synopsis: since childhood, you’ve beaten choi soobin at everything. karate? you got your black belt first. piano? you took home the trophy. grades? you’ve been ranked #1 for years—and soobin is sick of coming in second. desperate to finally win at something, he hires choi yeonjun—resident heart-breaker with a reputation as dark as his eyeliner—to make you fall for him and derail your perfect focus. three months. one mission: distract you, dethrone you, defeat you. but the moment soobin sees your smile falter for yeonjun, something inside him shifts. winning suddenly feels… wrong. and losing you feels worse than losing any competition he’s ever trained for.
high achiever, don't you see? baby nothing comes for free
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| are you satisfied? — marina
✎ pairing: chaebol student!choi soobin x chaebol student!reader x scholarship swimmer!choi yeonjun
✎ genre/warning: high school au, academic rivalry, hired to seduce trope, love triangle, rich girl x scholarship boy, slow burn, jealousy, elite friend group/drama, family pressure, rivals to lovers, love triangle, psychological romance, angst, coming of age, toxic family dynamics, parental emotional/mental and physical abuse, academic pressure, classism, misogyny/sexism, bullying/social exclusion, smoking, underage drinking, explicit language, toxic relationships
✎ word count: 9.2k
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the art of second place
Choi Soobin’s body braces before his mind does.
His father folds the newspaper. The sound is small. Paper against paper. A clean, tidy noise in a clean, tidy room. Still, something in his chest locks around it.
He’s only just walked into the dining room.
Morning light spills across the table and turns everything bright and expensive. White linen. Silver cutlery. Crystal glasses. Coffee already poured. Fruit cut into exact shapes. Eggs steaming on his plate. The whole thing laid out with the kind of care people mistake for love.
His father sits at the head of the table in shirtsleeves and silence. His mother butters toast with her usual calm precision, gold bracelet slipping down her wrist each time she moves the knife.
Soobin pulls out his chair.
The paper is set down beside the cup. Then his father clears his throat. “Your rankings.” That’s it. No good morning.
Soobin sits.
His father doesn’t raise his voice. He never needs to. “Would you like to explain why I keep hearing that girl’s name before I hear yours?” He doesn’t say your name.
He never does. Not here. In this house you become that girl, and somehow that makes it worse—more dismissive, more deliberate.
Soobin reaches for his water glass because his hands need somewhere to go. He doesn’t drink.
“You were second again,” his father says.
Soobin looks down at the plate in front of him. He was hungry before he walked into the room. That version of him is gone now.
Across the table, his mother says, “Eat before it gets cold.”
He picks up the fork.
His father keeps going. “Tell me what exactly I am meant to say when people ask about my son.”
The fork presses too hard into the eggs. Yolk slips out across the plate.
His mother glances up at him. “Well?”
Soobin swallows once. His throat is already tightening. “I don’t know, sir.”
His father lets the silence sit for a moment. “No. You don’t.”
That metallic taste is back. Soobin presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and finds the spot he worried open yesterday.
His father lifts his coffee. “Every tutor. Every resource. Every opportunity. You are handed more than most people see in a lifetime, and still you allow yourself to be outdone.”
Soobin keeps his eyes on the plate.
“Look at me,” his father says.
He does.
His father’s face is unreadable in the way that makes it worse—no anger, no temper. Just disappointment sharpened into routine. “Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
There is no answer to that question that does not end badly. Soobin knows it. He has known it for years. If he says no, it will sound defensive. If he says sorry, it will sound weak. If he explains, it will sound like excuses.
So he says nothing.
His mother sets her knife down. “Answer your father.”
He turns to her without meaning to—some reflex still left over from childhood. Some old, stupid habit of expecting help from the wrong place.
She raises one brow. “What? He’s right. Work harder.”
The fork goes still in his hand. Work harder. He can feel his pulse in his gums now. In his jaw. In the place behind his ribs where everything has felt too tight for months. He looks back at the plate and counts.
One. Two. Three.
His father mistakes silence for defiance. Or maybe he doesn’t mistake it at all. “Do you think discipline is optional?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
“Do you think results are optional?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why do I keep seeing the same outcome?”
The fork scrapes lightly against porcelain and the sound nearly does him in. In his head, he stands up so fast the chair kicks back into the wall.
In his head, both hands go under the edge of the table and lift. Plates crack against marble. Coffee floods the linen. Crystal shatters. His mother jerks back. His father finally loses that cold expression and becomes something human enough to hit. In his head, Soobin reaches for whatever is closest—the fruit bowl, the coffee pot, his father’s watch where it lies beside the folded newspaper—and smashes it all until the room stops pretending.
He wants noise. He wants a mess big enough that no one can call him dramatic for breathing wrong. He wants to break the thing measuring him.
The chair stays where it is. The table doesn’t move.
He is still eighteen and sitting at breakfast with his fork in his hand and his back straight because slouching would get noticed before the panic would.
His mother picks up her coffee. “You’ve been distracted.”
“I haven’t,” he says quietly. It slips out before he can stop it.
The room goes still.
His father tilts his head. “No?”
Soobin lowers his eyes again. “No, sir.”
His father studies him for a moment too long. “Then perhaps you simply do not have it.”
Soobin grips the fork harder.
His father watches his hand. “If pressure unsettles you this easily, say so now.”
The fork slips against the plate, and his pulse jumps.
His father holds his gaze for a beat. Then he leans back. “I’m talking about winning.”
Winning drags years behind it. Coaches. Tutors. Report cards. Timers. Raised a winner. Raised properly. Raised not to flinch.
The metallic taste gets thicker. Soobin bites down harder, his fingers twitch once in his lap.
His mother says, “Eat.”
He can’t. He picks up the fork again anyway and cuts into the eggs a second time. Takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. His throat fights him the whole way down.
His father watches until he does. Then, calm as ever, “Do better.”
That’s all. No slammed fist. No shouting fit. Nothing a stranger could point to and call cruel. Just those two words, laid down between the coffee and the silver like they are part of the place setting and not a life sentence.
His mother resumes her breakfast. His father reaches for the newspaper. Conversation over.
Soobin sits there with food turning to paste in his mouth and blood at the back of his tongue.
The car ride doesn’t get any better. His father just changes the angle of attack. The breakfast plates are gone. The hotel is getting closer. None of it helps.
His father has the gala programme open across one knee—thick cream card with a gold crest at the top. He smooths it flat with two fingers and says, “Read it.”
Soobin doesn’t take it. “I know what it says, sir.”
“Then you know what tonight is.”
His mother checks her lipstick in the dark window and clicks the compact shut. “Must we start again?”
His father doesn’t look at her. “He clearly needs repetition.”
The car glides through traffic. Soobin keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and tries not to look at the programme, which only makes his father angle it more obviously into view.
Welcome remarks. Dinner service. Foundation address. Representative Speech. Your name.
His father says, “People will remember that.”
Soobin’s jaw shifts once. He says nothing.
His father folds the card in half. “They will remember that a Choi boy sat in the audience while somebody else represented the school.”
His mother says, “That’s enough.”
“No,” his father says. “It plainly isn’t.”
Soobin keeps both hands flat on his thighs. One of them twitches anyway.
“That should have been your slot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That should have been our name.”
The driver slows as the hotel comes into view.
The hotel comes into view behind the windshield—glass frontage, valets in black, a slow-moving row of cars letting out polished families in silk, cufflinks, and practiced smiles. Near the doors, the school crest gleams in gold across a standing board.
HANUL FOUNDATION GALA
The driver pulls under the portico and the car goes quiet for one brief second. Relief gets there first. Then dread.
Relief, because the car has stopped. Dread, because outside the car is the gala, and the gala means you.
His father closes the programme and slips it into his jacket. “Don’t embarrass me further.”
His mother touches his sleeve. “Let’s just get through the evening.”
The driver is already out opening the door. His father steps out first. His mother follows, her hand wrapping around his arm before her heels have fully found the ground. They are backlit by the hotel entrance, already becoming presentable.
They walk off together.
They leave him in the back seat for half a second longer than necessary.
Soobin gets out after them and shuts the door more carefully than he wants to. The collar of his shirt feels wrong—too close, too stiff. He hooks a finger under it once, then drops his hand before anyone sees.
Inside, the gala looks exactly how Hanul likes to imagine itself.
Crystal chandeliers. Cream flowers. White tablecloths. Waiters moving through the room with champagne trays held level at shoulder height. Somewhere off to the left, a quartet is playing something expensive. The whole place smells of lilies, cologne, and money trying to look graceful.
Adults drift from one cluster to another in formalwear and good manners, smiling at people they hate and shaking hands with people they need. Parents speak in lowered voices about universities, foundations, donation tiers, internships, ministers, markets. Students hover half a step behind, summoned when needed, forgotten when not.
This is the real curriculum—not exams, not attendance, not the ranking board in the corridor. This. The room full of people who decide what matters before anyone younger is even asked.
A large screen near the ballroom doors cycles through donor tiers beneath the foundation crest. Legacy Circle. Diamond Patrons. Platinum Benefactors. Surnames Soobin knows. Families who fund buildings, endow scholarships, call the headmaster by his first name. The school is thanking people who already own it.
A staff member offers him champagne. He takes a glass because refusing would invite questions. He doesn’t drink it. He can feel the taste of metal creeping back onto his tongue. He presses his molars together and lets it sit there.
Then he sees you.
The room doesn’t quiet. It just stops mattering.
You’re standing near one of the trustees, smiling politely at something he’s saying. You don’t laugh too hard, or lean in too much—just enough. You are dressed impeccably. Of course you are. You’ve always been good at screaming elegance without raising your voice. You look composed—finished, like the room was designed with you already in mind.
Soobin becomes aware of himself in stages. The collar at his throat. The set of his shoulders. The way his hand is closing too hard around the stem of the glass.
He loosens his grip before it snaps.
He hates this. The way seeing you turns his own body into a problem he suddenly has to manage. The way he can feel every inch of himself become stiff and overaware, like somebody might look at him and immediately know he’s trying.
He hates that you make him notice it.
His history with you is old enough to have gone numb by now. It hasn’t.
He can’t remember a time before you. Not really. You’ve always been somewhere in the frame. Same circles. Same teachers. Same polished adults saying both your names in the same breath and pretending it counted as fairness.
Karate first.
Same dojo. Same mats. Same afternoons bowing until his back ached. You got your black belt first. He remembers the congratulations. He remembers the applause. He remembers his father’s face most of all.
Piano after that.
Same competitions. Same judges. Same freezing recital halls. You took the trophy home. He stood beside you with second place and managed not to look sick in the photos.
Then Hanul.
Three years of ranking boards and report sheets and staff pretending academic pressure builds character. Three years of your name above his.
That’s the part that gets under his skin. Not that you win—that you never look like you’re clawing for it. He is all effort. You are just there, ahead.
His jaw goes tight. He bites the inside of his cheek until it stings, hard enough for the taste of blood to come back sharp and familiar.
Second.
The word has lodged itself in him somewhere ugly. It doesn’t wash out.
An arm hooks around his neck and yanks him half a step sideways. “Yo, bro.”
Choi Beomgyu. He’s grinning, his voice loud enough to count as inappropriate in a room like this. His tie is slightly off, his hair too deliberately careless, and he smells of expensive cologne and poor sleep.
“Thank God,” he says. “Thought I was going to die of donor small talk.”
Soobin’s first instinct is to shrug him off. His second is gratitude. The second one wins. “Let go.”
“No.” Beomgyu tightens his arm once, purely out of spite. “You’re coming with me. Another five minutes and I was going to fake a medical emergency.”
“So dramatic.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Beomgyu follows his line of sight and spots you immediately. His grin sharpens. “Ah.”
Soobin shifts, trying to get free without making it look like he’s getting free. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet I’m saving your life.”
