, as much to convince himself as her.
In truth, he thought she’d be purged of the memory of that murky evening by now, humans so fickle in their recollection. It had been over a week ago. She blinked, the dazzlement in her eyes such that it made Minho wonder if his mortal shell was sufficient in containing his glorious beauty.
“I know you,” she muttered. “I know your face.”
Minho’s heart throbbed.
“I thought it was a dream, but—”
Seeing an opportunity, he leapt at it. “Funny,” he smarmed. “People do like to tell me I’m the stuff of dreams.”
And just like that, she appeared to snap to herself. She grimaced and turned away, starting over the lawn.
“It’s rude to walk away from someone without even asking their name,” he said, keeping up with her.
“I already know your name.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. It’s all anyone in the cafeteria was saying.”
He laughed. “You sound upset about that.”
“Not nearly as upset as I am about being followed.”
“You could always ask me why I’m following you.”
She stopped abruptly and huffed, “Why are you following me, Minho?”
Never had a mortal addressed him by human name— it felt somehow more intimate than the acts he’d indulged in a hundred times or more.
He cleared his throat, stood tall. “You’re the student superintendent for Goodhart, yes?”
She cast a wary eye over him. “I am.”
From his pocket, he retrieved a small, silver key with a wooden tag attached. The number on the tag read ‘307’.
“I’m moving in,” he beamed.
It was her turn to laugh; melodic and bright. Somehow cutting. “Goodhart is a girl’s only house,” she said.
“It was.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was a girl’s only house. Up until about six hours ago.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Cool. You don’t need to. I just need you to show me to my room. It’s this way, right?”
He started off over the lawn, hands in jacket pockets, thoroughly pleased with himself. With a little luck (and maybe an offering or two to his mother), things would continue to go according to plan. He’d have this mortal worked out and trussed up in love with a snake before teatime.
How pleased Aphrodite would be.
--
It was all so wrong.
How was it that a centuries-long tradition could be so readily abandoned for the sake of a rich boy that apparently possessed more connections than the London underground?
Walking briskly down the halls of Goodhart—halls that you had come to love for their quirky colourings and touch of lived-in neglect—you nursed the mortification that swirled about you. It didn’t help that every girl you passed looked on Minho with abject delight and warm welcomes; he was already at home in a place he had no business calling home.
You pointed down the third-floor hall from the top of the connecting staircase.
“Your room is down there,” you said. “On the left.”
Minho hummed. “Cool. Let’s go.”
“I have a lecture.”
You spun on your heel and started down the stairs, only for the man to jump into your path.
“Don’t you have to give me some kind of induction?” he pressed. “As the superintendent, it’s only right you tell me where the fire exits are.”
A hot whirl of irritation barely suppressed the urge to tell him where he could stick his fire exits: you forced a smile instead, and nodded.
“Right. Sure. This way, then.”
Heading down the third-floor hall with him in close pursuit, you began upon a cold realisation. Perhaps the onslaught of emotion had befuddled you enough that you completely missed what was easily the most horrifying thing of all this: room 307 was next to yours.
Minho was your neighbour.
You stopped outside 307’s door. “This is it.”
Minho grinned. “Excellent.”
He took the key from his pocket and unlocked it, stepping inside what was a typical space for university accommodation. A modestly sized room with nothing more than a desk and bed supplied. It fell to the students to make it theirs, so to speak. The white-framed window looked out to the summery lawn, just as yours did. He strolled inside, hands in his leather jacket pockets, peered out of the window and inspected the ceiling, the bed and then you.
“Fire exits are at both ends of the hall,” you quickly said from the door. “And there’s an emergency escape connected to 301. Got it?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“There’s no curfew and, uh,” you cleared your throat. “No rules on who you can bring back and such. Just remember you’re not the only one who lives here.”
He scanned you coolly. “I’m well aware of that.”
“Good. Well, then.” With a curt nod, you went to leave.
“You’re 306, aren’t you?”
You stopped short, seized with disbelief. “What?”
“You live next door,” he repeated. “We’re neighbours.”
“H— How do you even know that?”
Minho shrugged. “Am I not supposed to know?”
Confounded, you were lost for words. He strolled leisurely around the bed.
“You’re popular on campus,” he said. “I hear people talking about you.”
“Really?” You scoffed. “I’m shocked you could hear anything beyond what everyone seems to be saying about you.”
“It’s funny,” he continued, ignorant of your remark.
“What is?”
“That they say so much about you without actually saying a thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well,” he sighed, perching on the bare mattress. “They say you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, even. That you’ve got an ass to die for and a killer smile.” He raked his gaze over you. “You’re the hottest girl on campus.”
“They can say what they want, I really don’t care. I’m used to it.”
“Right. But it’s all so... vapid. Don’t you think? There’s no substance to it. Seems to me like not a single one of them actually know you. They just know you for what they see. They’re not interested in peering beneath the tight ass and lovely smile.”
You stared at a patch on the brown carpet.
“Is that their fault, or yours?” he asked.
“I’m done with this conversation,” you snapped, turning back to the door.
“I heard about the Fresher’s ball.”
You stopped and swallowed, heat warming your face. “The Fresher’s ball was a mistake.”
“Yeah. You would say that. Getting so drunk you made out with the entire rugby team?”
“That’s not true,” you snapped. “I got drunk, yes, and I know I made a fool of myself, but nothing like that happened. It’s just a nasty rumour.”
Minho shrugged. “Not for me to judge, darling.” He pursed his lips, then added, “Regardless, your peers seem to adore you. The way you look, anyway.”
“Are you done? I don’t know who the hell you think you are but my life is not a soap that you can just tune into for your own amusement. I don’t care what people say about me; I never have.” You turned away from him. “Leave me alone.”
And with an abrupt slam of his door, you left his room to rush to your own. In the solitude and quiet and after deep breaths taken to ease the dreaded panic that had begun to sink in, it was to your own irritation that tears pricked and streaked your cheeks. Nothing he had said was new; you were aware enough of the reason boys smiled at you and girls flocked to you, somehow hoping your acclaimed ‘beauty’ might rub off on them in however shallow a manner. Such had always been the way of things, ever since you were young. Overfamiliar uncles cooing at your pretty face, jealous aunts shunning you. High school friends lost to petty crushes that turned eyes on you, strangers that stared and whispered. You had hoped for a new start with the chapter of university, and for a while, things had been better. You’d been just another student of low profile, had kept to yourself, had protected your peace.
All until the damn Fresher’s ball.
One moment of weakness and indulgence in excess had ruined it: all eyes had a reason to turn to you as you revelled and danced with more suggestive intonation than you would ever have otherwise dared, and they hadn’t turned away since. Rumours abounded of your state and activity after the ball, ranging from those Minho had heard and of far more explicit affairs, none of them true. Unwilling to dig to the root of the whispers, you simply turned away from it, choosing above all else to carry yourself the way you had always done under lustful eyes: with quiet dignity.
Who was this man to throw all that in your face? To so brazenly trample on your boundaries? Whether Dean’s son or Gucci heir or self-made billionaire, it was clear he possessed an appalling level of entitlement, and was someone to be avoided. Just what he hoped to gain from such rash treatment of a stranger, you couldn’t be sure, but promptly decided it was not worth your energy to work out.
You would carry yourself the way you had always done.
--
The mystery of Minho’s identity prevailed for longer than you cared to acknowledge.
He hefted his wants around campus with reckless abandon, and by now it was certain that you were the only one mourning the all-female occupation of Goodhart House, for the other girls were nothing but pleased by the male addition.
Indeed, neither an eye was blinked nor a question asked as to his means of securing a place at Goodhart, much less Oxford on the whole. The man seemed to don the shroud of myth— every word passed around and about him painted a thrilling picture: he was everything the students wished him to be and more, for never once did he deny a rumour. An image forged in gossip is one susceptible to warping, and if Minho played into that, it was lost on the student body. Rather, he was welcomed with more abject favouritism than you had ever witnessed; you might have drowned in the second-hand embarrassment of your peers if not for the glowering contempt you stewed in upon for the fact that the detestable man was now your neighbour.
And yes, you were self-aware enough to admit a pull of attraction that you kept as close to your pride as your dignity. You’d rather be seen dead than join the gaggle of groupies that worshipped his every move and hung on his every word.
Thus far, you had done a stalwart job of avoiding him. A fortnight with no run-ins had confirmed that, inasmuch as you could tell, you had no classes together nor crossover seminars, no reason to interact. Yet through all this, the glimpses you would catch of his jet-black head and the trill of his laughter from next door provoked an unease: what was this familiarity you felt? Why were you the only one that seemed to notice how his eyes shimmered with the light of a cosmos?
Best to put it out of your mind, lest your mind put out of you.
On the Friday evening you nursed your well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights, contemplating between long paragraphs just what Heathcliff’s redeeming qualities were intended to be. While all for reading between the lines, it seemed to you that any virtue of character should not be so difficult to find.
Situated comfortably on the inner sill of your bedroom window and looking out, it was another fair night. The moon hung bright and clear over the distant woods and town of Oxford, the sky utterly clear of a cloud. Perhaps it had been a cloud that night, that you saw. A cloud in the form of an angel, sent to you by sleep deprivation and an overdose of caffeine.
A knock on your door drew your attention; supposing it would be one of the regular girls stopping by to regale you with their Friday night antics, you rushed over and threw it open.
How your heart seized in your chest.
Eyes of mercury assessed you from under damp raven strands.
“Good evening,” Minho said.
Too bewildered to much reply, he breathed a soft laugh at your dazzlement.
“May I come in?”
“What?”
“Can I come in?” he asked again, emphasising a glance into your room that reared a bout of self-consciousness.
“N— No. Go away.”
“I come with offerings,” he said, tapping the plastic Tupperware box tucked under his arm that had somehow gone unnoticed. “Fudge brownies. A little birdie told me they’re your favourite.”
You folded your arms defensively. “Did they now?”
Minho cocked a brow. “They were wrong?”
“N— No. I suppose not.”
He grinned, utterly disarming. “I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot, so to speak,” he said gently. “I’d like to start again. Get to know each other. Clean slate. We’re neighbours, after all.”
“I don’t think—”
He held the Tupperware box up. “Please?”
You huffed an indignant sigh.