Beomgyu starts steering him through the room. Soobin resists on instinct, shoes dragging over the carpet for half a step before he stops—resisting looks worse. There are too many eyes. Teachers, parents, board members, other students pretending not to watch, staff who remember everything.
Optics at Hanul count for more than honesty ever does.
Beomgyu keeps tugging him forward, still talking. “My mother has introduced me to seven people I’ll be expected to remember for the rest of my life. One of them pinched my cheek.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It became a you problem the second I decided I wasn’t suffering alone.”
He’s pulling him toward the Apex table. The closer they get to it, the more obvious the room becomes about it.
Not loud—Hanul is rarely loud when envy will do. It travels in lowered voices, in glances that linger a beat too long, in the quick little silences that follow whenever one of them passes. The other students know exactly what that table means.
Best grades. Best surnames. Best futures, already gift-wrapped. Their family names arrive before they do. That’s half the point.
The table sits near the front of the ballroom—too close to the principal, too close to the donors, close enough that every sweep of a camera catches the right faces.
Apex is a crown the school insists is earned.
The twins are already there. Daniel slouched just enough to look disrespectful without anyone actually being able to accuse him of it. Stephanie upright, immaculate, one hand around a champagne flute, gaze moving over the room.
Beomgyu drops into his chair and gestures grandly at the empty seat beside him. “Your throne.”
Soobin sits and barely has time to exhale.
You approach the table and the entire room seems to tilt around you, or maybe that’s just his body deciding to act up again.
Kai is with you, half a step behind and trying very hard not to look like a first-year standing at the table meant for people the school already considers profitable. He has your mouth and none of your control. His tie is perfect, his expression isn’t.
You stop at your chair, glance at Soobin once, and take your seat.
One glance does enough damage. The usual look from you that says you’ve assessed him, found him disappointing, and moved on before he’s even had time to resent it properly.
He hates how fast his skin notices. The collar. The cuffs. The way his shoulders seem too square all of a sudden, as if posture can become self-conscious.
Kai pulls his chair out beside you. “Noona, shall I—”
“No,” you say, without even looking at him. “Sit.”
Kai sits.
Beomgyu, sensing danger with the skill of long practice, smiles too brightly. “Beautiful. Everyone’s here. Let’s all behave like the nation is watching.”
Daniel lifts his glass. “It probably is.”
Soobin reaches for the water beside his plate.
“You found the table,” you say before he can drink. “I was starting to think the signs were too difficult.” Your tone is light enough for the adults nearby to ignore.
That’s the trick with you—you never sound cruel unless someone knows where to listen.
Soobin sets the glass down. “Did you miss me?”
“No,” you say. “I was wondering whether second place had started arriving late too.”
His fingers tighten around the glass before he remembers where he is.
Beomgyu sighs. “Please don’t. Some of us haven’t eaten enough to survive this.”
Soobin looks at you. “You rehearsed that?”
“Didn’t need to.”
“Right. Cruelty just comes naturally.”
You fold your napkin onto your lap. “Only when the material is easy.”
Kai mutters, “Noona.”
Before Soobin can answer, Kim Inha arrives.
She comes in late enough for people to notice and composed enough to pretend they shouldn’t. Hair perfect, dress perfect, smile already in place before she reaches the table. She does not look for her name card and slips into the empty chair beside Soobin—she has already decided that proximity is a statement.
“Sorry,” she says. “My mother kept introducing me to people I’m supposed to care about.”
Daniel says, “Devastating. Did you survive?”
“Barely.” Her smile stays on. Her eyes move from Soobin to you. “Did I miss something?”
Beomgyu lifts his glass. “Only the opening ceremony of whatever this is.”
You don’t look at Inha for long. “Nothing important.”
Inha’s smile tightens. “Still charming, I see.”
“Still arriving halfway through conversations, I see.”
Beomgyu leans towards Soobin. “I hate it when everyone’s insults turn into a talent showcase.”
Inha ignores him. She turns slightly towards Soobin, her shoulder almost touching his. “You okay?”
Soobin’s fingers pause around his glass. “I’m fine,” he says.
Inha smiles brighter. “I know. I’m just saying she doesn’t have to turn everything into a contest.”
You look at her properly then. “This is the Apex table.”
“So?”
“So the entire school turned us into a contest before I sat down.”
Stephanie murmurs, “Fair point.”
Inha’s gaze flicks to her. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You rarely do,” you say.
Kai shifts in his seat. “Noona.”
“What?”
He lowers his voice. “Can you not?”
You look at him, and for half a second something in your face changes—small and almost private. Then it’s gone.
Beomgyu immediately reaches for the centrepiece. “Can we discuss why this flower arrangement looks fancier than my future?”
Daniel answers at once. “Because it is.”
Stephanie nods. “Definitely.”
Kai exhales through his nose, grateful. Soobin notices you watching your brother for another second before you look away.
Inha, unfortunately, is not done. “I’m only saying,” she continues, “some people know how to be excellent without making everyone else feel small.”
You sit back. “Are you talking about me?”
Inha widens her eyes. “Did it sound familiar?”
Soobin sets his glass down with a little too much force. Water jumps against the rim.
Inha turns to him at once. “I’m not wrong.”
“I didn’t ask you to be right.”
Her smile falters for the first time.
You look between them, then settle back into your chair. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m enjoying the teamwork.”
Soobin’s eyes cut to you. That’s the problem—Inha beside him makes it look like it’s two against one. Worse: it makes him look unable to stand across from you alone. “I don’t need teamwork,” he says.
You tilt your head. “Then tell her.”
Inha gives a small laugh, sharp at the edges. “Why are you acting like I’m the problem?”
You answer before Soobin can. “Because you sat down and made yourself one.”
Kai’s mouth parts. Daniel looks delighted despite himself.
Stephanie says, very quietly, “Burn.”
Inha straightens. “You think you can speak to everyone however you want just because you have better grades?”
You don’t blink. “And you think sitting next to Choi Soobin makes your opinion heavier.”
Soobin’s fingers curl under the tablecloth, out of sight. He wants to tell you to shut up. He wants to tell Inha to move. He wants this table to stop looking at him like he is the prize in a fight he didn’t enter.
The principal’s voice comes through the microphone before Inha can answer. “Good evening, distinguished guests—”
Every chair in the room seems to adjust at once. Conversations drop. Waiters stop moving. The ballroom becomes obedient.
Beomgyu leans back and mutters, “Saved by institutional theatre.”
Daniel whispers, “For now.”
The stage fills with adults who know how to congratulate themselves without sounding too pleased. Soobin tries to listen and fails.
Across the hall, his father is watching him. His mother sits beside him with her hands folded, expression smooth, eyes forward. His father does not bother pretending. The stare is direct enough to make the back of Soobin’s neck heat.
Soobin looks away first.
By the time the principal returns to the microphone, the knot in his throat has come back.
“And now,” the principal says, smiling towards the front tables, “we are honoured to hear from this year’s student representative. A student whose discipline, consistency, and excellence have set the standard for her cohort.”
Programs rustle and heads turn.
At the Apex table, Beomgyu stops smiling. Stephanie’s gaze moves, briefly, to Soobin. Kai sits up straighter.
You rise.
The applause starts at once.
Before you step away from the table, you look at Soobin. Then your gaze drops to the programme beside his plate. Representative Speech. When you look back at him, the applause has grown louder.
He understands the look perfectly.
You know.
You know what this is. You know what his father wanted. You know what it means that you are walking to that stage and he is sitting here clapping for you.
His hands come together because they have to. Once. Twice. The sound makes his stomach turn.
He stops.
On stage, you take your place at the podium. You adjust the microphone, glance once at the pages in your hand, and begin.
Your voice carries cleanly across the room. Soobin misses the first sentence. Then the second.
His father’s stare keeps touching the back of his neck between your words. Every pause gives it room. Every round of attentive silence makes it worse.
He reaches up and loosens his tie by half an inch. Nothing changes. The collar still cuts too close. The knot in his throat stays exactly where it is.
Beomgyu’s house makes wealth look bored.
That is the first thing Soobin thinks when he steps out of the car and sees the place lit from the inside, all glass and stone and quiet arrogance. The gates aren’t loud enough to announce importance. There is no ridiculous fountain in the drive. Nothing desperate. Just a long, severe house sitting above its own lawns, pretending it has never needed to impress anyone.
His father pauses beside him to button his jacket. “Stand straight.”
Soobin does.
His mother reaches over and fixes the edge of his collar with two fingers. “And don’t look like that.”
He doesn’t ask what like that means. He already knows—too tired, too angry, too much like himself.
Inside, Beomgyu’s mother greets them at the entrance with a smile that has probably survived worse men than Soobin’s father. Choi Yuna, Chairwoman of the Board of Hanul Global Academy, stands in a cream dress with pearls at her throat and power in the room before anyone announces her name. “Assemblyman Choi,” she says warmly, taking his father’s hand. “It’s been too long.”
“Chairwoman.” His father bows with the exact amount of respect required, not a degree more. “Congratulations on another successful gala.”
“Please,” she says, laughing softly. “The children do all the work. We simply clap and write cheques.”
Everyone smiles.
Soobin looks past her shoulder and sees the dining room already full.
All the right families. All the right faces. The Lees with their polite Americanised ease. Kim Inha’s parents, both expensive and clinical in the way people become when hospitals are a family business. Your parents near the far end of the room, your father mid-conversation with one of the trustees, your mother listening with a faint smile that gives nothing away.
And you.
You’re standing beside Kai, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve while he looks embarrassed enough to die from it. He says something under his breath. You don’t smile, but your hand lingers for half a second before dropping away.
Then you look up and see Soobin. Nothing changes on your face.
“Soobin-ah.” Beomgyu appears from nowhere and lands a hand on his shoulder.
“You made it,” Beomgyu says. “I was starting to think you’d escaped.”
“So was I.”
“Rude. I would’ve helped.”
“Soobin,” his mother says behind him.
Beomgyu’s grin flickers—not enough for the adults to notice, enough for Soobin to understand. “Come on,” Beomgyu says, squeezing his shoulder once. “Before my mother starts assigning us all futures again.”
They are not allowed to sit with the other students during dinner. That would be too merciful.
Instead, the table has been arranged so that each child sits close enough to their parents to be displayed, corrected, and quietly used as evidence. Soobin ends up between his mother and Beomgyu, with his father across from him and two seats down. You sit opposite, near your mother, Kai beside you looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The first course arrives before anyone says anything real. That is how dinners like this work. Food first. Threats after.
At the head of the table, Beomgyu’s mother lifts her glass. “To Hanul,” she says. “To our students. And to the families who continue to believe excellence is something worth cultivating.”
Glasses rise.
Soobin lifts his because everyone else does. The crystal catches the light. His own face distorts in the rim.
“Excellence,” your father says, smiling. “That word gets thrown around so much these days. It’s good to see Hanul still understands the difference between excellence and publicity.”
The trustee beside him laughs. “You would know. Your company has been everywhere lately.”
“Only where it matters.”
A few people chuckle.
Soobin’s father smiles too, but his hand tightens around the stem of his glass.
Your family doesn’t brag the way insecure people brag. Nobody at this table would be stupid enough to sound eager. Your father mentions expansions. Overseas partnerships. New logistics contracts.
He never says look how powerful we are. He doesn’t need to.
Soobin cuts into his food and feels his father’s mood darken across the table.
“You’re expanding into Europe?” Mr Lee asks.
Your father waves a hand. “Quietly.”
“Quietly,” Daniel mutters under his breath from farther down the table. Stephanie elbows him without looking.
Beomgyu hides a smile in his water glass.
Your mother turns to Soobin’s father. “And your campaign?”
His father sets his knife down. “Stable.”
“Stable is good,” your father says. “In politics, stability is underrated.”
The words are harmless—the tone isn’t.
Soobin stares at his plate.
He can already see how this evening ends. His father silent in the car. His mother looking out the window. The house waiting at the other end of it, clean and cold and full of things his father can say once there are no witnesses.
Across from him, Kai reaches for the salt. His sleeve brushes your glass and makes it wobble.
Your hand catches it before it spills.
Kai freezes. “Sorry.”
“Careful,” you say. Your tone isn’t sharp, nor loud.
Kai still lowers his hand like he’s been burned.
Soobin notices. Then he wishes he hadn’t—there is too much to notice in this room, too many small violences pretending to be manners.
Inha leans forward from her seat, smile bright. “The speech was beautiful, by the way.”
Your eyes move to her. “Thank you.”
“No, really,” Inha says, placing a hand lightly over her chest. “So composed. I would’ve been nervous with that many people watching.”
“You get used to it.”
Inha’s smile holds. “Must be nice.”
“It is.”
Beomgyu coughs into his napkin. Soobin keeps eating.
Your gaze flicks to him. “Did you enjoy it?”
His fork pauses.
His mother turns slightly towards him. His father’s eyes lift from across the table.
Soobin places the fork down carefully. “It was appropriate.”
Beomgyu makes a wounded sound. “Appropriate. Wow. Somebody embroider that on a pillow.”
His mother looks at him. “Beomgyu.”
“What? It’s praise. In Soobin language.”
A few people laugh, lightly enough to keep dinner intact. You look back down at your plate, the corner of your mouth moving just once. Soobin hates that too.
After dinner, the house divides itself the way houses like this always do.
The men disappear first, drawn towards a private room where the air will turn thick with cigar smoke and policy talk. They clap one another on the shoulder and discuss the country like it belongs to them because, in many ways, it does.
His father pauses before leaving. One hand lands at the back of Soobin’s chair.
Soobin’s spine goes rigid.
“Behave,” his father says.
“Yes, sir.”
The hand leaves.
The women gather near the sitting room with coffee, fruit, and expressions too pleasant to be trusted. The conversation shifts to university consultants, summer programmes, interview coaching, rumours about a professor taking private calls from certain families. One of them mentions a student who dropped six ranks after changing tutors. Another calls it unfortunate.
Nobody sounds sorry.
Beomgyu’s mother turns towards them and smiles. “Children, go entertain yourselves. The adults will be very boring for a while.”
Daniel rises first. “Finally. Honesty.” His mother gives him a look. He smiles. “Grateful honesty.”
Stephanie takes her glass and follows him. Inha stands quickly, glancing at Soobin before she smooths the front of her dress. Kai waits for you to move first. You don’t—you watch the adults for one extra second, then push your chair back.
The game room sits at the far end of the house, away from the formal rooms, which means it is where Beomgyu has hidden every sign of personality his mother hasn’t managed to remove.
There is a pool table under a low black lamp. A wall of records. A ridiculous arcade machine glowing blue in the corner. Shelves full of art books, most of them shoved between trophies Beomgyu definitely didn’t win willingly. There is a half-finished sketchbook on the sofa.
Beomgyu sees Soobin notice it and flips it shut on his way past. “Do not perceive me,” he says.
Daniel drops into an armchair. “Too late.”
Stephanie stands near the record player, scanning the spines. “Your house is depressing.”
“It has seven bathrooms.”
“That doesn’t contradict me.”
Beomgyu reaches for the pool cues mounted on the wall. “Soobin. Play me before I start climbing the curtains.”
Soobin takes the cue he offers. The polished wood feels good in his hand. Solid and simple—something with a purpose.
Inha drifts towards him. “You’re good at pool, right?”
“No,” Beomgyu says before Soobin can answer. “He’s annoying at pool. Different thing.”
Soobin chalks the tip of his cue. “You lose a lot for someone with opinions.”
“I lose with charm.”
“You lose loudly.”
“Again. Charm.”
Daniel leans back in his chair and looks between them. “September exams are going to be fun.”
The room shifts, not by much—just enough.
Stephanie pulls a record halfway from its sleeve. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”
“The one that matters,” Daniel says. “Everything before that is rehearsal.”
Beomgyu lines up the balls with unnecessary focus. “Can we not dirty the sacred pool table with academic trauma?”
“September decides university recommendations,” Stephanie says, sliding the record back. “Scholarship nominations. Counsellor interviews. Overseas tracks.”
Daniel lifts his drink. “The real divider.”
Soobin grips the cue.
Across the room, you have taken a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, watching the table. Kai stands near the arcade machine with both hands in his pockets, not playing, not speaking. Inha sits close to where Soobin is standing.
You look at Soobin. “Congratulations.” The word is light enough to float.
He knows better.
Beomgyu closes his eyes. “Please don’t.”
“That’ll mark three years of being second place. Consistency is a talent.”
The cue shifts in Soobin’s hand.
The Lees make identical little sounds, quiet and delighted. Beomgyu opens his eyes with exhaustion.
Soobin looks at you over the table. “At least I’m consistent,” he says. “I’d hate to peak early.”
Your mouth curves. “That implies you’re peaking at all.”
Inha laughs at once, too bright. “You’re actually insane.” She says it to you, but she angles her body towards Soobin when she does. Allegiance arranged neatly in the space between them.
Soobin bends over the table. He breaks. The cue ball cracks into the triangle. The sound cuts clean through the room. Balls scatter across the felt, fast and violent, colour splitting in every direction.
For half a second, it feels good. Power, or something close enough to lie about.
Beomgyu whistles. “Okay. He’s choosing violence.”
One ball drops into a corner pocket. Soobin straightens.
You watch the table, not him. Somehow that is worse—like he is not even the spectacle, like his anger is part of the game furniture.
He moves around the felt and lines up the next shot. Easy angle, should be nothing. The cue strikes. The ball clips the edge of the pocket and rolls away.
A miss by a fraction.
His teeth come together.
You tilt your head. “You should try aiming where it matters.”
Soobin looks at you. “You talk like rankings are a moral achievement.”
You lift your brows. “No. I talk like rankings are facts.”
He smiles. It feels wrong on his face. “Facts can be managed.”
“Then manage yours.” You say it while reaching for a cue from the wall, your fingers close around it without urgency—winning always seems to sit beside you waiting to be picked up.
Heat crawls up the back of his neck. He tells himself it is the lamp above the table. The wine at dinner. The room. Anything other than you.
Beomgyu steps between you enough to pretend he isn’t stepping between you. “Right. New rule. Every time one of you says rankings, I get to leave the country.”
Stephanie finally chooses a record and lets it spin without dropping the needle. “You’d be gone by sunrise.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
You chalk your cue with one smooth twist. “My turn?”
Soobin gestures at the table. “Go ahead.”
You stand, and Inha’s posture changes immediately.
You lean over the table. The room light catches on the side of your face, the line of your shoulder, the small concentration settling around your eyes.
The shot is narrow. Not impossible, but narrow enough that Beomgyu stops making jokes for once. You hit. The ball runs straight, kisses another, and drops into the side pocket, clean.
Daniel says, “Rude.”
Stephanie nods. “Very.”
Kai’s mouth lifts for half a second before he remembers not to show it.
You circle the table, cue resting lightly against your fingers. “September really is the one that matters, isn’t it?”
Daniel leans forward. “Yes.”
Beomgyu points his cue at the twins. “Do not encourage this. Any of this.”
You stop at the end of the table and look at Soobin. “Want to make it interesting?”
Soobin keeps his eyes on you. “What?”
“Let’s make a bet,” you say.
The arcade machine hums in the corner. The record waits silently on the turntable. Somewhere far down the hall, an adult laughs too loudly, then a door shuts and cuts the sound away.
You rest the cue against your shoulder. “For September.”
Soobin says nothing. He refuses to look eager and can feel himself failing.
You smile, polite and pretty and cruel enough to belong in this house. “If you rank first, I’ll leave Apex.”
The room stills. Even Daniel stops smiling for a second.
Apex is not a club—clubs are allowed to be pointless. Apex is the direct line to every door Hanul pretends hard work opens by itself.
You don’t offer it lightly—which means you know exactly what it costs.
Inha’s mouth parts. “You can’t just—”
You continue before she finishes. Your eyes flick to Kai, quick and sharp. “Then Apex can go back to being five, like it was always meant to be,” you say softly. “The world will remain fair.”
Kai looks down at his hands. It is too small, maybe, for anyone else to care about. His shoulders pull in. His fingers curl once against his palm. He looks younger than he did five seconds ago.
Daniel looks at you with open interest. “You’d actually step down?”
“If he makes it to first place, yeah.”
The if lands cleanly. Soobin feels it under his skin.
Inha stands from the edge of the sofa. “Soobin doesn’t need you to—”
“And if I don’t?” Soobin asks.
He doesn’t look at Inha—not even a glance. Her sentence dies in her throat.
You lean back against the pool table, cue angled against your shoulder. “Oh, I’m not going to ask you to step down from Apex.”
“How generous.”
“I wouldn’t want Mr Choi to have a heart attack and retire before his next campaign.” Sweet voice, dirty hit.
Soobin smiles because the alternative is worse.
You watch him hold it. Then you deliver the punishment. “If you don’t place first in September,” you say, “you’re going to stand up at assembly and say I deserved first place.” You let the words settle. “Say it clearly,” you add. “No jokes. No sarcasm. Like you mean it.”
There is a difference between humiliation and record. Humiliation passes through a room and becomes gossip. Record stays.
Assembly means microphones. First-years. Student council members. Teachers. Soobin at the podium, wearing the Council President badge they gave him because he looks good representing discipline, telling the whole school what his father has been hearing in every silence for three years.
You deserved first place.
Inha laughs once. “No. That’s ridiculous.”
Beomgyu rubs both hands over his face. “This is how people end up in documentaries.”
Stephanie has already pulled out her phone.
Beomgyu points at her. “Do not record this.”
“I’m not recording.”
“You’re literally holding your phone.”
“Soobin,” Inha says, stepping closer. “Don’t. You don’t have to entertain this.”
He finally looks at her. “I know.”
Her expression shifts. Embarrassment first. Then hurt. Then anger tucked quickly behind concern.
He turns back to you. Something inside him is already moving. Ugly, hungry, awake. Take this. Win this. Take one thing from you and make the room watch.
You are still looking at him like you have already pictured him losing and found the image acceptable.
Soobin’s mouth smiles, his eyes don’t. “Deal.”
Beomgyu drops his hands. “Brilliant. Fantastic. Nobody listens to me ever.”
Stephanie taps something on her phone. “Noted.”
Inha says his name, low and warning. He ignores it.
Kai stays quiet near the arcade machine. His gaze is on you now, searching your face for something Soobin can’t name. You look at your brother once, fast enough that anyone else could miss it.
Then you turn back to the table. You line up your shot. The cue moves. The ball drops. You sink another ball like nothing happened.
The car ride home has no sound except the indicator clicking. Left. Right. Left.
Soobin sits in the back with his hands folded in his lap and watches the city move across the window in strips of gold and black. His mother sits beside his father, spine straight, eyes fixed ahead. His father has not spoken since they left Beomgyu’s house.
This is worse than shouting.
Shouting has shape—a beginning and an end. Silence fills the car and presses into every corner until Soobin can feel it against the backs of his teeth.
Soobin keeps his eyes on the road.
The driver turns into their neighbourhood. The houses grow larger, quieter, more severe. Each one set back from the street behind gates and trimmed trees, every window lit with private money.
His father finally moves. His hand settles over the folded gala programme on his knee.
Soobin’s throat tightens.
His mother exhales softly through her nose. “Not in the car.”
His father does not look at her.
The indicator clicks again. Left. Right. Left.
The driver pulls through the gates. The tyres whisper over the stone drive. The house waits ahead, lit and immaculate, every window glowing with the calm of a place that has never had to apologise for what happens inside it.