Might have to strangle a birdie or two.
--
Minho had no experience with human narcotics.
Indeed, the closest divine equivalent was the concoction of ambrosia, and that—if the Sky Father’s behaviour was anything to judge by—induced the sort of buzz that mortals gained from an excess of wine. There was no substance in heaven or on Earth that could so impact the Gods the way he had seen man-made narcotics impact humans; though he desired no such extremity tonight. He had simply taken the advice of those keen mortals that surrounded him, given when he had subtly enquired as to the real nature of his target: “She’s uptight, man. Super hot, but uptight. She needs to relax, smoke a little. It’ll help her unclench. Man, can you imagine her high? No, yeah, I know she doesn’t smoke, but like— She likes brownies, right? She always buys those little fudge ones from the cafeteria. I’d love to see her eat a moon cake. I bet she’d get totally wild, just like that one time at the ball.”
Thus, a plan emerged.
Stepping into her room was the first hurdle overcome: he had been fully braced for a door slam to the face. Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised, and then somewhat concerned, for it was clear by now that that not even his mortal disguise could completely conceal his divine appeals from her. Where other mortals saw a dark and handsome man, she saw beyond it. The way she stared and how her heartbeat quickened told of it all. Worse still that he seemed to respond in kind— but no, he could not even entertain it. His visit carried a purpose, and that was to get to the bottom of what made her so special.
“Nice place,” he said as he looked briefly around, not to impress discomfort upon the girl.
“Thanks. It’s the same as every other in this building.”
Minho chuckled. She was possessed of a sense of humour, at least.
“You were reading?” he asked, idly flipping the cover of Wuthering Heights that sat on the bedside table. He hadn’t read it himself, but recalled the sister Muses’s boasts from the time of its inception: what promising devotees they claimed those Bronte’s would be.
“Yeah.”
“A touch on the heavy side for a Friday night, no?”
She shrugged, arms wrapped around herself. “I like it.”
“You read a lot?”
“I mean; yeah. English Lit student.”
“Ah. A romantic, then.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“All arts students are romantics, darling.”
He sat at the foot of the bed, Tupperware box in his lap, quietly pleased with how her heart sounded to have skipped a beat at the endearment.
“Join me?” he asked, tapping the space at his side.
She cleared her throat and swallowed, moving stiffly to the desk where she pulled out the chair. Minho watched in amusement, but did not contest. He snapped open the Tupperware box to the velvety rich scent of chocolate, humming in delight: a deity he might be, but just as susceptible to the serotonin of indulgent food. Neatly sliced brownies sat on paper towel, and he offered the box to her first. She eyed it warily.
“They’re just brownies,” he lied.
A purse of her lips and she contemplated something: whatever it was, it quickly passed.
“Thank you,” she sighed, dipping into the box and retrieving the topmost brownie.
“You’re welcome, darling.”
Minho helped himself to one, wishing almost that he could join the girl on the trip she was about to take. It’d be fun to witness, nonetheless. With inhibitions lowered and her true state of mind brought to the forefront, he’d surely discover what it was that blessed her so. What it would take to make her fall in love with the most horrible thing he could find. What he had to do to—
“Mhm.”
A small but sure groan of appreciation made Minho’s fine hairs stand on end: he paused his own consumption to watch her, her face aglow with warm delight. Chocolate on her lips begged to be illicitly removed; Minho swallowed, yearning thrumming under his skin.
“Is this why everyone on campus adores you?” she asked after a moment.
“W— What?”
“You bribe them,” she said, pointedly glancing to the Tupperware box.
Minho scoffed. “I don’t need to bribe people into liking me. It comes naturally.”
“Does your modesty come naturally too?”
“You know; you’re awfully abrasive with me. Did I do something to offend you?”
She shrugged, took another bite of brownie. “No. You’re not that powerful.”
He smirked. “Then what is it?”
“I suppose I just don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You.” She licked her lips. “Nothing about you seems real. There are so many rumours about you and you don’t deny or correct a single one.”
He quirked a brow. “You think I should?”
“I think anyone that puts any value in their identity should, yes. I have a past. A home. I know where I came from and who I am. If I heard people saying otherwise, I'd want to put them right about it.”
She licked her fingers, one by one, the sweet and tempting chocolate coating her tongue. Minho crossed his legs.
“Tell me about them,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me about your past. Your home. Where you came from and who you are.”
“We weren’t talking about me—”
“We are now.”
She blinked, swallowing the last bite of brownie and, once again, darted her tongue out over shiny lips. Minho followed the movement of it slowly, wondered how sweet she’d be to kiss, drew his attention back to her eyes where she, too, had been watching him. She cleared her throat abruptly.
“I, uh...” She shrugged a shoulder. “Well. I was born in a small village. There was nothing much to do growing up, so I read a lot. Too much, my mother used to say. She never really understood why I liked it, and I never really had the energy to explain.”
Minho nodded. “What did your parents do?”
“Mum was an artist. A sculptor, mostly, though she did paint too.”
“And your father?”
“I never knew him.”
“Never?”
She shook her head.
“Your mother didn’t tell you anything about him?” he pressed.
“Nothing I could have believed.”
“Such as?”
“It’s not even worth talking about—”
“Humour me.”
She hummed. “Well, she... I mean, you have to understand that Mum wasn’t a well woman. She had strange beliefs. Acted oddly. It got worse as she got older. Towards the end, not a thing she said made sense. She told me that...” She hesitated.
“Go on,” Minho encouraged.
“She said that my father was a god. As in; an actual god. He pursued her relentlessly, apparently. Sent her gifts and showered her with affection. Was obsessed with her. Eventually she caved and fell in love with him, then they made me, but he had to return to... wherever the hell he came from. I don’t know.”
Minho’s palms grew clammy; he set the Tupperware box on the bed. “I see.”
“I told you; she was completely delusional.” She stood and reached for another brownie, breaking a piece off and popping it into her mouth. “The story changed every time. Sometimes he came to her as a man, sometimes as a snake, or a stallion. For all her berating of my reading, she had a wicked imagination of her own.” She swallowed the brownie piece, broke off another. “I’m pretty sure he was just someone from the village. I really don’t care either way.”
Minho did not hear much of what was said after— he couldn’t over the rush of ichor that deafened him. It could not be true: it made no sense to be true.
“As for who I am,” she continued, oblivious. “I’m nothing special.”
“I very much contest that.”
She scoffed, breaking off yet more brownie and eating it. “You don’t know me even nearly well enough.”
“I’d like to,” he said.
She eyed him. “Why?”
“Why not? Can't we get to know each other?”
“Alright then,” she smacked her lips, set the brownie chunk aside and dusted her hands against each other. “Your turn. Dispel the illusion for me.”
Minho chuckled. What earlier cold dread had settled on him began to thaw.
“I could just feed you a pack of lies,” he said.
“You could.”
He held her gaze, the dim moonlight streaking her features.
“Swear that you won’t,” she muttered.
Swear? To swear was to forge an oath; to forge an oath was divine. Under normal circumstances he would shy away from such a hefty obligation, but this...
“Alright.” He nodded. “I swear.”
With a slight smile, she asked, “Where’s home?”
“Far from here.”
“Where do you come from?”
“I was born in the mountains.”
“You swore you wouldn’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay... Who are you, Lee Minho?”
“I am the God of Love, sent to Earth by my mother Aphrodite to curse you for being too beautiful.”
She blinked, her shoulders drawn tight. A moment of tense silence passed, and in the next instant, she burst into laughter, doubling over herself on the chair. She cackled and guffawed until she cried, and Minho found himself not only enraptured with the sound of her joy, but elated at being the cause of it. If indeed, he truly was.
“It’s a zero for originality,” she whimpered on a laugh. “You can’t just steal my stories like that and twist them!”
Minho watched in amusement.
“Also— you promised no lies. That’s an even bigger zero.”
She picked up the last chunk of brownie she’d set aside, pushing it past her lips with a giggle that carried for long minutes as she chewed contentedly. She swallowed and sighed, brought her legs up to cross under her, swivelling gently in the desk chair.
“Imagine being the God of Love,” she mumbled. “Must be bloody awful.”
Minho hummed. “You think so?”
“Yeah. For sure. Imagine being surrounded by love all the time— every second of every minute of every day.” She shuddered dramatically. “Couldn’t be me.”
“But you are surrounded by love,” he said. “It takes many different forms, you know. Friends, family, faith.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Fornication.”
She coughed suddenly, looking anywhere but at him. Endearing warmth pooled under the simmering yearning that resided in Minho; how much longer he could keep it wrested, he wasn’t sure.
“I imagine being a God of Love to be great fun,” he said. “I imagine they might get into all sorts of mischief.”
“I don’t like mischief.”
“Everybody likes a bit of mischief.”
She shook her head. “Not me. I’d much rather—” She yawned. “I’d much rather live a quiet life.”
Minho hummed, watching as she wilted on her seat. She sat bolt upright on feeling herself sag, blinking rapidly.
“I don’t, uh...” She put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think I feel very well.”
“What’s wrong, darling?”
“I...” She slipped her legs from under her, made an attempt to stand that ended futilely; Minho quickly rose and caught her weight. To restrain what burned in him; what the God of Love so easily took when the urges presented, was a goliath task.
“S— Sorry,” she mumbled, and tried to move from him, only to stagger once more.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Want to lie down?”
“No. I just—” She gripped his arms tightly, let herself lean into his strong frame. The thin cotton of clothing under her hands seemed to fascinate her; she released the grip and, transfixed, began to stroke softly, her touch wandering from bicep to shoulder to chest. Minho hoped she could not feel the way his heart throbbed under her hand; she looked up at him, eyes glassy and rounded with adoration.
“You are... so pretty,” she mumbled, touching softly his cheek, his jaw. “So, so pretty.”
Heat flared under his skin, singing what sense he possessed.
“I thought you—” She grinned lazily. “I thought you were the angel. It came to me, you know. Right to my window. It was the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Then I saw you.”
He sucked in a sharp breath; much more praise and the swelling in his groin would not be so ignored.
She cupped his face with warm hands. “I don’t really like you. But I do like you. You make me—” She narrowed her eyes, blinked slowly. “You make me want to do things I’ve never even thought about before. Bad things.”
“Bad things?”