The car stops. No one gets out for a second. Then his father opens the door.
Soobin follows.
The night air hits his face cold enough to wake something in him, but not enough to save him. He closes the car door carefully. The sound is soft, expensive, obedient.
His mother steps onto the drive and adjusts her coat. His father walks past her. “Go upstairs.”
She looks at him then, just once. Soobin catches it—the pause, the calculation. Then she turns towards the entrance. “Yes,” she says quietly.
The front door opens before they reach it. Staff bow. His father hands off his coat without looking at anyone. Soobin removes his shoes, places them neatly beside the others, and follows because he has been following all his life.
The hallway is too bright. Marble underfoot. Paintings on the walls. Flowers in a vase taller than a child. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock chimes once.
His father stops outside the study. For half a second, Soobin thinks that is where they are going. Then his father turns left.
His stomach drops.
His father reaches the narrow door at the end of the corridor and presses his thumb to the scanner. A small light flashes green. The lock releases with a click that makes Soobin’s hands go cold.
“Inside.”
Soobin steps in.
The room has no windows.
It is not large—it doesn’t need to be. A desk sits in the centre under a hard white lamp. One chair. One clock mounted on the wall. Shelves along one side, lined with textbooks, exam papers, binders labelled by subject and year. The walls are padded behind pale wood panels, soundproofed with the same care another father might put into a music room.
His father calls it education. When Soobin was younger, he tried to call it punishment once.
The door shuts behind them. The house disappears—no hallway, no staff, no mother pretending she cannot hear what the room was built to swallow.
His father removes his watch and sets it on the edge of the desk. Then his cufflinks. Each movement is measured.
Soobin stands beside the chair.
His father opens a drawer and takes out a single sheet of paper. He places it on the desk, perfectly centred, then lays a pen beside it. “Sit.”
Soobin sits.
The chair is a little too low. It always has been. The desk edge cuts across the wrong part of his ribs. He places his hands on either side of the paper and looks down.
A maths problem.
Not difficult enough to be impossible, not easy enough to forgive failure. The kind of question designed to prove whether his mind can still function while fear climbs up his spine.
His father walks behind him. The soles of his shoes move over the floor with soft, deliberate steps. “You had time to have fun tonight.”
Soobin looks at the page. Numbers. Variables. A diagram in the corner. He reads the first line and loses it before reaching the second.
His father stops behind his right shoulder. “You had time to play around.”
The pen feels slick between his fingers.
“Ten minutes.”
The clock on the wall begins. Tick. Soobin stares at the question. Tick.
The first step should be obvious. He knows that somewhere in his head, the answer exists. He has solved problems like this before—harder ones, longer ones, whole mock papers under worse conditions. His tutor would say identify the structure. His teacher would say isolate the unknown. His father would say win.
Tick.
He writes the first equation. It looks wrong.
His father starts pacing again. “Your grandfather built his name from nothing,” he says, moving behind the chair. “I protected it. Expanded it. Made it useful.”
Tick.
Soobin crosses out the line.
His father’s steps slow at the left side of the desk. “Do you understand what a family name is?”
Soobin’s mouth is dry. “Yes, sir.” The answer comes too quietly.
His father continues walking. “No. You understand comfort. You understand the house. The cars. The money. You understand receiving.”
Tick.
Soobin writes another line. The pen scratches too loudly.
“You do not understand carrying.”
The numbers blur for a second. He blinks hard until they sharpen.
Tick.
His father reaches the front of the desk and looks down at the paper. Soobin stops breathing without meaning to.
“That is already wrong.”
His hand freezes.
His father leans down, one palm against the desk, close enough that Soobin can smell cigar smoke threaded through his cologne. “Again.”
Soobin crosses it out. The page is starting to look dirty. He starts from the beginning.
Tick.
The diagram. The equation. The condition in the final sentence. There is something in the wording—there has to be. He reads it once. Twice. The words slide away from him and leave nothing useful behind.
His father straightens. “Three years,” he says. “Three years at Hanul, and you still let that girl stand above you.”
The pen tip digs into the paper.
“Today she stood at the podium while you clapped.”
Soobin’s jaw locks. The room tilts slightly, enough for his body to notice.
Tick.
His father’s hand comes down on the desk—a flat crack of palm against wood.
Soobin flinches anyway. The pen slips from his fingers and rolls towards the edge. He catches it before it falls.
His father watches that too. “Five minutes.”
The clock keeps ticking. Soobin tries to force the answer open.
He writes too fast. The second line doesn’t follow from the first. He knows it the moment it lands on paper, but panic makes him continue anyway. If he stops, there will be nothing. If there is nothing, there is no defence. If there is no defence—
Tick.
His father moves behind him again. “Discipline is not talent,” he says. “Discipline is what remains when talent humiliates you.”
Soobin’s hand starts to shake. He presses the side of his palm to the page, hoping the desk will hold it still. Ink smears under his skin.
“Do you think winners are allowed fear?”
Soobin does not answer.
“Do you think men who lead families are allowed embarrassment?” His father’s steps stop right behind him. “Soobin.”
His name in that voice hollows him out.
He looks at the page and sees nothing. Not the problem or the lines he has written, just black ink, crossed out and repeated, evidence piling up against him.
“Answer me.”
“No, sir.”
“No what?”
His chest feels too small. “No, sir. They’re not.”
His father resumes pacing. “Correct. And yet here you are.”
Tick.
Two minutes. The clock becomes the whole room.
Tick.
He tries to remember the formula. One part of his mind reaches for it. Another keeps seeing the podium—your hand on the microphone, the programme beside his plate, his father’s stare from across the hall.
He grips the pen so hard the plastic bends.
Tick.
One minute.
His breathing turns shallow. He writes something—anything. A rearranged version of the first equation. A line that looks almost respectable until he reaches the end and sees that it cannot work.
His father sees it too. Soobin can feel him seeing it.
Tick.
Thirty seconds. His pulse beats in his throat.
Tick.
Ten. Nine. Eight. His hand moves uselessly over the page.
Seven. There has to be a step.
Six. There is always a step.
Five. Find it.
Four. Find it.
Three. Two.
Tick. The clock cuts off with a sharp electronic beep.
Soobin still has no answer. The silence after is worse than the ticking.
His father walks to the desk and picks up the paper. He reads it. The page lowers.
Soobin keeps his eyes on the desk.
His father’s voice is quiet. “Stand up.”
Soobin stands. The chair legs scrape against the floor, too loud in the sealed room.
His father folds the paper once and sets it beside the watch. “You cannot solve a single problem under pressure.”
Soobin’s hands curl at his sides.
“You cannot defend your rank.” His father reaches for his belt. “You cannot protect the family name.” The leather slides through the loops with a soft, clean sound.
Soobin’s whole body goes cold. His father wraps the belt once around his hand, the buckle hanging loose. Metal catches under the white light.
Then his father steps closer.
Soobin’s voice tears out of him before the belt can rise. “I’ll place first.” The words hit the room too fast.
His father pauses.
Soobin breathes once, ragged. “I’ll rank first in September. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. Extra tutors, mock papers, no sleep, no phone, anything. I won’t embarrass you again.”
His father watches him.
Soobin hates how much of himself is in the sentence—the pleading, bare and ugly. He forces himself to keep going anyway. “I’ll beat her.”
The belt hangs from his father’s hand. The clock on the wall shows ten minutes and zero seconds. His father steps closer until Soobin has to lift his chin to keep looking at him.
“You will not say that word unless you intend to make it true.”
“I do.”
His father studies his face, searching for weakness, or maybe enjoying the sight of fear in it. Then he lowers the belt. “You have made vows before.”
Soobin’s throat works. “This one is different.”
His father’s mouth moves, almost a smile. There is no warmth in it. “It had better be.”
He turns and threads the belt back through the loops with the same careful patience he used to remove it. The buckle clicks into place.
The sound makes Soobin’s knees feel unsteady.
His father picks up his watch and fastens it around his wrist. “From tomorrow, your schedule changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No unnecessary outings.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No distractions.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father’s eyes sharpen. “No excuses.”
Soobin swallows. “Yes, sir.”
The paper is still on the desk, marked with his failed working. His father taps it once with two fingers. “Keep it.”
Soobin looks at it.
“Look at it when you forget what happens to boys who mistake arrogance for ability.” His father walks to the door. The lock releases. Light from the corridor cuts into the room. He stops without turning around. “September will decide whether you are my son or my apology.”
Then he leaves. The door closes softly behind him.
For a while, Soobin does not move. The room settles around him. Desk. Chair. Paper. Clock.
His breath comes out once, uneven and quiet. He looks at the failed answer, at the crossed-out lines, at the smear of ink beneath his palm. Then his gaze lifts to the clock mounted on the wall.
Ten minutes. Zero seconds.
Soobin looks at the clock and he wants to do nothing but smash it against the floor.
A week later, Choi Soobin waits behind the school with a cigarette between his fingers and blood in his mouth.
Not actual blood. Just the metallic taste that comes when he’s angry enough to bite the inside of his cheek raw and keep biting.
Hanul High looks different from back here. From the front, it’s all polished stone and manicured trees and old money pretending not to brag. From the back, near the bins and the delivery gate and the patch of concrete where the delinquents linger between classes, it looks like what it is—a machine. One that chews through students, spits out rankings, then acts surprised when some of them come out with teeth.
Soobin takes a drag and stares at nothing.
Last week, he stood in Beomgyu’s game room with a pool cue in his hand and watched you smile like you’d already decided the outcome of his life. The room had been neon and laughter and expensive boredom. The kind of room built for rich kids who are allowed to fail decoratively. Not him. Never him.
If you don’t place first in September, you’d said, all polished cruelty and steady eyes, you’re going to stand up at assembly and say I deserved first place.
His jaw tightens just thinking about it.
He drops the cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, then hears footsteps approaching from the side of the building. Unhurried—no attempt to hide them.
“You wanted to see me?”
Choi Yeonjun steps into view with his tie loose, blazer slung over one shoulder, shirt half untucked like uniforms are more of a suggestion where he’s concerned. His hair is bleached pale enough to look almost obscene in the afternoon light. Around him, Hanul’s strict little world always seems a bit offended.
He glances at the dead cigarette by Soobin’s shoe and then at Soobin himself. There’s the beginning of a smirk there already—like he’s walked in halfway through a joke and intends to enjoy the rest.
Soobin folds his arms. “Rumours say you’re a bit of a heartbreaker. And that you’d do anything for cash.”
One of Yeonjun’s brows lifts. He doesn’t answer immediately. He lets the silence stretch just enough to make the sentence sound stupid. Soobin can already tell what he’s thinking.
Choi Soobin. Student council president. Apex Seminar. The kind of family that gets doors opened before he reaches the handle. Standing behind the school by the bins, asking for Choi Yeonjun like this.
What a joke.
“Rumours say a lot of things.” Yeonjun’s gaze drops briefly to the cigarette. “Like Choi Soobin wouldn’t be caught dead behind the bins smoking, but here you are.”
Soobin says nothing.
Yeonjun tilts his head. “You have a job for me?”
“Yeah.”
Yeonjun waits. He doesn’t fill silences the way rich kids do when they’re nervous. He just stands there, relaxed, like time bends around him instead of the other way round.
Soobin hates that immediately.
He hates a lot of things these days.
You. Your face. Your stupid, immaculate composure. The way teachers soften when they say your name. The way you never seem rushed, even when everyone around you is choking on pressure. The way you’ve been first for so long the whole school speaks about it like weather—reliable and annoying, but inevitable.
He hates that even now, after all these years, you can still make him feel fourteen and furious and half a step behind.
He looks at Yeonjun and says, “I need you to distract someone.”
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a/n: hello hello hello my loves!! its been a hot minute hehehe i missed you all soooo much. how have you all been? also what do we all think of this? i think you guys can all see the kdrama inspo, specifically sky castle!! i cant promise when part two will be up but as always your comments, reblogs and asks fuel my fingers!!
review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here
taglist: request in the series masterlist or here only
synopsis: since childhood, you’ve beaten choi soobin at everything. karate? you got your black belt first. piano? you took home the trophy. grades? you’ve been ranked #1 for years—and soobin is sick of coming in second. desperate to finally win at something, he hires choi yeonjun—resident heart-breaker with a reputation as dark as his eyeliner—to make you fall for him and derail your perfect focus. three months. one mission: distract you, dethrone you, defeat you. but the moment soobin sees your smile falter for yeonjun, something inside him shifts. winning suddenly feels… wrong. and losing you feels worse than losing any competition he’s ever trained for.
high achiever, don't you see? baby nothing comes for free
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| are you satisfied? — marina
✎ pairing: chaebol student!choi soobin x chaebol student!reader x scholarship swimmer!choi yeonjun
✎ genre/warning: high school au, academic rivalry, hired to seduce trope, love triangle, rich girl x scholarship boy, slow burn, jealousy, elite friend group/drama, family pressure, rivals to lovers, love triangle, psychological romance, angst, coming of age, toxic family dynamics, parental emotional/mental and physical abuse, academic pressure, classism, misogyny/sexism, bullying/social exclusion, smoking, underage drinking, explicit language, toxic relationships
✎ word count: 9.2k
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the art of second place
Choi Soobin’s body braces before his mind does.
His father folds the newspaper. The sound is small. Paper against paper. A clean, tidy noise in a clean, tidy room. Still, something in his chest locks around it.
He’s only just walked into the dining room.
Morning light spills across the table and turns everything bright and expensive. White linen. Silver cutlery. Crystal glasses. Coffee already poured. Fruit cut into exact shapes. Eggs steaming on his plate. The whole thing laid out with the kind of care people mistake for love.
His father sits at the head of the table in shirtsleeves and silence. His mother butters toast with her usual calm precision, gold bracelet slipping down her wrist each time she moves the knife.
Soobin pulls out his chair.
The paper is set down beside the cup. Then his father clears his throat. “Your rankings.” That’s it. No good morning.
Soobin sits.
His father doesn’t raise his voice. He never needs to. “Would you like to explain why I keep hearing that girl’s name before I hear yours?” He doesn’t say your name.
He never does. Not here. In this house you become that girl, and somehow that makes it worse—more dismissive, more deliberate.
Soobin reaches for his water glass because his hands need somewhere to go. He doesn’t drink.
“You were second again,” his father says.
Soobin looks down at the plate in front of him. He was hungry before he walked into the room. That version of him is gone now.
Across the table, his mother says, “Eat before it gets cold.”
He picks up the fork.
His father keeps going. “Tell me what exactly I am meant to say when people ask about my son.”
The fork presses too hard into the eggs. Yolk slips out across the plate.
His mother glances up at him. “Well?”
Soobin swallows once. His throat is already tightening. “I don’t know, sir.”
His father lets the silence sit for a moment. “No. You don’t.”
That metallic taste is back. Soobin presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and finds the spot he worried open yesterday.
His father lifts his coffee. “Every tutor. Every resource. Every opportunity. You are handed more than most people see in a lifetime, and still you allow yourself to be outdone.”
Soobin keeps his eyes on the plate.
“Look at me,” his father says.
He does.
His father’s face is unreadable in the way that makes it worse—no anger, no temper. Just disappointment sharpened into routine. “Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
There is no answer to that question that does not end badly. Soobin knows it. He has known it for years. If he says no, it will sound defensive. If he says sorry, it will sound weak. If he explains, it will sound like excuses.
So he says nothing.
His mother sets her knife down. “Answer your father.”
He turns to her without meaning to—some reflex still left over from childhood. Some old, stupid habit of expecting help from the wrong place.
She raises one brow. “What? He’s right. Work harder.”
The fork goes still in his hand. Work harder. He can feel his pulse in his gums now. In his jaw. In the place behind his ribs where everything has felt too tight for months. He looks back at the plate and counts.
One. Two. Three.
His father mistakes silence for defiance. Or maybe he doesn’t mistake it at all. “Do you think discipline is optional?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
“Do you think results are optional?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why do I keep seeing the same outcome?”
The fork scrapes lightly against porcelain and the sound nearly does him in. In his head, he stands up so fast the chair kicks back into the wall.
In his head, both hands go under the edge of the table and lift. Plates crack against marble. Coffee floods the linen. Crystal shatters. His mother jerks back. His father finally loses that cold expression and becomes something human enough to hit. In his head, Soobin reaches for whatever is closest—the fruit bowl, the coffee pot, his father’s watch where it lies beside the folded newspaper—and smashes it all until the room stops pretending.
He wants noise. He wants a mess big enough that no one can call him dramatic for breathing wrong. He wants to break the thing measuring him.
The chair stays where it is. The table doesn’t move.
He is still eighteen and sitting at breakfast with his fork in his hand and his back straight because slouching would get noticed before the panic would.
His mother picks up her coffee. “You’ve been distracted.”
“I haven’t,” he says quietly. It slips out before he can stop it.
The room goes still.
His father tilts his head. “No?”
Soobin lowers his eyes again. “No, sir.”
His father studies him for a moment too long. “Then perhaps you simply do not have it.”
Soobin grips the fork harder.
His father watches his hand. “If pressure unsettles you this easily, say so now.”
The fork slips against the plate, and his pulse jumps.
His father holds his gaze for a beat. Then he leans back. “I’m talking about winning.”
Winning drags years behind it. Coaches. Tutors. Report cards. Timers. Raised a winner. Raised properly. Raised not to flinch.
The metallic taste gets thicker. Soobin bites down harder, his fingers twitch once in his lap.
His mother says, “Eat.”
He can’t. He picks up the fork again anyway and cuts into the eggs a second time. Takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. His throat fights him the whole way down.
His father watches until he does. Then, calm as ever, “Do better.”
That’s all. No slammed fist. No shouting fit. Nothing a stranger could point to and call cruel. Just those two words, laid down between the coffee and the silver like they are part of the place setting and not a life sentence.
His mother resumes her breakfast. His father reaches for the newspaper. Conversation over.
Soobin sits there with food turning to paste in his mouth and blood at the back of his tongue.
The car ride doesn’t get any better. His father just changes the angle of attack. The breakfast plates are gone. The hotel is getting closer. None of it helps.
His father has the gala programme open across one knee—thick cream card with a gold crest at the top. He smooths it flat with two fingers and says, “Read it.”
Soobin doesn’t take it. “I know what it says, sir.”
“Then you know what tonight is.”
His mother checks her lipstick in the dark window and clicks the compact shut. “Must we start again?”
His father doesn’t look at her. “He clearly needs repetition.”
The car glides through traffic. Soobin keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and tries not to look at the programme, which only makes his father angle it more obviously into view.
Welcome remarks. Dinner service. Foundation address. Representative Speech. Your name.
His father says, “People will remember that.”
Soobin’s jaw shifts once. He says nothing.
His father folds the card in half. “They will remember that a Choi boy sat in the audience while somebody else represented the school.”
His mother says, “That’s enough.”
“No,” his father says. “It plainly isn’t.”
Soobin keeps both hands flat on his thighs. One of them twitches anyway.
“That should have been your slot.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That should have been our name.”
The driver slows as the hotel comes into view.
The hotel comes into view behind the windshield—glass frontage, valets in black, a slow-moving row of cars letting out polished families in silk, cufflinks, and practiced smiles. Near the doors, the school crest gleams in gold across a standing board.
HANUL FOUNDATION GALA
The driver pulls under the portico and the car goes quiet for one brief second. Relief gets there first. Then dread.
Relief, because the car has stopped. Dread, because outside the car is the gala, and the gala means you.
His father closes the programme and slips it into his jacket. “Don’t embarrass me further.”
His mother touches his sleeve. “Let’s just get through the evening.”
The driver is already out opening the door. His father steps out first. His mother follows, her hand wrapping around his arm before her heels have fully found the ground. They are backlit by the hotel entrance, already becoming presentable.
They walk off together.
They leave him in the back seat for half a second longer than necessary.
Soobin gets out after them and shuts the door more carefully than he wants to. The collar of his shirt feels wrong—too close, too stiff. He hooks a finger under it once, then drops his hand before anyone sees.
Inside, the gala looks exactly how Hanul likes to imagine itself.
Crystal chandeliers. Cream flowers. White tablecloths. Waiters moving through the room with champagne trays held level at shoulder height. Somewhere off to the left, a quartet is playing something expensive. The whole place smells of lilies, cologne, and money trying to look graceful.
Adults drift from one cluster to another in formalwear and good manners, smiling at people they hate and shaking hands with people they need. Parents speak in lowered voices about universities, foundations, donation tiers, internships, ministers, markets. Students hover half a step behind, summoned when needed, forgotten when not.
This is the real curriculum—not exams, not attendance, not the ranking board in the corridor. This. The room full of people who decide what matters before anyone younger is even asked.
A large screen near the ballroom doors cycles through donor tiers beneath the foundation crest. Legacy Circle. Diamond Patrons. Platinum Benefactors. Surnames Soobin knows. Families who fund buildings, endow scholarships, call the headmaster by his first name. The school is thanking people who already own it.
A staff member offers him champagne. He takes a glass because refusing would invite questions. He doesn’t drink it. He can feel the taste of metal creeping back onto his tongue. He presses his molars together and lets it sit there.
Then he sees you.
The room doesn’t quiet. It just stops mattering.
You’re standing near one of the trustees, smiling politely at something he’s saying. You don’t laugh too hard, or lean in too much—just enough. You are dressed impeccably. Of course you are. You’ve always been good at screaming elegance without raising your voice. You look composed—finished, like the room was designed with you already in mind.
Soobin becomes aware of himself in stages. The collar at his throat. The set of his shoulders. The way his hand is closing too hard around the stem of the glass.
He loosens his grip before it snaps.
He hates this. The way seeing you turns his own body into a problem he suddenly has to manage. The way he can feel every inch of himself become stiff and overaware, like somebody might look at him and immediately know he’s trying.
He hates that you make him notice it.
His history with you is old enough to have gone numb by now. It hasn’t.
He can’t remember a time before you. Not really. You’ve always been somewhere in the frame. Same circles. Same teachers. Same polished adults saying both your names in the same breath and pretending it counted as fairness.
Karate first.
Same dojo. Same mats. Same afternoons bowing until his back ached. You got your black belt first. He remembers the congratulations. He remembers the applause. He remembers his father’s face most of all.
Piano after that.
Same competitions. Same judges. Same freezing recital halls. You took the trophy home. He stood beside you with second place and managed not to look sick in the photos.
Then Hanul.
Three years of ranking boards and report sheets and staff pretending academic pressure builds character. Three years of your name above his.
That’s the part that gets under his skin. Not that you win—that you never look like you’re clawing for it. He is all effort. You are just there, ahead.
His jaw goes tight. He bites the inside of his cheek until it stings, hard enough for the taste of blood to come back sharp and familiar.
Second.
The word has lodged itself in him somewhere ugly. It doesn’t wash out.
An arm hooks around his neck and yanks him half a step sideways. “Yo, bro.”
Choi Beomgyu. He’s grinning, his voice loud enough to count as inappropriate in a room like this. His tie is slightly off, his hair too deliberately careless, and he smells of expensive cologne and poor sleep.
“Thank God,” he says. “Thought I was going to die of donor small talk.”
Soobin’s first instinct is to shrug him off. His second is gratitude. The second one wins. “Let go.”
“No.” Beomgyu tightens his arm once, purely out of spite. “You’re coming with me. Another five minutes and I was going to fake a medical emergency.”