She nodded, then pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll never admit that to you, though. Just so you know.”
The already abused thread of Minho’s self-control frayed and worried; he gently removed her hand, took her wrists in hold. To remove himself was the wise thing to do; she was not herself, and he was not so virtuous as to resist much longer.
“It’ll be our secret, then,” he said.
“Mhm.”
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit, darling? You’re not feeling well.”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course. Just try it. For me.”
She shook her head, about to protest when in the next instant, a sallow and sickly look of panic came over her.
“I— I think I’m going to be—”
And with a short, retching heave, she threw up over Minho’s slippers, sweats and the rest of the brownies in the open Tupperware box.
There was hardly a shred of grace to be found in the rest of the evening, the responsibilities of caregiver taken on board. Minho cleaned both of them up, set the girl to bed with surprising lack of resistance on her part, and once sure that she was free of cramps and convulsions, retired himself to the roof of Goodhart.
Wired and utterly unable to sleep, he watched the constellations until he could think without the red mist of lust impeding him. In doing so, the cold realisation he had earlier felt on hearing her mother’s story returned to him. He would not have entertained it had the finer details not rung so true to a certain Olympian King and Cloud Gatherer’s famous behaviour. Indeed, it would certainly explain her invulnerability to his arrows and her uncanny intuition as to Minho’s nature: not much would escape a daughter of Zeus.
But then; if true, how had it gone unnoticed by Aphrodite? Surely she would know of the girl’s lineage. Surely all Olympians would know, for Zeus made no secret of his bastards and indeed, cultivated a long line of offspring from mortals, demi-gods, minor deities and nymphs all, much to Hera’s (equally as famous) wrath.
He would think on it, he decided. If nothing else, he was further along in working her out than he had been several hours ago, and with no thanks to the moon cakes. A stupid idea, to attempt to relax her through such unpredictable means in the hopes she might talk or reveal some mystery.
He would apologise tomorrow. Perhaps find her a gift.
All for the quest, of course.
--
You awoke feeling distinctly like a beaten piñata.
Your head throbbed steadily and a nausea lingered, rolling dangerously on your attempt to get up and out of bed. Trudging to the window, you threw it open and gulped in the fresh mid-morning air, warmed by summer’s sun and redolent of the nearby woods, earthen and faintly floral. A musk hung about your room; not one that was generally familiar to you, but it was reminiscent of the night before; of a sudden drowsy warmth and hands touching things they most definitely shouldn’t have. With a grimace and under the chill of mortification, you got dressed and tried to make presentable, quietly leaving your room and heading next door.
A deep breath preceded your soft knock: for a moment you thought it too soft to be heard, but it quickly opened to reveal a shower-fresh, modern-day Adonis— not even your sickly state could perturb the way you stared. A wet towel was slung over his sloped shoulders, the twisted ends hanging over curved pectorals. The rest of him was entirely naked, his skin still wet and catching the gentle light of the morning that shone in streaks through the half-drawn blinds. Dripping, dark strands framed rosy, handsome features. Veined biceps flexed as he held the door, and following the line of his body, you saw a wave of slight abs, svelte waistline, shapely hips, a fine dusting of hair that crept from his groin to his navel; a happy trail, so delightful as to make your mouth water.
As for what hung between his legs— well, it seemed to you on first glance that he possessed three of them.
Minho cleared his throat, apparently as mystified as you.
“H— Hi.”
“Sorry—” You snapped back to yourself. “Jesus. Sorry. I, uh— I’ll come back.”
“No, don’t. Just give me a second?”
He quickly disappeared, though left the door ajar, the sounds of rummaging and changing heard. When he reappeared, he was mercifully clothed in sweats and a black shirt.
“Come in,” he said.
“I... I really can come back if it’s a bad time—”
“It’s not. Come in.”
Compliance came courtesy of his authoritative tone, and in stepping into his room, you were surprised to see it so sparse. Aside from the wardrobe and larger than average bed, there was nothing that denoted even an ounce of personality; no posters, no books, no belongings. Nothing to suggest it was even lived in at all, if not for the presence of the man himself.
“I haven’t had time to decorate yet,” he said intuitively.
You nodded, though quietly doubtful, and wandered to the open window where at least you could call on the fresh air to keep you grounded. While clothed, he was no less dazing to be around.
“I just wanted to—”
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Not great.”
Minho, holding position at the other side of the room, looked downtrodden.
“Nothing a few paracetamols won’t fix, I'm sure,” you added lightly.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“What? I’m the one that should be apologising, I behaved like a—”
“You have nothing to apologise for. You were only like that because of me. It’s my fault.”
Confused, you watched as he came closer, raked a hand through his slowly drying hair.
“There was, uh...” He licked his lips. “There was marijuana in the brownies.”
Dumbfounded, you could only blink.
“I thought they might loosen you up,” he continued.
“Loosen me up?”
“It was a stupid, ridiculous idea. I know that. I’m so sorry. If I'd known how badly you’d react to it—”
“You drugged me!?”
Minho flinched. “I... I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“That's what it is, Minho. You drugged me. You fed me drugs without my knowledge or consent. I’ve never taken any kind of drug, let alone eaten it. You—” Too enraged to find the words, you gesticulated wildly. “Fuck. You.”
Storming past him with a succinct shoulder barge, Minho caught you by the wrist, an earnest apology on his gorgeous face.
“I’m so sorry, darling. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
A wave of bitter resentment accompanied the heat; you snatched away from him, summoning your courage.
“I’m not your darling.”
He caught your other wrist, persistent.
“You could be,” he said.
“Let me go—”
“You like me."
A concoction of embarrassment and want swam around you. “Looks like you can’t keep a secret, either,” you muttered.
And with that, he released you, his silvery gaze dropping in something finalistic; something defeated.
“Stay away from me,” you said flatly.
He did not stop your third attempt at exit, nor did he call on you for the rest of the day.
Nor the rest of the week.
--
It was difficult for a God to experience guilt.
Minho, being a creature of compassion and with love built into his very existence, found that it tarnished everything he hitherto enjoyed about the mortal world. As though being forced to swallow his pride and admit that he had made a mistake was not bad enough, there was the added realisation that he had acted detrimentally to his own quest— she would not even look at him, let alone allow him to get close enough to make amends, to lower guard, to give him opportunity to strike.
And so ensued a cold war of sorts, her avoidance of him going to such lengths as to involve her temporary removal from Goodhart House to stay with a friend on the other side of campus. This ‘Gina’—the girl upon whom she’d imposed—struck Minho as a fickle creature, susceptible to gossip and vapid trends and student body politics insofar as their theatrics. Not a good influence, he ultimately surmised, but nonetheless his target appeared fond of her. Trusted her. To that end, Minho saw an angle. A new opportunity. One that he somewhat wished to have happened upon before he decided on the use of narcotics, but hindsight would do him no good now.
It was as Gina left her last class of the day that Minho sought to introduce himself.
“Hello, darling.”
He was met with the typical starry-eyed wonderment, the blushing and quickening of heartbeat that all betrayed her delight at being so approached by trend #1— if Minho played into that, he was no sorer for it. Neither was he spoiled for choices, which posed his reasoning for offering to escort her to her dormitory, whereupon the worst simply had to happen.
On the stone steps of the grand, old building waited his target, her beauty seeming more so dazzling since he had been denied the sight of her. On seeing him, however, she rolled her eyes and muttered a curse, storming towards her friend.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed at Gina.
“Lovely to see you too,” Minho smarmed.
Gina startled, seemingly offended. “What is with that tone? I know you two aren’t on the best of terms—”
“The best of terms? He drugged me, Gina.”
“Right, so you keep saying, but like...” She glanced at Minho fondly, then shrugged. “He hasn’t drugged me.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at her friend, then at Minho. What pain he saw there perplexed him— it shouldn’t have felt like a betrayal, for there was nothing so intimate between them to betray.
“Minho was actually just offering to take me out for drinks tonight,” Gina said. “You can come if you want.”
“No way.”
“Alright, well, I’m not going to stand here trying to convince you. We’ll be at Cherub’s if you change your mind.” With that, Gina whirled on the spot and started off. Minho lingered.
“Aren’t you going with her?” she snapped.
“You should come.”
“And third wheel your date? No thanks.”
“There’s enough of me to go around,” Minho grinned, more amused than serious.
“What a gentleman you are.”
“I like to think so.”
“Do you like to think you’re the kind of gentleman that drugs the dames before he has his way with them, too?”
Minho flinched. “That’s not how it was. I just wanted to—”
“Loosen me up. Because I'm such an uptight bitch. Yeah, I get it.”
“No. Because you confound me. That’s all.”
She almost laughed, clutching her books so tightly the skin of her knuckles drew thin and tense.
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? It makes no sense—”
“Come for a drink with me. I’ll make it make sense.”
She huffed a deep breath. “I can’t. I have plans.”
Minho quirked a brow. “With Heathcliff? How exciting.”
“It— It’s infinitely more exciting than spending a second longer with you, actually” she stammered.
Minho laughed. “That’s simply not true, darling.”
“How many times; I’m not your darling.”
“But you want to be.”
“Oh my god.” She spun on her toe, marching back up the steps. “I’m going inside.”
“I’ll see you at Cherub’s, then,” he called.
“Leave me alone, Minho!”
“Never,” he whispered as she shoved into the building.
And suddenly, things looked up.
--
Not your finest moment, to tiptoe into a bustling Cherub’s with your proverbial tail between your legs, dignity waving you off at the door.
He said he’d make it make sense: that’s what you clung to the entire way here, for there was so much about him—the things he did and said—that didn’t add up. You imagined what it might be like to understand him instead of loathe him as you peered between gatherings of students in search of him and Gina. About as typical a student union bar as one might imagine, Cherub’s was home to beer-soaked carpets and sticky seats, outdated seventies décor and mismatched lighting. Cheap and (not so) cheerful, it did just the trick for instilling a quick buzz, yet its nearness to accommodation meant that said buzz devolved to debauchery more often than not.
Heathcliff was, you rather thought, far more exciting.
You had vowed after the Fresher’s ball never to drink unless circumstances were dire enough to call for it, and so your detouring to the bar should have said something as to the state of your nerves, whereupon you ordered a vodka and tonic. With a weak smile at the tender, you gratefully took the almost-cool glass, a sip of the fizzy concoction neither unpleasant nor particularly enjoyable. It would take the edge off, in a moment.
“Drinking alone?”
The voice behind your ear startled, the glass slipping from your grasp only to be caught deftly by another, not so much as a drop spilled. Minho smiled warmly, ever radiant against the surroundings. Almost unsettlingly so, for all near eyes were trained to him, and in turn, you.
He brought the rescued glass to his glossed lips, a perfunctory sip followed by a sharp grimace. He set it on the bar and slid it away, out of reach.
“Excuse me, I paid good money for that—”
“My condolences,” he sighed, raking slim fingers through silky, dark strands that framed shadowed eyes of liquid silver.
He flagged down the tender with a wave. “One pornstar martini and a Glenfiddich, straight. No ice. Make the martini virgin.”
“A virgin pornstar martini?”
“I am a collection of paradoxes, darling.”
Your heart pounded; hopeless as it was.
The drinks arrived promptly, and Minho took them in hand.
“Where’s Gina?” you asked, realisation of her absence coming perhaps a touch too late.
Minho smiled. “Come on.”
He led you through the student bodies and to the rear of the venue, where a booth table went unoccupied. A folded piece of A4 card with ‘RESERVED’ scrawled on it adorned the polished table; you poorly stifled a laugh.
“They reserved a table for you? At Cherub’s?”
Minho nodded, sliding into the opposite seat and setting the drinks down. “I asked them to, yes.”
“It’s a student bar, not a five-star restaurant. Honestly. Who are you?”
Minho settled, a serene smile on his lips. “I believe we’ve had this conversation.”
You rolled your eyes. “Right.” And took the cocktail glass. The pink concoction finished with a half pomegranate slice smelled sweet and fruity, yet distinctly lacked the tang you wished it had.
“This didn’t have to be non-alcoholic,” you weakly complained.
“Mhm. Well. I’ll not be guilty of the same thing twice,” he replied, swirling whiskey around his own short glass. “Besides; you don’t strike me as a drinker.”
“Do I strike you as the drug taker?”
Minho’s gaze fell. “No.”
You hummed and sipped your drink. In truth, giving him a hard time was beginning to lose its novelty. Not only did you wish to move on from the whole thing, but it was getting harder to withstand the clear guilt in his mesmerising eyes. Whatever his intentions had been, they most certainly were not malicious, which ought to count for something, you thought.
“I’m still sorry,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’d very much like to make it up to you.”
“How?”
Minho opened his mouth to speak, but in place of his alluring tone came a high-pitched screech of your name; you startled and looked to Gina, who was barrelling towards the table.
“You came!” she cried, shoving hastily into the seat beside Minho; he scooted aside as best he could, but was already trapped. She linked an arm through his, settled into his side, utterly at home. She looked you over incredulously.
“I didn’t think you’d show. You know; I actually can’t even remember the last time I saw you out,” she said, her thick, glossed lips sticky with reflective residue.
You forced a smile. Ignored how their apparent familiarity made your stomach twist. “Yeah. Me neither.”
“I’m always telling her she should get out more,” she continued, this to Minho. “It’s like she’s allergic to socialising.”
“I’m not allergic to it, G. I just prefer to—”
“Sit in and read, I know. Hey— I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You do you, babe. I just find it funny that the only time you actually make the effort to come out is when you know a hot guy is going to be around.”
Your face flamed with heat— why did this martini have to be so horribly prudish? You stared into it, adequately mortified, for she wasn’t entirely wrong in her observations, and that only raised questions as to your character too difficult to answer in the light of day. Or grunge of bar, for that matter.
“You’ve got it all wrong, darling,” Minho intervened lightly. “I insisted on her coming so I could buy her a drink in apology for the... incident. The timing happened to be right for her. That’s all.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” She unlinked her arm from his, fanned out the ends of her short hair from the collar of her leather jacket. “I’m going to get a drink.”
She planted a brief kiss on Minho’s cheek, and slid gracefully out of the booth. Your heart catapulted to your throat, where it stayed until Minho spoke.
“We, uh—”
“I don’t want to know,” you quickly said.
“There’s nothing to know, darling. She’s just... exceptionally forward.”
“Don’t call me darling—”
“I call everyone darling.”
“I know,” you hissed. “Why do you think I feel so bloody stupid that it makes my heart race every time?!”
A moment of comprehension crossed you both, and where your realisation of emotional confession brought him to a slow smile, it brought you to cold despair.
You stood quickly, gathering yourself. “I shouldn’t have come; this was such a bad idea—”
A swift grip on your wrist stopped your panicked exit.
“Don’t leave.”
“Minho—”
“There’s so much I have to know about you,” he said, pinning you with a softening gaze. “So much that I don’t understand. So much that infuriates me, so much that intrigues. You’ve caused me so much trouble, but even so, there’s something that I... Something about you that makes me just—”
“Everything okay over here?”
Gina’s flat question javelined the moment; you looked to her, saw her unimpressed eye trained to where Minho held you still. She upturned her lips in a sneer, the three drinks in her hand trembling.
“You couldn’t just let me have this, could you?” she snarled at you.
“Gina—”
“Every single fucking time, it’s you. It’s always you. Every boy I've ever liked or that’s ever shown any interest in me— They always fall for you. It’s like you can’t stand to see me happy.”
Gutted with guilt and confusion, you snatched your wrist from Minho.
“It’s not what you think, at all. We were just—”
“You might be beautiful on the outside,” she spat. “But inside, you’re a fucking monster. Everyone will see that one day.”
Minho rose from his seat. “That’s enough,” he snapped, glowering. “She takes no blame in this. She takes no blame in anything you accuse her of. It’s her fate to—” And he stopped himself short, as though stumbling back from a precipice. He straightened himself and took a deep breath.
“It’s not her fault,” he said acerbically.
Gina pursed her lacquered lips. “Right. So, it’s yours then? That's what you’re saying?”
Minho shrugged. “Perhaps I manoeuvred in such a way as to ensure you got me close to her, yes.”
Your gut turned over with hot nausea.
“What does that even fucking mean?” Gina balked, anger wrinkling her. “Sometimes you talk like you’re from a different planet, I swear to God.”
Minho sniffed, then smiled. He licked his lips, and said plainly, “I used you to get to her, darling.”
Gina’s jaw slacked, then tightened. It seemed she understood, this time, and perhaps you saw the next thing coming from a mile away: she swore and brutally tossed the three drinks she held straight at Minho, soaking and swilling his head, face and chest with sticky, sweet alcohol. The man took it well, for all his surprise, and swept his hands down his face stoically.
“You two are made for each other,” she hissed, and with that, turned tail and stalked away.
All eyes in near vicinity watched in tense silence as you, unable to even think beyond the molten mortification of it all, did much the same. Perhaps Minho called after you, and perhaps a small part of you wished to stay and console him, yet the larger part of you seethed with disappointment, for he had once again demonstrated himself to be less than half the man you ever wished to be so attracted to.
Minho, for all his obvious and daunting appeals, was not a good man.
--
Minho was starting to believe that the Fates had something against him.
Every attempt he made to get close to her ended in unmitigated disaster, and as if that wasn’t headache enough, he was now forced to acknowledge that what burned in him when he thought of the mortal girl was not simple curiosity: he craved her.
This called into question everything he knew: his quest, his mother’s wishes, his own existence as the God of Love, for as has been established, the God of Love loves all. He does not fall in love. Until he does.
Perhaps it would simply be easier to out the truth of it all. Yes, it would shatter her mortal logic and push her to the limits of her comprehension, but what was the alternative? To continue wresting his own desires until such a time as he imploded? There was only so much one could take, even for a God, and Minho felt the tether of his patience rapidly diminishing.
Whatever he decided to do, he could not do it under these circumstances. He would have to, once again, make amends. Somehow.
What small silver lining there was to this whole mess came in the form of her moving back to Goodhart House, presumed discomfort between she and Gina resulting in such separation. Minho knew well what part he’d played in that, but in truth, couldn’t bring himself to feel entirely bad about it.
Two nights later—he had learned that mortals valued their space—saw him timidly knocking on her bedroom door, an uncharacteristic bout of nerves swirling about him. Moments passed before she answered, her vacant expression drawing grim on the sight of him.
“What do you want?”
The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window appeared to halo her, a warmth resonating from her person and within her room that set upon Minho a steady yearning; he could take her in his arms so easily, make her feel things no mortal man could.
Instead, he licked his dry lips, and from behind his back, produced the object he’d been concealing. She glanced at it, brows knitting together.
“What the hell is that? A twig?”
“I couldn’t find an olive branch.”
Just like that, the subtlest of curves to her lips ignited hope. She quickly reset herself into a deep-set frown.
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
“I am.”
“Gina and I aren’t speaking because of you.”
“I know.”
“You used her.”
“I did.”
“I mean; why did you have to be so—” she huffed. “You could have been nicer about it.”
“She knew what was happening,” Minho shrugged. “Sugar coating it would have only wounded her further.”
“You can’t just use people, Minho.”
Minho quirked a brow. “But it worked, didn’t it?”
“What?”
“It worked. You’re talking to me again. You’ve done nothing but talk to me since the minute you saw me with her, in fact.”
She dropped her gaze, wrapped her arms around herself. “You let her believe you liked her.”
“I do like her,” Minho replied.
“Oh.”
“Just nowhere near as much as I like you.”
A small puff of breath from her sweet lips seemed almost to indicate disbelief, and Minho supposed that until now, he’d made no such clear indication of his feelings. Suggestion and vague inference, perhaps, while he tried himself to understand what he battled with, but such roundabout behaviour was not in his nature.
“I like you a lot,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “Stop.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not— I don’t know. I can’t do this.”
She moved to shut the door, but Minho caught it quickly, stepping inside.
“You won’t even give me a chance to explain?” he pressed.
“I can’t. You don’t get it. Gina likes you. She was so upset about the whole thing, and you’re just— You don’t care at all. If anything, you seem proud of it. I can’t be with someone like that.”
Minho crowded her, for while her mouth said one thing, her body said another. Against the near wall she shrank, the rampant thump of her heart so alluring as to draw him near until barely a foot of space rested between them.