“So dramatic.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Beomgyu follows his line of sight and spots you immediately. His grin sharpens. “Ah.”
Soobin shifts, trying to get free without making it look like he’s getting free. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet I’m saving your life.”
Beomgyu starts steering him through the room. Soobin resists on instinct, shoes dragging over the carpet for half a step before he stops—resisting looks worse. There are too many eyes. Teachers, parents, board members, other students pretending not to watch, staff who remember everything.
Optics at Hanul count for more than honesty ever does.
Beomgyu keeps tugging him forward, still talking. “My mother has introduced me to seven people I’ll be expected to remember for the rest of my life. One of them pinched my cheek.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It became a you problem the second I decided I wasn’t suffering alone.”
He’s pulling him toward the Apex table. The closer they get to it, the more obvious the room becomes about it.
Not loud—Hanul is rarely loud when envy will do. It travels in lowered voices, in glances that linger a beat too long, in the quick little silences that follow whenever one of them passes. The other students know exactly what that table means.
Best grades. Best surnames. Best futures, already gift-wrapped. Their family names arrive before they do. That’s half the point.
The table sits near the front of the ballroom—too close to the principal, too close to the donors, close enough that every sweep of a camera catches the right faces.
Apex is a crown the school insists is earned.
The twins are already there. Daniel slouched just enough to look disrespectful without anyone actually being able to accuse him of it. Stephanie upright, immaculate, one hand around a champagne flute, gaze moving over the room.
Beomgyu drops into his chair and gestures grandly at the empty seat beside him. “Your throne.”
Soobin sits and barely has time to exhale.
You approach the table and the entire room seems to tilt around you, or maybe that’s just his body deciding to act up again.
Kai is with you, half a step behind and trying very hard not to look like a first-year standing at the table meant for people the school already considers profitable. He has your mouth and none of your control. His tie is perfect, his expression isn’t.
You stop at your chair, glance at Soobin once, and take your seat.
One glance does enough damage. The usual look from you that says you’ve assessed him, found him disappointing, and moved on before he’s even had time to resent it properly.
He hates how fast his skin notices. The collar. The cuffs. The way his shoulders seem too square all of a sudden, as if posture can become self-conscious.
Kai pulls his chair out beside you. “Noona, shall I—”
“No,” you say, without even looking at him. “Sit.”
Kai sits.
Beomgyu, sensing danger with the skill of long practice, smiles too brightly. “Beautiful. Everyone’s here. Let’s all behave like the nation is watching.”
Daniel lifts his glass. “It probably is.”
Soobin reaches for the water beside his plate.
“You found the table,” you say before he can drink. “I was starting to think the signs were too difficult.” Your tone is light enough for the adults nearby to ignore.
That’s the trick with you—you never sound cruel unless someone knows where to listen.
Soobin sets the glass down. “Did you miss me?”
“No,” you say. “I was wondering whether second place had started arriving late too.”
His fingers tighten around the glass before he remembers where he is.
Beomgyu sighs. “Please don’t. Some of us haven’t eaten enough to survive this.”
Soobin looks at you. “You rehearsed that?”
“Didn’t need to.”
“Right. Cruelty just comes naturally.”
You fold your napkin onto your lap. “Only when the material is easy.”
Kai mutters, “Noona.”
Before Soobin can answer, Kim Inha arrives.
She comes in late enough for people to notice and composed enough to pretend they shouldn’t. Hair perfect, dress perfect, smile already in place before she reaches the table. She does not look for her name card and slips into the empty chair beside Soobin—she has already decided that proximity is a statement.
“Sorry,” she says. “My mother kept introducing me to people I’m supposed to care about.”
Daniel says, “Devastating. Did you survive?”
“Barely.” Her smile stays on. Her eyes move from Soobin to you. “Did I miss something?”
Beomgyu lifts his glass. “Only the opening ceremony of whatever this is.”
You don’t look at Inha for long. “Nothing important.”
Inha’s smile tightens. “Still charming, I see.”
“Still arriving halfway through conversations, I see.”
Beomgyu leans towards Soobin. “I hate it when everyone’s insults turn into a talent showcase.”
Inha ignores him. She turns slightly towards Soobin, her shoulder almost touching his. “You okay?”
Soobin’s fingers pause around his glass. “I’m fine,” he says.
Inha smiles brighter. “I know. I’m just saying she doesn’t have to turn everything into a contest.”
You look at her properly then. “This is the Apex table.”
“So?”
“So the entire school turned us into a contest before I sat down.”
Stephanie murmurs, “Fair point.”
Inha’s gaze flicks to her. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You rarely do,” you say.
Kai shifts in his seat. “Noona.”
“What?”
He lowers his voice. “Can you not?”
You look at him, and for half a second something in your face changes—small and almost private. Then it’s gone.
Beomgyu immediately reaches for the centrepiece. “Can we discuss why this flower arrangement looks fancier than my future?”
Daniel answers at once. “Because it is.”
Stephanie nods. “Definitely.”
Kai exhales through his nose, grateful. Soobin notices you watching your brother for another second before you look away.
Inha, unfortunately, is not done. “I’m only saying,” she continues, “some people know how to be excellent without making everyone else feel small.”
You sit back. “Are you talking about me?”
Inha widens her eyes. “Did it sound familiar?”
Soobin sets his glass down with a little too much force. Water jumps against the rim.
Inha turns to him at once. “I’m not wrong.”
“I didn’t ask you to be right.”
Her smile falters for the first time.
You look between them, then settle back into your chair. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m enjoying the teamwork.”
Soobin’s eyes cut to you. That’s the problem—Inha beside him makes it look like it’s two against one. Worse: it makes him look unable to stand across from you alone. “I don’t need teamwork,” he says.
You tilt your head. “Then tell her.”
Inha gives a small laugh, sharp at the edges. “Why are you acting like I’m the problem?”
You answer before Soobin can. “Because you sat down and made yourself one.”
Kai’s mouth parts. Daniel looks delighted despite himself.
Stephanie says, very quietly, “Burn.”
Inha straightens. “You think you can speak to everyone however you want just because you have better grades?”
You don’t blink. “And you think sitting next to Choi Soobin makes your opinion heavier.”
Soobin’s fingers curl under the tablecloth, out of sight. He wants to tell you to shut up. He wants to tell Inha to move. He wants this table to stop looking at him like he is the prize in a fight he didn’t enter.
The principal’s voice comes through the microphone before Inha can answer. “Good evening, distinguished guests—”
Every chair in the room seems to adjust at once. Conversations drop. Waiters stop moving. The ballroom becomes obedient.
Beomgyu leans back and mutters, “Saved by institutional theatre.”
Daniel whispers, “For now.”
The stage fills with adults who know how to congratulate themselves without sounding too pleased. Soobin tries to listen and fails.
Across the hall, his father is watching him. His mother sits beside him with her hands folded, expression smooth, eyes forward. His father does not bother pretending. The stare is direct enough to make the back of Soobin’s neck heat.
Soobin looks away first.
By the time the principal returns to the microphone, the knot in his throat has come back.
“And now,” the principal says, smiling towards the front tables, “we are honoured to hear from this year’s student representative. A student whose discipline, consistency, and excellence have set the standard for her cohort.”
Programs rustle and heads turn.
At the Apex table, Beomgyu stops smiling. Stephanie’s gaze moves, briefly, to Soobin. Kai sits up straighter.
You rise.
The applause starts at once.
Before you step away from the table, you look at Soobin. Then your gaze drops to the programme beside his plate. Representative Speech. When you look back at him, the applause has grown louder.
He understands the look perfectly.
You know.
You know what this is. You know what his father wanted. You know what it means that you are walking to that stage and he is sitting here clapping for you.
His hands come together because they have to. Once. Twice. The sound makes his stomach turn.
He stops.
On stage, you take your place at the podium. You adjust the microphone, glance once at the pages in your hand, and begin.
Your voice carries cleanly across the room. Soobin misses the first sentence. Then the second.
His father’s stare keeps touching the back of his neck between your words. Every pause gives it room. Every round of attentive silence makes it worse.
He reaches up and loosens his tie by half an inch. Nothing changes. The collar still cuts too close. The knot in his throat stays exactly where it is.
Beomgyu’s house makes wealth look bored.
That is the first thing Soobin thinks when he steps out of the car and sees the place lit from the inside, all glass and stone and quiet arrogance. The gates aren’t loud enough to announce importance. There is no ridiculous fountain in the drive. Nothing desperate. Just a long, severe house sitting above its own lawns, pretending it has never needed to impress anyone.
His father pauses beside him to button his jacket. “Stand straight.”
Soobin does.
His mother reaches over and fixes the edge of his collar with two fingers. “And don’t look like that.”
He doesn’t ask what like that means. He already knows—too tired, too angry, too much like himself.
Inside, Beomgyu’s mother greets them at the entrance with a smile that has probably survived worse men than Soobin’s father. Choi Yuna, Chairwoman of the Board of Hanul Global Academy, stands in a cream dress with pearls at her throat and power in the room before anyone announces her name. “Assemblyman Choi,” she says warmly, taking his father’s hand. “It’s been too long.”
“Chairwoman.” His father bows with the exact amount of respect required, not a degree more. “Congratulations on another successful gala.”
“Please,” she says, laughing softly. “The children do all the work. We simply clap and write cheques.”
Everyone smiles.
Soobin looks past her shoulder and sees the dining room already full.
All the right families. All the right faces. The Lees with their polite Americanised ease. Kim Inha’s parents, both expensive and clinical in the way people become when hospitals are a family business. Your parents near the far end of the room, your father mid-conversation with one of the trustees, your mother listening with a faint smile that gives nothing away.
And you.
You’re standing beside Kai, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve while he looks embarrassed enough to die from it. He says something under his breath. You don’t smile, but your hand lingers for half a second before dropping away.
Then you look up and see Soobin. Nothing changes on your face.
“Soobin-ah.” Beomgyu appears from nowhere and lands a hand on his shoulder.
“You made it,” Beomgyu says. “I was starting to think you’d escaped.”
“So was I.”
“Rude. I would’ve helped.”
“Soobin,” his mother says behind him.
Beomgyu’s grin flickers—not enough for the adults to notice, enough for Soobin to understand. “Come on,” Beomgyu says, squeezing his shoulder once. “Before my mother starts assigning us all futures again.”
They are not allowed to sit with the other students during dinner. That would be too merciful.
Instead, the table has been arranged so that each child sits close enough to their parents to be displayed, corrected, and quietly used as evidence. Soobin ends up between his mother and Beomgyu, with his father across from him and two seats down. You sit opposite, near your mother, Kai beside you looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
The first course arrives before anyone says anything real. That is how dinners like this work. Food first. Threats after.
At the head of the table, Beomgyu’s mother lifts her glass. “To Hanul,” she says. “To our students. And to the families who continue to believe excellence is something worth cultivating.”
Glasses rise.
Soobin lifts his because everyone else does. The crystal catches the light. His own face distorts in the rim.
“Excellence,” your father says, smiling. “That word gets thrown around so much these days. It’s good to see Hanul still understands the difference between excellence and publicity.”
The trustee beside him laughs. “You would know. Your company has been everywhere lately.”
“Only where it matters.”
A few people chuckle.
Soobin’s father smiles too, but his hand tightens around the stem of his glass.
Your family doesn’t brag the way insecure people brag. Nobody at this table would be stupid enough to sound eager. Your father mentions expansions. Overseas partnerships. New logistics contracts.
He never says look how powerful we are. He doesn’t need to.
Soobin cuts into his food and feels his father’s mood darken across the table.
“You’re expanding into Europe?” Mr Lee asks.
Your father waves a hand. “Quietly.”