“You’re lying to yourself,” he said. “You claim that you can’t be with someone like me, but you know it as well as I do, darling; there is no one like me. I am the epitome of what you’ve always craved, and pretending otherwise will only push you to madness.”
“Minho—”
“As for the girl,” he interrupted softly, still so near. “She was a means to an end, yes. And you are correct; I am proud that my course of action bore fruit. I would do the same thing again, given a choice.”
She shook her head. “That’s the problem. I told you already; you can’t just use people.”
“I can do whatever I damn well please, and so should you. You have that right.”
“Not if it hurts other people.”
“And what of hurting yourself? Why sacrifice your own happiness for someone that doesn’t value you? Calls you names? Thinks you no more than a heartless monster? You might consider her a friend, but I assure you darling, she holds no such fondness towards you. Who do you think it was began the slanderous rumours that circulated after your Fresher’s ball?”
Pain flashed in her watering eyes; a truth that perhaps she had always quietly known brought to the surface.
“This abstinence from me only serves to hurt you.”
She cast a contemptuous glare cast up at him. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about me or what I'm feeling.”
Minho pressed in close, strong arms either side of her head. He hummed softly, “I hear how your heart cries out to me. See how your womanhood swells the closer we are; I only wish you’d give it to me, darling. I’d take such good care of it.”
He felt a shiver barely suppressed as she relented, melting by the second. Words of honey in her ears warmed her from within; Minho might die if he couldn’t taste.
“I wish to undo you and put you back together, one delicious, wet molecule at a time,” he said gently, nosing her soft lobe, then along her jaw. Her breaths devolved to soft pants, each one redolent of sweet nectar that further maddened him. “I’d defy the heavens themselves if it meant I could spend a single night with you.”
--
Minho had once said that arts students were hopeless romantics: he seemed none removed from the vagaries of waxing poetic himself.
You would have given it more thought if not so tightly strung with desire for the man that had, by some cosmic or divine will, worked his way into your bedroom. You knew nothing about him— that much had not changed. Neither had it changed that you detested how he carried himself, how he seemed so aloof to the most basic of kindnesses, how confidence and self-assurance came so naturally to him while it constantly evaded you.
It made no sense that a man like him could desire a woman like you, yet here he was, in your space, hot and firm, whispering such sweet and magical words as to make your head spin and your heart throb.
“Your desire for me is so strong, I can taste it,” he said breathlessly; a statement of fact offered as such, and you weren’t of the mind to deny it.
“Will you admit it?” he pressed. “Return my sentiments?”
Your weak nod told it. “Yes.”
He drew his lip between his teeth, a quick glance cast down your frame. “Am I permitted to touch you?”
“Yes.”
He held a cautious hand over your heaving chest. “Here?”
You nodded; his hand swept to your tummy, still at a hover. “Here?”
“Y— Yes.”
He hummed, then held over the curve of your waist, no contact made and yet electricity flitted between the inches. “Here?”
“Anywhere,” you breathed, defeated, a wreck. “Touch me anywhere. Everywhere. Please.”
Minho grinned, the silver ripple of his eyes flashing smug victory. A hand under your chin tilted your head back to present wanting lips, and when he kissed you, all else faded from existence. Near painfully soft was the first explorative brush, the man inclined to feel out your acclaimed desire— when you curled a grip to his shirt, he indulged you deeply, locking plush lips with yours and taking what he—unbeknownst to you—had already decided was his to covet. Bursts of white-hot delight rendered you breathless and dizzy, and when he broke off, you thought only of more.
“Swear to me that you’ll be mine,” he said, voice a thick and husky rasp.
“Minho...”
“Swear it,” he pressed. “Or this goes no further.”
The quiet promise was made in all but an instant, “I swear,” but even tight in his arms it was akin to stepping from a cold and slippery cliff; you felt to be falling, rescinding all control and handing it to this man that you knew nothing of, but craved like water to a dying man.
With a groan of delight, Minho swept you from the wall and about to the bed, where he laid you down and followed your form. Having no such experience with intimacy save for what the pages of your novels told, your expectations were none. The wanton urges held dominion, your chastity looking on in resigned approval as he smothered your neck and throat with attention, lavished your body with his touch, stripped you of all that hindered his touching your skin. In the warm light of the late afternoon, you laid naked beneath him, bared and as vulnerable as ever a soul may be. Minho looked at you, his gentle eyes seeming more so infinite with the awakening of intimacy; soft, patient hands canvassed your skin— waist, hips and thighs. Gentle, moist lips worshipped you at fingers, toes and lips, such reverent attention that swelled your heart to near bursting.
“You’ve never laid with a man before?”
A giggle bubbled out before you could stop it. Minho cocked his head questioningly.
“S— Sorry,” you mumbled. “No. I haven’t. But…” You hesitated, wondered on the timing, then asked anyway. “Did you have to ask me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a nineteenth century suitor,” you laughed.
Minho grinned and shook his head, seemingly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “I forget sometimes.”
You ran your hands over his. “Forget what?”
For a long moment, he merely admired how your fingers slotted together. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead took a deep breath, and smiled once more. “Nothing.”
His kiss this time was insistent, but gentle. The exchange soon forgotten, work was made of stripping him, the act itself seeming dreamlike the more of him was revealed. Skin smooth and flawless, the complexion of which was so deep and rich a healthy glow, it made you shy to touch it. Clothing removed and tossed aside, the naked sight of him was entirely reminiscent of something— something you could not quite put your finger on, but that nagged at the back of your mind.
He returned to you, all silken warmth and firm in the right places. Between your open legs he settled, your inhibitions melting with his attention— kisses and careful touches, each one further devolving until he could no longer exact patience. He touched you where most you ached, assessing your every expression.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, lips to lips, soft ministrations over your naked centre eliciting groan after whimper. Slow and controlled, he rubbed you, then parted you to run a finger through the wetness. He shuddered and drew tight, a firm kiss pressed to your mouth.
“So beautiful,” he mumbled, wet digits circling you once more. “You’ll make the perfect companion.”
Too far gone to give much consideration to the perplexment his words instilled, you could only cling to him and wave the ride of euphoria as it flooded you, one molten lash after another. Was it normal to be so immediately aroused by so minimal a touch? Normal to feel like body might split from soul after only minutes of such stimulation?
“Don’t fight it. I’ll guide you through it, darling.” He kissed your bared throat. “Mhm, just like that. Give yourself over to it—”
“Ngh, Min, please—”
“Yes, fuck.” He quickened his motions, a gentle but rapid flurry of sensation against your throbbing centre. Thighs parted wider still for yet more of what he gave, you writhed in desperation, panted like a possessed creature, gave in to what he beckoned out of you. With a cry of delight and no shred of a complex, you trembled violently through the orgasm, felt yourself coming undone on the man’s fingers. Minho hummed and kissed your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, ever patient until the violence had subsided and only your tender panting remained. He ran a soft, light finger through your dripping sex.
“You’re ready for me,” he muttered, and closed the gap between your bodies.
Spent but still yearning, it seemed almost too natural to open to him and trap him between your thighs. Minho smiled as though with pride, angling himself just so that the formerly observed ‘third leg’ could be seen from your laying position— a most intimidating sight, but one that had you clenching around air. Minho took himself in hand, the girth such that even he struggled to maintain a whole grip. A slow drag from his base and over thick, smooth shaft to blushed tip, and he sucked in air through his teeth, let slip a gravelly groan.
“Can you take me, darling?” he asked softly. “All of me?”
Your weak nod in place of words seemed somehow to dissatisfy him, but all the same, he kissed you tenderly. Tracing the line of his body with trembling hands as he aligned himself, the breaching prod stretching you, you drew tight with a gasp. Minho hissed and the silver of his eyes swirled intensely, each inch that he sunk seeming to exacerbate it; pebbles to rock pools.
“S— Slowly,” you pleaded, the warm soreness of his entrance only just beginning to turn dull ache. “Please.”
“I have you, darling. Trust me.”
Fully sheathed and with his hips cradled tightly to your body, he began to move a slow pace. Such bizarre sensation to feel so thoroughly full, almost sated, on the brink of being driven mad.
“Okay?” he breathed, weight on his arms to better assess you.
You nodded. “Yes. K— Keep going.”
Drawing his lip between his teeth, he maintained the motions, the mattress beneath you creaking its rhythmic complaint. Transfixed to where your bodies connected, Minho’s attention diverted, you explored the curious shimmer to his skin as he moved— perhaps it was the fading sunlight, the evening rolling in with its tricks. It seemed as though tiny rivers of silver moved beneath his skin and through his veins, each one snaking beautifully up his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest to— His chest. How had you not noticed it until now? Amidst the otherworldly perfection there sat the smallest of blemishes, faded purple and gently rounded. Proof that he was indeed real, for over the latter minutes you might have begun to doubt it.
Heart pounding and rapidly approaching yet another crisis of heavenly delight, you brought your middle and index finger together, and by instinct, pressed them to the spot that was now not only familiar to you, but that joined the fragmented pieces of puzzle.
It was a perfect match.
Minho, seemingly oblivious, grunted your name, his rhythm now devolved to a frantic rut. He collapsed atop you, held your warmth close, the smooth drive of his thickness made blissfully easy by the second orgasm he gifted that in turn brought on his own— he shivered and clung to you, words of praise and nonsense both flitting from his bitten lips.
The afterglow was as intense and intimate as the act itself, for Minho gently attended to you, putting you together as he so expressed a wish to. He kept you near to his side, curled up, and whispered stories that you soon forgot in contented, restful slumber.
What you would not soon forget, however, was the truth newly discovered.
The angel had returned to you.
--
Minho now profoundly understood what it was the mortal poets clamoured so desperately to capture.
It was with alarming clarity that he realised he had undertaken his duties as the God of Love with no real concept of what love actually was or could be— such a spectacular thing could not be wrested into something simple; something bite-sized and digestible. All his life he had been casting his arrows and looking on warmly as mortals embraced and made love. He heard their romantic declarations and loving promises with the sort of fond understanding a parent might have for their babbling toddler, and gave it no more consideration than that.
How naïve and foolish he had been. How much he’d missed out on! He dreaded to even think of it now, and cursed his aloofness to the power of what he so easily commanded. Love, he had realised, was the whole point. Powerful enough to fell entire kingdoms, but gentle enough to soothe the most septic of wounds. Wondrous and warm yet cutting and cold, the faces of love were mortally unpredictable, and therein laid its allure.