“Quietly,” Daniel mutters under his breath from farther down the table. Stephanie elbows him without looking.
Beomgyu hides a smile in his water glass.
Your mother turns to Soobin’s father. “And your campaign?”
His father sets his knife down. “Stable.”
“Stable is good,” your father says. “In politics, stability is underrated.”
The words are harmless—the tone isn’t.
Soobin stares at his plate.
He can already see how this evening ends. His father silent in the car. His mother looking out the window. The house waiting at the other end of it, clean and cold and full of things his father can say once there are no witnesses.
Across from him, Kai reaches for the salt. His sleeve brushes your glass and makes it wobble.
Your hand catches it before it spills.
Kai freezes. “Sorry.”
“Careful,” you say. Your tone isn’t sharp, nor loud.
Kai still lowers his hand like he’s been burned.
Soobin notices. Then he wishes he hadn’t—there is too much to notice in this room, too many small violences pretending to be manners.
Inha leans forward from her seat, smile bright. “The speech was beautiful, by the way.”
Your eyes move to her. “Thank you.”
“No, really,” Inha says, placing a hand lightly over her chest. “So composed. I would’ve been nervous with that many people watching.”
“You get used to it.”
Inha’s smile holds. “Must be nice.”
“It is.”
Beomgyu coughs into his napkin. Soobin keeps eating.
Your gaze flicks to him. “Did you enjoy it?”
His fork pauses.
His mother turns slightly towards him. His father’s eyes lift from across the table.
Soobin places the fork down carefully. “It was appropriate.”
Beomgyu makes a wounded sound. “Appropriate. Wow. Somebody embroider that on a pillow.”
His mother looks at him. “Beomgyu.”
“What? It’s praise. In Soobin language.”
A few people laugh, lightly enough to keep dinner intact. You look back down at your plate, the corner of your mouth moving just once. Soobin hates that too.
After dinner, the house divides itself the way houses like this always do.
The men disappear first, drawn towards a private room where the air will turn thick with cigar smoke and policy talk. They clap one another on the shoulder and discuss the country like it belongs to them because, in many ways, it does.
His father pauses before leaving. One hand lands at the back of Soobin’s chair.
Soobin’s spine goes rigid.
“Behave,” his father says.
“Yes, sir.”
The hand leaves.
The women gather near the sitting room with coffee, fruit, and expressions too pleasant to be trusted. The conversation shifts to university consultants, summer programmes, interview coaching, rumours about a professor taking private calls from certain families. One of them mentions a student who dropped six ranks after changing tutors. Another calls it unfortunate.
Nobody sounds sorry.
Beomgyu’s mother turns towards them and smiles. “Children, go entertain yourselves. The adults will be very boring for a while.”
Daniel rises first. “Finally. Honesty.” His mother gives him a look. He smiles. “Grateful honesty.”
Stephanie takes her glass and follows him. Inha stands quickly, glancing at Soobin before she smooths the front of her dress. Kai waits for you to move first. You don’t—you watch the adults for one extra second, then push your chair back.
The game room sits at the far end of the house, away from the formal rooms, which means it is where Beomgyu has hidden every sign of personality his mother hasn’t managed to remove.
There is a pool table under a low black lamp. A wall of records. A ridiculous arcade machine glowing blue in the corner. Shelves full of art books, most of them shoved between trophies Beomgyu definitely didn’t win willingly. There is a half-finished sketchbook on the sofa.
Beomgyu sees Soobin notice it and flips it shut on his way past. “Do not perceive me,” he says.
Daniel drops into an armchair. “Too late.”
Stephanie stands near the record player, scanning the spines. “Your house is depressing.”
“It has seven bathrooms.”
“That doesn’t contradict me.”
Beomgyu reaches for the pool cues mounted on the wall. “Soobin. Play me before I start climbing the curtains.”
Soobin takes the cue he offers. The polished wood feels good in his hand. Solid and simple—something with a purpose.
Inha drifts towards him. “You’re good at pool, right?”
“No,” Beomgyu says before Soobin can answer. “He’s annoying at pool. Different thing.”
Soobin chalks the tip of his cue. “You lose a lot for someone with opinions.”
“I lose with charm.”
“You lose loudly.”
“Again. Charm.”
Daniel leans back in his chair and looks between them. “September exams are going to be fun.”
The room shifts, not by much—just enough.
Stephanie pulls a record halfway from its sleeve. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”
“The one that matters,” Daniel says. “Everything before that is rehearsal.”
Beomgyu lines up the balls with unnecessary focus. “Can we not dirty the sacred pool table with academic trauma?”
“September decides university recommendations,” Stephanie says, sliding the record back. “Scholarship nominations. Counsellor interviews. Overseas tracks.”
Daniel lifts his drink. “The real divider.”
Soobin grips the cue.
Across the room, you have taken a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, watching the table. Kai stands near the arcade machine with both hands in his pockets, not playing, not speaking. Inha sits close to where Soobin is standing.
You look at Soobin. “Congratulations.” The word is light enough to float.
He knows better.
Beomgyu closes his eyes. “Please don’t.”
“That’ll mark three years of being second place. Consistency is a talent.”
The cue shifts in Soobin’s hand.
The Lees make identical little sounds, quiet and delighted. Beomgyu opens his eyes with exhaustion.
Soobin looks at you over the table. “At least I’m consistent,” he says. “I’d hate to peak early.”
Your mouth curves. “That implies you’re peaking at all.”
Inha laughs at once, too bright. “You’re actually insane.” She says it to you, but she angles her body towards Soobin when she does. Allegiance arranged neatly in the space between them.
Soobin bends over the table. He breaks. The cue ball cracks into the triangle. The sound cuts clean through the room. Balls scatter across the felt, fast and violent, colour splitting in every direction.
For half a second, it feels good. Power, or something close enough to lie about.
Beomgyu whistles. “Okay. He’s choosing violence.”
One ball drops into a corner pocket. Soobin straightens.
You watch the table, not him. Somehow that is worse—like he is not even the spectacle, like his anger is part of the game furniture.
He moves around the felt and lines up the next shot. Easy angle, should be nothing. The cue strikes. The ball clips the edge of the pocket and rolls away.
A miss by a fraction.
His teeth come together.
You tilt your head. “You should try aiming where it matters.”
Soobin looks at you. “You talk like rankings are a moral achievement.”
You lift your brows. “No. I talk like rankings are facts.”
He smiles. It feels wrong on his face. “Facts can be managed.”
“Then manage yours.” You say it while reaching for a cue from the wall, your fingers close around it without urgency—winning always seems to sit beside you waiting to be picked up.
Heat crawls up the back of his neck. He tells himself it is the lamp above the table. The wine at dinner. The room. Anything other than you.
Beomgyu steps between you enough to pretend he isn’t stepping between you. “Right. New rule. Every time one of you says rankings, I get to leave the country.”
Stephanie finally chooses a record and lets it spin without dropping the needle. “You’d be gone by sunrise.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
You chalk your cue with one smooth twist. “My turn?”
Soobin gestures at the table. “Go ahead.”
You stand, and Inha’s posture changes immediately.
You lean over the table. The room light catches on the side of your face, the line of your shoulder, the small concentration settling around your eyes.
The shot is narrow. Not impossible, but narrow enough that Beomgyu stops making jokes for once. You hit. The ball runs straight, kisses another, and drops into the side pocket, clean.
Daniel says, “Rude.”
Stephanie nods. “Very.”
Kai’s mouth lifts for half a second before he remembers not to show it.
You circle the table, cue resting lightly against your fingers. “September really is the one that matters, isn’t it?”
Daniel leans forward. “Yes.”
Beomgyu points his cue at the twins. “Do not encourage this. Any of this.”
You stop at the end of the table and look at Soobin. “Want to make it interesting?”
Soobin keeps his eyes on you. “What?”
“Let’s make a bet,” you say.
The arcade machine hums in the corner. The record waits silently on the turntable. Somewhere far down the hall, an adult laughs too loudly, then a door shuts and cuts the sound away.
You rest the cue against your shoulder. “For September.”
Soobin says nothing. He refuses to look eager and can feel himself failing.
You smile, polite and pretty and cruel enough to belong in this house. “If you rank first, I’ll leave Apex.”
The room stills. Even Daniel stops smiling for a second.
Apex is not a club—clubs are allowed to be pointless. Apex is the direct line to every door Hanul pretends hard work opens by itself.
You don’t offer it lightly—which means you know exactly what it costs.
Inha’s mouth parts. “You can’t just—”
You continue before she finishes. Your eyes flick to Kai, quick and sharp. “Then Apex can go back to being five, like it was always meant to be,” you say softly. “The world will remain fair.”
Kai looks down at his hands. It is too small, maybe, for anyone else to care about. His shoulders pull in. His fingers curl once against his palm. He looks younger than he did five seconds ago.
Daniel looks at you with open interest. “You’d actually step down?”
“If he makes it to first place, yeah.”
The if lands cleanly. Soobin feels it under his skin.
Inha stands from the edge of the sofa. “Soobin doesn’t need you to—”
“And if I don’t?” Soobin asks.
He doesn’t look at Inha—not even a glance. Her sentence dies in her throat.
You lean back against the pool table, cue angled against your shoulder. “Oh, I’m not going to ask you to step down from Apex.”
“How generous.”
“I wouldn’t want Mr Choi to have a heart attack and retire before his next campaign.” Sweet voice, dirty hit.
Soobin smiles because the alternative is worse.
You watch him hold it. Then you deliver the punishment. “If you don’t place first in September,” you say, “you’re going to stand up at assembly and say I deserved first place.” You let the words settle. “Say it clearly,” you add. “No jokes. No sarcasm. Like you mean it.”
There is a difference between humiliation and record. Humiliation passes through a room and becomes gossip. Record stays.
Assembly means microphones. First-years. Student council members. Teachers. Soobin at the podium, wearing the Council President badge they gave him because he looks good representing discipline, telling the whole school what his father has been hearing in every silence for three years.
You deserved first place.
Inha laughs once. “No. That’s ridiculous.”
Beomgyu rubs both hands over his face. “This is how people end up in documentaries.”
Stephanie has already pulled out her phone.
Beomgyu points at her. “Do not record this.”
“I’m not recording.”
“You’re literally holding your phone.”
“Soobin,” Inha says, stepping closer. “Don’t. You don’t have to entertain this.”
He finally looks at her. “I know.”
Her expression shifts. Embarrassment first. Then hurt. Then anger tucked quickly behind concern.
He turns back to you. Something inside him is already moving. Ugly, hungry, awake. Take this. Win this. Take one thing from you and make the room watch.
You are still looking at him like you have already pictured him losing and found the image acceptable.
Soobin’s mouth smiles, his eyes don’t. “Deal.”
Beomgyu drops his hands. “Brilliant. Fantastic. Nobody listens to me ever.”
Stephanie taps something on her phone. “Noted.”
Inha says his name, low and warning. He ignores it.
Kai stays quiet near the arcade machine. His gaze is on you now, searching your face for something Soobin can’t name. You look at your brother once, fast enough that anyone else could miss it.
Then you turn back to the table. You line up your shot. The cue moves. The ball drops. You sink another ball like nothing happened.
The car ride home has no sound except the indicator clicking. Left. Right. Left.
Soobin sits in the back with his hands folded in his lap and watches the city move across the window in strips of gold and black. His mother sits beside his father, spine straight, eyes fixed ahead. His father has not spoken since they left Beomgyu’s house.
This is worse than shouting.
Shouting has shape—a beginning and an end. Silence fills the car and presses into every corner until Soobin can feel it against the backs of his teeth.
Soobin keeps his eyes on the road.
The driver turns into their neighbourhood. The houses grow larger, quieter, more severe. Each one set back from the street behind gates and trimmed trees, every window lit with private money.
His father finally moves. His hand settles over the folded gala programme on his knee.