Minho looked to the future; he had failed in his quest, that much was without question, and could not return to heaven if he wanted to. His mother’s wrath would be terrible, and he was aware enough of his own strengths to know that a conflict with Aphrodite would sign off on his demise, blood or not. And all of that was without the terrible considerations of what she might do to his beloved.
There was nothing for it. He had to do something, and there was no way around it being drastic.
No way around any of it, now that the God of Love was in love.
--
Had you been informed several weeks ago that you’d be engaged in an illicit affair with a man you started out detesting, you’d have cried insanity.
Still; that was the truth of things, and waking next to him after what constituted your first night with any man was not half as terrible as you might once have believed. You had marvelled, mostly. All over again. That he had wanted you at all was mystifying, but when he awoke to find you right where he’d left you, he had proved his want all over again.
A week continued just like this, with not so much discussion as heated, stolen moments. You pleaded that what you were doing be kept under wraps, for the attention he commanded was not something you sought. Begrudgingly, he had acquiesced, but made it known that one day he would show you off to all who came within distance.
This night, he reposed under the stream of pale moonlight that shone through your window; following exertions you had slept straight through the evening and to the small hours. The smooth curve of his lean back disappeared beneath your sheets, his muscled leg hung out and over the bed. Plush lips utterly relaxed and face framed by silky strands of raven black, it struck you once again just how—while unthinkably beautiful—very normal he looked like this. Only when he opened his eyes and mouth did it become clear that he existed on a plane above and beyond other simple people, and while unsure of the finer details, the quirky qualities he possessed had begun to vibrantly outshine those things about him that once irked. He was boastful, yes, and terribly proud. He spoke before he gave much (any) thought and had little regard for consequences, both for himself and those around him.
But he was the very spirit of adventure. Thrillingly spontaneous and occasionally reckless, he dragged you out from under your books and away from your comfort zone, making it so that he instead became a security blanket, for wherever he was, there was safety. The wild promises he made ranged from a lifetime of wealth and happiness with him to taking you around the world. Well intended, of course, but ultimately too fantastical to ever truly believe. Whatever this was and for however long it would last, it wasn’t so wrong to enjoy it.
Led by the hand of desire, you reached out to touch him. A gentle trace down the slope of his shoulder and over the curve of his smooth back, firm under your fingers. You thought of the first time you touched him, before you’d even spoken so much as a word to each other. How he seemed the most beautiful creature your dreams had ever chanced to conjure, for that was what you’d believed him to be— a being born of pure gold, floating on magnificent white wings.
But this man was no dream. He was something else entirely.
A soft murmur of breath, and Minho’s eyes cracked open slowly. Calm pools of silver looked upon you, stirring with love. He smiled softly.
“Who are you?” you whispered.
His smile faded, yet he did not move. He blinked sleepily, slowly.
“You know who I am,” he said quietly. “I told you.”
“The God of Love?”
He nodded, just barely.
“Sent here to curse me for being too beautiful?”
He nodded again.
“By your mother?”
“The Goddess Aphrodite.”
The room was silent. There was no urge to laugh. No stroke of cold disbelief. No terrible fear or suggestion of mockery or anything other than a wave of acceptance, bathed in cold, silver light.
A God.
He was a God.
“Why me?” you whispered.
Minho puffed a soft breath through his nose. Amused, perhaps, by your immediate acquiescence.
“I’m nobody,” you added.
He lifted his head from the pillow, propped himself up by elbow. “Do you truly believe that, or are you being modest?”
You blinked at him, the truth of it in your eyes. He sighed gently, took your hand across the bed.
“You are the most beautiful woman to ever have lived,” he said quietly, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Kind of heart and exquisite of soul, you outshine everything and everyone around you. You were born of a God—”
“What?”
“So I suspect, anyway. I intend to find out for certain. But I do not think your mother was entirely mad with her stories.”
You balked at him. “You’re saying she was telling the truth?”
“Perhaps. A version of it, as she remembers it. Mortal memories are ephemeral things. Regardless, your beauty is divine, and that cannot be disputed.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” he chuckled. “Had you lived several thousands of years ago, it would have been you that all of Greece warred over and that the Trojans bled to defend. You are fated to be revered and worshipped for your beauty, more so than even that of my mother’s. This is why she sent me. To shoot you with my arrows and curse you to love something so foul it would disgrace you and push you into a solitary life.”
You swallowed over the disbelief— for all your readiness to hear him out, you found yourself stumped.
“You are invulnerable to my arrows. You see beyond the veil of my mortal disguise. You were able to touch me in my true form. Only divine blood could grant such boons.”
“How do you know I'm invulnerable?” you asked, and on his torn face saw the obvious truth of it. You mumbled a quiet, “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Talk about a lucky escape.” You tried to laugh, though it was a bittersweet reveal. He was only doing as instructed, you supposed. Things were different then, too. He didn’t know you. Didn’t love you.
Keen to change the subject, you did just that.
“Your mother—”
“Aphrodite.”
“R— Right. Aphrodite.” You cleared your throat. “Why would she want to curse me like that? If what you’re saying is true, it’s hardly my fault.”
Minho shrugged. “The Olympians care little for semantics. I love my mother, but she is as susceptible to vanity as anyone. It wouldn’t be the first time that jealousy has driven her hand.”
“But—” You leaned into him. “This is the twenty first century. Things like that don’t happen anymore. I mean; revering and worshipping, or whatever.”
“Don’t they? What are celebrities and influencers if not modern-day Gods? Politicians if not modern-day kings? Wealth and fame might no longer be measured in cattle and heroic deeds, but it is as attainable today as ever it was, and the power it bestows can be terrible. Armies rallied at the tap of a button. Lives ended at the publishing of a post. Times are different, yes, but fundamentally, mortals will never change.”
An element of truth to his words, you shrunk back against the pillows, head spinning. To suppose that it was all real was one thing— to suppose that it was all happening to you, was another.
Minho kissed your hand softly. “Don’t fret, darling. You are perfectly safe with me.”
“How can that be true? You just told me that Aphrodite has it in for me. That Aphrodite is real. That all the Gods are real.”
Minho hummed. “It’s a lot to absorb, I know. But it is fact. As the world changed and mortals developed beyond what even we predicted, we were lost to them. They turned from us. Nobody prays to us anymore. There are no sacrifices or festivals. Our names are told in stories and that is our legacy. We—our flesh and blood and everything that makes us—are myths.”
He whispered the last word, a sadness in his eyes that tugged insistently at your heart. You leaned back to him, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“You feel real enough to me,” you mumbled.
Minho smiled slightly. “I am glad of that.” And turned into you, a palm on your cheek bringing you back for a firmer kiss. With a soft gasp that turned moan on the sensation of his slick tongue slipping into your mouth, you fell willingly into the hazed content that the God of Love seemed so exclusively able to invoke. Dragged across the bed until tucked underneath him, he shadowed you from the moonlight, raven locks tickling your cheeks. Keen hands slipped down your body to tenderly part your legs, the suggestion of his arousal prodding thigh until he, quite familiarly and with a chaste kiss to your throat, sunk inside you. Clinging to his broad shoulders and moving with the man, for you had come to know the paces he enjoyed, Minho filled you gently and slipped away with each controlled thrust. Silver eyes told a maelstrom of truths and sadnesses that his long years of life had portended, and by the gradual incline of coming undone at his ministrations, you saw them all. He watched your descent into euphoria, and you saw them all— the lovers, the souls, the stories, the worlds that had been touched by Eros’s arrows, generations of lives built on their enchanted tips, civilisations birthed and ended by the snap of his bow string. An existence spent between heaven and Earth of unspeakable loneliness propelled by gratification of servitude brought you to hot tears amidst the release of crisis.
And you saw that he would have been alone in perpetuity, were it not for you.
--
Minho had a plan.
The beginnings of a plan, anyway, which he thought ought to count for something.
He could not call on any of his aunts or uncles for aid without alerting Aphrodite to the state of things, and so he turned his thoughts to what he could do. The things he possessed. After only moments of consideration, he broke into absurd and near hysterical laughter. How foolish he had been, once again! How could he forget?! Of all the things to slip his mind and fall into obscurity!
He had a palace.
Eros’s famed sky palace of jewels and gold— that was what he possessed. That was where he could go, for it was too removed from heaven for Aphrodite or any of the other Gods to be bothered making the journey. They would be left alone there. It was perfect.
The idea had come to him at high noon— a most inconvenient time for ideas to spring upon one. Unable to bear a second’s delay, he burst out of Goodhart and sprinted across campus, drawing heads and attention from all he passed. When he reached the lecture hall, he swept from room to room, offering breathless apologies to the bewildered occupants for his intrusion on finding her in none of them, much to his irritation. It stood to reason that the last he checked should be the place he found her: she looked up from her notebook, mortification freezing her from neck to forehead.
“Excuse me.” Minho flashed a dazzling smile at the Professor, who for all his usual nettlesome temperament, stood flabbergasted.
He strode confidently across the hall and through the projector’s beam, his shadow casting over the bullet point analysis of Austen’s pathetic fallacy. All eyes followed as he approached her and made quick work of closing her notebook, plucking her pen from her hand and grabbing her backpack.
“I’ll just be taking this one,” he said to the Professor, taking her wrist with a gentle tug.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, the eyes of her peers scalding her back.
Wordlessly, he stole her from the lecture hall, and said not a thing until they were out of the building and on the sun-warmed lawn, where he yanked her into a strong embrace.
“M— Minho!”
“I have it worked out, darling,” he said excitedly. “I have it all worked out!” He relinquished her to arm’s length, her flustered state inspiring urges that he swallowed down. “I know where we can go.”
“Go?” she repeated, confused. “Why would we go anywhere?”
“We can’t stay here. We spoke of this last night. My mother is—”
“You said you’d protect me from her. You didn’t say anything about needing to go anywhere.”
“I thought that was implied, darling. I assumed you understood.”
“Understood what?”
“That yes, I will do my utmost to keep you safe, but not even my power can match that of Aphrodite. If she discovers my betrayal, she’ll stop at nothing to hunt us down.”
The fluster of her condition gave way to dreaded realisation; Minho saw it in her eyes, the panic.
“There is one place we will be entirely safe,” he quickly said. “Somewhere she nor any of the other Olympians can set foot.”
“Where?”
“My palace.”
“P— Palace?”
Minho nodded in earnest. “Yes, darling. It is protected, its gates open only to me. We will want for nothing there. We can be together, undisturbed.”
She looked around, as though lost. “But I...” Her voice was weak. “I can’t just leave everything. This is my life.”
“I am your life now, darling. There’s nothing here for you.”
“Nothing here for me?” Her features drew tense and she stepped away from him, shrugging off his touch. “You're saying all this is pointless? Everything I've tried to achieve is worthless?”
“N— No, I simply mean that—”
“I know what you mean. I have no-one to miss me if I should disappear.” Her bottom lip trembled, she wrapped her arms around herself. “And what if I stayed? Would all those worshippers you promised me show up? Would I have something then?”
Minho’s heart ached impossibly; how careless he had once again been. One would think him used to the fragility of mortal hearts by now.
“It’s too late,” he said sorrowfully. “My love for you is a betrayal to my mother. If you stay, she will subject you to terrible punishment before anything ordained for you ever happens. If you come with me...” He reached out to her tenderly, a hand on her trembling shoulder. “If you come with me, I can spare you that fate. You do not have to engage with me or love me in return, but I hope that you will at least allow me to make reparations for taking you away from all you know. I can give you a most beautiful life. I can show you such things as your books will never describe. I can dedicate myself to you, soul and all, and be whatever you wish me to be.”
Tears streaked her cheeks, each one a dagger to Minho’s composure.
“You will never be alone again,” he whispered. “This, I swear to you.”
--
Why were you even thinking about it?
The earth-shatteringly handsome God of Love—Eros himself—loved you. He wished to take you away to his sky-dwelling palace, where he would serve you until your mortal days gave out. He wished to dedicate himself to you. How many women could claim to be on the receiving end of such implacable devotion? How many women turned away from it, especially when the love was reciprocated?
Thus you asked yourself the question again— why were you even thinking about it?
The conflict that raged within you was that of head and heart. On the side of romance and such emotion as brought you to tears, your heart cried out. ‘Go with him,’ it pleaded. ‘See all that he’s promised you. Take a chance on the extraordinary. Be the main character, just this once. You can never go back to life without him now— how it hurts to even imagine it. Only immovable darkness is left in place of such radiant light, and his light is what you must stay in forever. You love him, foolish girl. Go with him!’
On the side of reason and familiar doubt that was in some ways easier to hear, your head told other truths. ‘Run from him,” it commanded. ‘It is madness to believe any of this. What you saw that night was a hallucination; you were overtired. Overworked. He lies to you. Recall what he did to you. He plays on your vulnerability and would have you tripping over yourself for some impossible fairytale that cannot be real. It cannot be real. Screw your head back on, foolish girl. Run from him!’
With a night spent alone you hoped to come upon some form of clarity, but instead spent the long and empty hours tossing and turning, floating between despair and joy. You were at a crossroads, and the next decision you made would forever change the course of your life.
Go, or stay.
Live, or suffer.
Love, or mourn.
--
By the guiding, formless hand of the West wind, Zephyrus, Minho always found his way to his sky palace.
It would be a fruitless task to try to explain, in mortal terms, just where the palace was located. Not even Minho could, had he tried. That was why he needed gentle Zephyrus. Rather, it existed on a plane between those of heaven and Earth, in a pellucid sky of cloudless wonder that cycled through dreamy days and starry, moon-filled nights. The palace seemed always as though to be drifting along, warmed by streams of hot, shimmering air that kept it afloat. Its jewel-encrusted and gold-plated high walls caught the brilliant peaches and pinks of sweet Eos, Goddess of the Dawn. A reflective moat of the clearest still water kept the palace enclosed, magnificent fish and regal sea creatures having made their homes there. Great birds with feathers of virgin white and onyx black soared the length of the battlements and swooped through the palace arches, attracted by the glittering structure. It mattered not how many times Minho visited. It always took his breath away.
He looked at the girl bundled in his arms, her eyes still tightly closed, her head still buried in his chest. His white wings enclosed her safely, kept her from Zephyrus’s inherent chill.
“Won’t you look, darling?” he asked softly.
“No.”
He stifled a chuckle; how endearing she was.
“This would be one of those wonderful things I told you about.”
She cracked open one eye, just barely.
“You’re perfectly safe,” he assured her.
With a swallow and a timid nod, she turned her head out to the view, and Minho saw immediately how her eyes welled up with tears as they caught the rising light. He dared to imagine Eos might be making a special show of things, just for them, for the sky was ablaze with a rich and vibrant beauty the likes of which he’d never seen. Oranges and deep pinks melted into variegated crimson, the horizon seeming as though to glow. The palace was iridescent with life, it walls and towers reflecting and refracting the dawn in such a resplendent spectacle of colour, Minho was sure she would never forget this moment.
She maintained silent awe until Zephyrus had safely escorted them to the palace steps: the West wind twirled and whirled around them, hugging her warmly before departing, much to her delight. She kept close to Minho as the joy wore off, her fear of the near edge demanding it, yet it was her resolve that warned her from holding his hand, from taking comfort.
Such were her terms.
Such was Minho’s pain.
--
Take a chance on the extraordinary, your heart had said.
So it was that ‘extraordinary’ fell catastrophically short of describing what it was you now looked at: an opulent crystal palace at home in the sky, a testament to all things fantastical and impossible. The majesty of it was almost enough to take away from the inherent unease of being so high up; if this was even high, for it hadn’t escaped your notice during the journey that you hadn’t so much travelled up as through. Through what, you were surely unqualified to say, but what was certain was that this place was so removed from what you knew to be true of physics and gravity—indeed any temporal rule—it was pointless to think on it too much.
Minho had indeed promised to show you incredible things, oblivious that he himself was one of them. His feathery wings closed on his back, his raven hair fluttered in the warm breeze. He led you up the crystal steps to a vast arched gateway manned by—you rubbed your eyes—floating spears?
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said intuitively. “They will do you no harm. They’re here to protect us.”
As you passed by them, adequately mystified, the spears hopped and jerked as though in salute, their steel tips polished to a fine, sharp edge. Over the glass drawbridge he took you, a river of water so clear running beneath, you could see every pore of your own reflection in it. Creatures swum in the calm currents, fish and eels and octopi, their scales and skin of such stunning purple and deep green, it amazed you to look at. As you approached the tall and gilded palace doors, they opened before you, a swarm of floating brooms and mops and hat stands and trolleys and all other manner of furniture descending upon you with swift elegance.
On your fright, Minho held a hand up. Everything stopped, and sprung to attention in a neat, formal line.
“Darling.” He turned to you. “These are our attendants.”
You blinked at him; your head was beginning to hurt.
“They are invisible to our eyes,” he added softly. “It was my wish that we be left to our own devices. Entirely undisturbed. Just the two of us.”
“So there are... people? Holding those?”
Minho nodded. “Of a fashion, yes.”
You looked around him to the patient line, where mops fluttered and trolley wheels spun in anticipation. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what ‘of a fashion’ even meant.
“I would have had us here alone, but the palace takes some looking after,” he said. “Not to mention your own needs to be attended to.”
“I can look after myself. I don’t need—”
“Please.” He moved as though to take your hand, but stopped himself short. The strength with which such a small thing smarted seemed ludicrous, yet you held no grounds for complaint. He was only doing as instructed.
“I would like to make sure the very best care is on hand for you. Allow me that,” he said quietly.
At your small nod, he turned away, wings unfurling gently as he entered his palace. The peach light that so radiantly streaked the sky haloed him and made him a breathtaking vision. Was a God truly so different from an angel?
The palace interior was as extravagant as the exterior, its vast halls encrusted with sapphires and aquamarine, pearls and diamonds, emeralds and topaz all trimmed with gold. Wall sconces of blue flame bathed all in a glorious light, the high ceilings finished with intricate murals so lovingly painted, it made your heart ache to simply look upon the heavenly scenes they depicted with Eros at their centre.
Escorted dutifully by the same two floating spears that had seen you inside, Minho guided you through the winding halls. He held them at the door he had led you to with no more than a look.
“These are your private chambers,” he said once inside. They were homelier than what you’d thus far seen, finished with soft furnishings, blankets and comforts and a more natural tone of light offered by long windows and an open fire. It was the fire that you were in the midst of admiring, when a dainty teacup flew up and in front of your face, bringing you to a shriek.
“Your attendants will keep you here,” Minho laughed. “Forgive them. They’re excited.”
The teacup rattled on its saucer, as though in agreement.
“It has been some time since anyone’s resided here,” he added.
Residing here. You were to live here. In this place between places, with a thousands-year old God. It seemed that only now this fact began to dawn on you, for a chill realisation swept over and extinguished the bewilderment that hitherto kept you together.
Minho watched you carefully, distance maintained as he stood at the door. You looked through the grand window, out over the endless sea of multicoloured sky.
“You promised me an answer,” he eventually said.
Your heart sank.
“I know.”
“Will you give it?”
You chewed your inner cheek, tracing the lines of wispy cloud that floated by.
“I have shown you the palace,” Minho said. “I have respected your boundaries of affection, despite how it pains me to act as though we are no more than friends. I have revealed my true form to you. I have done everything you’ve asked.”
“I know.”
“And so? Is your mind decided?”
Exasperated, you turned to him. The God of Love with so sorrowful a look of distress on his handsome face, it made you want to weep.
“My mind has been decided all along,” you said simply. “How could I ever say no to you?”
His silvery eyes lit up. “You mean...?”
“Yes,” you laughed. “I’ll stay.”
Without a second thought, the God of Love on his great, white wings surged across the space and caught you in his strong arms. He braced you against the pristine glass in an embrace of ignited passion, the gasp you emitted was devoured by his hungry mouth.
“How you infuriate me,” he mumbled between kisses, the slick of his tongue wetting your lips. “You have no idea the depth of the madness you would drive me to.”
“I needed time,” you breathed. “To get my head straight, to process it all.”
“I know, darling. I would have given you all the time that time itself possessed if I could.”
You kissed him gently. “Liar.”
He grinned, and with a low chuckle enclosed you in his magnificent wings, the feathers reaching around and curling under you to lift you from the ground. Poised on them as the most comfortable of elegant chairs, the God so close in your space and stood between your open thighs, it became soon apparent the type of mood that descended on him. An inferno of want tainted the silver of his eyes, his deep, gold complexion shimmering with the lust that made Eros so feral as to tear your shirt open and relieve you of your jeans, all that he might touch your skin— finally. Secured in the space of his heat, helpless but to succumb, the dainty cloth that hovered about his hips was torn away to reveal the intimidating girth of what he offered, sprung proud and hard. Lightheaded and too aroused to think much of consequence—you weren’t strictly here alone, after all—you clung to the slope of his shoulders as he aligned himself and with a sharp intake of breath, steadily sunk inside you. Groaning through the sensation of fullness, your delight was caught by his mouth on yours.
“You were made for me, my love,” he whispered. “It is you and I, until the end of time.”
“Minho—”
“Hush, dearest girl. Let me pleasure you the way your tender heart so deserves. Let me serve you as I crave to. Nothing makes me feel so alive as when you allow me inside you like this, sweet thing. Feel me, darling. Feel all of me.”
Sealed with a kiss, the God of Love thrust himself upon you, the slick drive made so much easier by your own steeped arousal. Yet it was not simply lust that brought you to gasps and the stinging tell of tears— to accept such pure and unconditional love, to accept that it was offered so readily, to accept that a creature so objectively perfect as him could be possessed of affection for you— sky palaces and jewels and divine landscapes could not compare to that impossibility.
So it is, the start of your new life.
So it was, in years to come, that the Goddess Aphrodite forgave her errant son and welcomed the mortal girl, gifting to her immortality on her wedding day.
So it ever shall be, that the tamed Eros and his beloved spend their sun-warmed, endless days reigning over love’s intricacies, granting to mortals the divine bliss they themselves found in one another.
One precious heart at a time.
thus marks my last offering for the skz tropes collab! i really hope you enjoyed. this was by far my favourite of the bunch. if you could be kind enough to comment or even buy me a coffee as thanks for the 20k read, i would be super grateful. mica x
Pairing • Chan x Gen!Reader
Summary • You have a test today and you haven't studied at all, but you're not worried. Why? Because you have the ability to read minds, and you'll be sitting next to the smartest guy in class. Unfortunately, his thoughts have strayed from the test and into very dirty territory.
Genre • college au, smut, fluff
WC • 1.7k
Content • no pronouns used but reader does have a vagina, mind reading, dirty thoughts about: hand holding 🥰, public sex, fingering, dry humping, unprotected piv penetration, orgasm denial. Indented paragraphs indicate what's happening in his mind and not real life.
Ethically, reading minds is a very dubious subject. As far as you know, you're the only person in the world with supernatural abilities. No one would ever know you're reading their mind, but you have high enough standards for yourself to only use your mind reading capabilities in emergencies.
This was an emergency.
You have a test today, and didn't study. But, you do have a plan. You are going to sit beside one of your classmates and cheat.
You walk into the lecture hall, and scan the room. The class is arranged with tier seating and long tables, and as you work your eyes around the room, you spot him at the very top. You've had a few projects with Chan before, so you know how intelligent he is. You've talked a lot more over the course of the semester, so it wouldn't be weird to sit beside him.
"Ready for the test?" you ask, approaching the table he's sitting at.
He looks up at you and smiles.
"I hope so, I've been cramming all night for this. You?"
"Nope." You grin and give him a thumbs up, pulling out the chair next to him and taking a seat.
"Glad to see you're confident," he laughs.
The rest of the class trudges in, and the test begins.
First thing you write is your name. Easy enough.
You concentrate on Chan, and peer into his mind. He's reading the first question, and after a few minutes of words formulating in his brain, he writes down an answer. You always found it interesting to see how different people think, and Chan's thoughts are muddied as he tries to answer the questions. But when he figures out an answer, everything comes into total focus.
You rewrite his answers on your paper, making sure to use different words. As much as you dislike doing it, this isn't your first time cheating on a test like this, so you know how to not get caught.
A particularly tricky question is next, and you can see his thoughts wander from the test, to the class, to... you. You see yourself in his imagination.
He's daydreaming. This is not good, you need him to focus on the test.
You think about tuning into someone else's mind, but you're captured by what he imagines.
He reaches out his hand, gently placing it over yours. He squeezes it lightly.
You have to look at your hand to make sure it wasn't real. His imagination is extremely vivid. You see movement out of the corner of your eye, which turns out to be Chan shaking his head. Just like that, the image disappears and he's back to thinking about the question.
What was that?
You don't have time to ponder what that could mean when he starts writing down his answer, and you have to quickly catch up to him before he stops thinking about it.
The next question also seems to be giving him trouble, because he stops to think about it for a long time. Eventually, he drifts off into another daydream. He imagines the classroom again, and himself scooting his chair next to you. The version of you in his imagination rests your head on his shoulder. It's very cute, all things considered.
Then it dawns on you. He has a crush on you.
Well isn't that just adorable. It would be cuter if he would just get back to the test before you both fail.
He turns his head to look at you, resting peacefully on his shoulder. He smiles and leans in to kiss you.
Your fingers instinctively brush your lips. It's not rare for people to have vivid sensory imaginations, but you almost never get a tactile experience from your power. He must be imagining the feeling of touching you, enough that you feel it through him.
If only he had Aphantasia, and not the worlds strongest imagination. You don't think either of you will be passing this test.
He moves his hand from on top of yours to caressing your thigh. Then, it moves closer to the waistband of your pants-
You cough loudly, breaking his focus. The image disappears in an instant. You see the muddied words coming back, and he's finally thinking about the test again.
You can feel heat rising to your cheeks. Was he imagining what you think he was imagining?
He has been stuck on this question for a while, so you probably wont find anyone else in class who's still working on it. And even if you could, you'd have to check the minds of the entire class. You're stuck peeping in Chan's mind if you want to possibly pass the test.
It's feels a bit strange to be the subject of Chan's romantic fantasies, but not in a bad way. He's handsome, kind, smart, funny in an awkward kind of way that you've always found charming...
You've never thought about him that way before. But knowing how he feels, you'll definitely be thinking about him now.
You realize you're starting to drift off the same way Chan was, and go back to concentrating on your cheating scheme.
Luckily, he's focused on the right subject now, and he flies through the answers. He's almost too fast, and you have to leave some answers half done in order to keep pace. Hopefully you'll still get half a mark for those ones.
You're on the last question now. He takes some time to read and reread the question, and when he starts to think of an answer, he goes back and reads the question one more time. You're worried, the tricky questions are when he starts to nod off.
He rests his head on his hand and his mind wanders back to his imagination. At this point, you think you should just try to answer the question yourself, but your mind freezes when he continues where he left off.
His hand moves up your thigh, and between your legs. He rubs you over the fabric of your pants, but the friction is enough to feel your core start to pulse. You start moaning involuntarily, and Chan smirks to himself.
'Quiet, we're still in class' he whispers.
He pretends to keep writing with one hand, while the other slips into your pants. You're not wearing underwear, so he can easily move his fingers to circle your clit. You cover your mouth with your fist to stifle a moan. The pace is slow, but you're able to pretend to be working while he works his fingers. You find yourself mindlessly rocking into him. He increases his speed, and you feel your orgasm building while you try to suppress another moan. Your head leans back as you buck into his hand, and you feel yourself about to-
Suddenly, his fingers stop. Your core is still throbbing, but he takes his hand out of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, and he pats his lap for you to sit on. You look around the classroom. Everyone is too focused on their tests to notice you getting up.
You stand to straddle him, and before you can sit down, he unbuttons your pants and pulls them down. If anyone turned around to look, they would see him groping your ass. He guides you down to sit on his lap, and you feel his bulge prodding against your folds.
"Finish yourself on me," he whispers. You try to turn your head to see if anyone's watching, but he stops you. "Just look at me. Don't worry about anyone else."
Nervously, you rub yourself on his bulge, and even under the fabric you can feel how hard he is. When you feel your orgasm building up again, you forget about the possibility of anyone seeing and hump him harder. His clothed dick against your bare cunt clouds your mind, and you try to get as much friction against him as you can. You buck into him faster, and you feel him getting harder as he starts to rock against you.
You feel yourself about to cum again, but he lifts you up onto the desk and lays you on your back.
"Chan, please," you whine. You can't take this anymore, and you rub your legs together to feel any sort of release.
He pulls your legs apart, opening your soaking wet pussy to the world. Before you can even complain, his pants are down, and his massive cock is throbbing against your entrance.
He easily slides himself into you, and you feel him moving up your walls. He fills you up completely, staying there for a moment before pulling out and slamming himself right back in. He rams into you, hitting your sweet spot. His hand is back on your clit, rubbing circles while he continues his ruthless pace with his cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. He slams into you faster and faster as he chases his own high, losing control as his body acts on instinct. You're almost at your limit, and you feel your orgasm about to peak-
"Time's up everyone! Turn in your tests," the professor announces to the class.
You feel your core pulsing as you snap back to reality. Your heart is beating loudly in your chest, and you realize none of that was real, despite it being incredibly vivid. Somehow, you lost yourself in his fantasy.
You look over to Chan, and notice his erection as he quickly writes something down for the last question. You look back to your own test, and see the empty space where you should've wrote your answer. You have no idea what to write. You don't even remember what the question was.
All you remember was Chan pounding into you at a brutal pace.
You look back to Chan as he stands, and when he makes eye contact, his cheeks turn red and he looks away. He hurriedly stuffs all his things into his bag and speed walks down the steps.
If you want to pass this class, you can never sit next to him again. You definitely should never read his mind again.
However... you do want to know what else he's thinking about when you're near him.
And you really want to know what he's like outside of his imagination.
EPILOGUE:
Two weeks later, your test scores are posted to the schools website. You click on the link to see how you did. As it loads in, you wait with baited breath.
You failed the test.
A/N: I hope someone went to look up what Aphantasia was, and suddenly everything made sense in their life when they realized they have it. And they have to live their life knowing that an incredibly important part of their worldview and way of thinking was discovered by reading a kpop x reader smut fic.