Soobin’s throat tightens.
His mother exhales softly through her nose. “Not in the car.”
His father does not look at her.
The indicator clicks again. Left. Right. Left.
The driver pulls through the gates. The tyres whisper over the stone drive. The house waits ahead, lit and immaculate, every window glowing with the calm of a place that has never had to apologise for what happens inside it.
The car stops. No one gets out for a second. Then his father opens the door.
Soobin follows.
The night air hits his face cold enough to wake something in him, but not enough to save him. He closes the car door carefully. The sound is soft, expensive, obedient.
His mother steps onto the drive and adjusts her coat. His father walks past her. “Go upstairs.”
She looks at him then, just once. Soobin catches it—the pause, the calculation. Then she turns towards the entrance. “Yes,” she says quietly.
The front door opens before they reach it. Staff bow. His father hands off his coat without looking at anyone. Soobin removes his shoes, places them neatly beside the others, and follows because he has been following all his life.
The hallway is too bright. Marble underfoot. Paintings on the walls. Flowers in a vase taller than a child. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock chimes once.
His father stops outside the study. For half a second, Soobin thinks that is where they are going. Then his father turns left.
His stomach drops.
His father reaches the narrow door at the end of the corridor and presses his thumb to the scanner. A small light flashes green. The lock releases with a click that makes Soobin’s hands go cold.
“Inside.”
Soobin steps in.
The room has no windows.
It is not large—it doesn’t need to be. A desk sits in the centre under a hard white lamp. One chair. One clock mounted on the wall. Shelves along one side, lined with textbooks, exam papers, binders labelled by subject and year. The walls are padded behind pale wood panels, soundproofed with the same care another father might put into a music room.
His father calls it education. When Soobin was younger, he tried to call it punishment once.
The door shuts behind them. The house disappears—no hallway, no staff, no mother pretending she cannot hear what the room was built to swallow.
His father removes his watch and sets it on the edge of the desk. Then his cufflinks. Each movement is measured.
Soobin stands beside the chair.
His father opens a drawer and takes out a single sheet of paper. He places it on the desk, perfectly centred, then lays a pen beside it. “Sit.”
Soobin sits.
The chair is a little too low. It always has been. The desk edge cuts across the wrong part of his ribs. He places his hands on either side of the paper and looks down.
A maths problem.
Not difficult enough to be impossible, not easy enough to forgive failure. The kind of question designed to prove whether his mind can still function while fear climbs up his spine.
His father walks behind him. The soles of his shoes move over the floor with soft, deliberate steps. “You had time to have fun tonight.”
Soobin looks at the page. Numbers. Variables. A diagram in the corner. He reads the first line and loses it before reaching the second.
His father stops behind his right shoulder. “You had time to play around.”
The pen feels slick between his fingers.
“Ten minutes.”
The clock on the wall begins. Tick. Soobin stares at the question. Tick.
The first step should be obvious. He knows that somewhere in his head, the answer exists. He has solved problems like this before—harder ones, longer ones, whole mock papers under worse conditions. His tutor would say identify the structure. His teacher would say isolate the unknown. His father would say win.
Tick.
He writes the first equation. It looks wrong.
His father starts pacing again. “Your grandfather built his name from nothing,” he says, moving behind the chair. “I protected it. Expanded it. Made it useful.”
Tick.
Soobin crosses out the line.
His father’s steps slow at the left side of the desk. “Do you understand what a family name is?”
Soobin’s mouth is dry. “Yes, sir.” The answer comes too quietly.
His father continues walking. “No. You understand comfort. You understand the house. The cars. The money. You understand receiving.”
Tick.
Soobin writes another line. The pen scratches too loudly.
“You do not understand carrying.”
The numbers blur for a second. He blinks hard until they sharpen.
Tick.
His father reaches the front of the desk and looks down at the paper. Soobin stops breathing without meaning to.
“That is already wrong.”
His hand freezes.
His father leans down, one palm against the desk, close enough that Soobin can smell cigar smoke threaded through his cologne. “Again.”
Soobin crosses it out. The page is starting to look dirty. He starts from the beginning.
Tick.
The diagram. The equation. The condition in the final sentence. There is something in the wording—there has to be. He reads it once. Twice. The words slide away from him and leave nothing useful behind.
His father straightens. “Three years,” he says. “Three years at Hanul, and you still let that girl stand above you.”
The pen tip digs into the paper.
“Today she stood at the podium while you clapped.”
Soobin’s jaw locks. The room tilts slightly, enough for his body to notice.
Tick.
His father’s hand comes down on the desk—a flat crack of palm against wood.
Soobin flinches anyway. The pen slips from his fingers and rolls towards the edge. He catches it before it falls.
His father watches that too. “Five minutes.”
The clock keeps ticking. Soobin tries to force the answer open.
He writes too fast. The second line doesn’t follow from the first. He knows it the moment it lands on paper, but panic makes him continue anyway. If he stops, there will be nothing. If there is nothing, there is no defence. If there is no defence—
Tick.
His father moves behind him again. “Discipline is not talent,” he says. “Discipline is what remains when talent humiliates you.”
Soobin’s hand starts to shake. He presses the side of his palm to the page, hoping the desk will hold it still. Ink smears under his skin.
“Do you think winners are allowed fear?”
Soobin does not answer.
“Do you think men who lead families are allowed embarrassment?” His father’s steps stop right behind him. “Soobin.”
His name in that voice hollows him out.
He looks at the page and sees nothing. Not the problem or the lines he has written, just black ink, crossed out and repeated, evidence piling up against him.
“Answer me.”
“No, sir.”
“No what?”
His chest feels too small. “No, sir. They’re not.”
His father resumes pacing. “Correct. And yet here you are.”
Tick.
Two minutes. The clock becomes the whole room.
Tick.
He tries to remember the formula. One part of his mind reaches for it. Another keeps seeing the podium—your hand on the microphone, the programme beside his plate, his father’s stare from across the hall.
He grips the pen so hard the plastic bends.
Tick.
One minute.
His breathing turns shallow. He writes something—anything. A rearranged version of the first equation. A line that looks almost respectable until he reaches the end and sees that it cannot work.
His father sees it too. Soobin can feel him seeing it.
Tick.
Thirty seconds. His pulse beats in his throat.
Tick.
Ten. Nine. Eight. His hand moves uselessly over the page.
Seven. There has to be a step.
Six. There is always a step.
Five. Find it.
Four. Find it.
Three. Two.
Tick. The clock cuts off with a sharp electronic beep.
Soobin still has no answer. The silence after is worse than the ticking.
His father walks to the desk and picks up the paper. He reads it. The page lowers.
Soobin keeps his eyes on the desk.
His father’s voice is quiet. “Stand up.”
Soobin stands. The chair legs scrape against the floor, too loud in the sealed room.
His father folds the paper once and sets it beside the watch. “You cannot solve a single problem under pressure.”
Soobin’s hands curl at his sides.
“You cannot defend your rank.” His father reaches for his belt. “You cannot protect the family name.” The leather slides through the loops with a soft, clean sound.
Soobin’s whole body goes cold. His father wraps the belt once around his hand, the buckle hanging loose. Metal catches under the white light.
Then his father steps closer.
Soobin’s voice tears out of him before the belt can rise. “I’ll place first.” The words hit the room too fast.
His father pauses.
Soobin breathes once, ragged. “I’ll rank first in September. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. Extra tutors, mock papers, no sleep, no phone, anything. I won’t embarrass you again.”
His father watches him.
Soobin hates how much of himself is in the sentence—the pleading, bare and ugly. He forces himself to keep going anyway. “I’ll beat her.”
The belt hangs from his father’s hand. The clock on the wall shows ten minutes and zero seconds. His father steps closer until Soobin has to lift his chin to keep looking at him.
“You will not say that word unless you intend to make it true.”
“I do.”
His father studies his face, searching for weakness, or maybe enjoying the sight of fear in it. Then he lowers the belt. “You have made vows before.”
Soobin’s throat works. “This one is different.”
His father’s mouth moves, almost a smile. There is no warmth in it. “It had better be.”
He turns and threads the belt back through the loops with the same careful patience he used to remove it. The buckle clicks into place.
The sound makes Soobin’s knees feel unsteady.
His father picks up his watch and fastens it around his wrist. “From tomorrow, your schedule changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No unnecessary outings.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No distractions.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father’s eyes sharpen. “No excuses.”
Soobin swallows. “Yes, sir.”
The paper is still on the desk, marked with his failed working. His father taps it once with two fingers. “Keep it.”
Soobin looks at it.
“Look at it when you forget what happens to boys who mistake arrogance for ability.” His father walks to the door. The lock releases. Light from the corridor cuts into the room. He stops without turning around. “September will decide whether you are my son or my apology.”
Then he leaves. The door closes softly behind him.
For a while, Soobin does not move. The room settles around him. Desk. Chair. Paper. Clock.
His breath comes out once, uneven and quiet. He looks at the failed answer, at the crossed-out lines, at the smear of ink beneath his palm. Then his gaze lifts to the clock mounted on the wall.
Ten minutes. Zero seconds.
Soobin looks at the clock and he wants to do nothing but smash it against the floor.
A week later, Choi Soobin waits behind the school with a cigarette between his fingers and blood in his mouth.
Not actual blood. Just the metallic taste that comes when he’s angry enough to bite the inside of his cheek raw and keep biting.
Hanul High looks different from back here. From the front, it’s all polished stone and manicured trees and old money pretending not to brag. From the back, near the bins and the delivery gate and the patch of concrete where the delinquents linger between classes, it looks like what it is—a machine. One that chews through students, spits out rankings, then acts surprised when some of them come out with teeth.
Soobin takes a drag and stares at nothing.
Last week, he stood in Beomgyu’s game room with a pool cue in his hand and watched you smile like you’d already decided the outcome of his life. The room had been neon and laughter and expensive boredom. The kind of room built for rich kids who are allowed to fail decoratively. Not him. Never him.
If you don’t place first in September, you’d said, all polished cruelty and steady eyes, you’re going to stand up at assembly and say I deserved first place.
His jaw tightens just thinking about it.
He drops the cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, then hears footsteps approaching from the side of the building. Unhurried—no attempt to hide them.
“You wanted to see me?”
Choi Yeonjun steps into view with his tie loose, blazer slung over one shoulder, shirt half untucked like uniforms are more of a suggestion where he’s concerned. His hair is bleached pale enough to look almost obscene in the afternoon light. Around him, Hanul’s strict little world always seems a bit offended.
He glances at the dead cigarette by Soobin’s shoe and then at Soobin himself. There’s the beginning of a smirk there already—like he’s walked in halfway through a joke and intends to enjoy the rest.
Soobin folds his arms. “Rumours say you’re a bit of a heartbreaker. And that you’d do anything for cash.”
One of Yeonjun’s brows lifts. He doesn’t answer immediately. He lets the silence stretch just enough to make the sentence sound stupid. Soobin can already tell what he’s thinking.
Choi Soobin. Student council president. Apex Seminar. The kind of family that gets doors opened before he reaches the handle. Standing behind the school by the bins, asking for Choi Yeonjun like this.
What a joke.
“Rumours say a lot of things.” Yeonjun’s gaze drops briefly to the cigarette. “Like Choi Soobin wouldn’t be caught dead behind the bins smoking, but here you are.”
Soobin says nothing.
Yeonjun tilts his head. “You have a job for me?”
“Yeah.”
Yeonjun waits. He doesn’t fill silences the way rich kids do when they’re nervous. He just stands there, relaxed, like time bends around him instead of the other way round.
Soobin hates that immediately.
He hates a lot of things these days.
You. Your face. Your stupid, immaculate composure. The way teachers soften when they say your name. The way you never seem rushed, even when everyone around you is choking on pressure. The way you’ve been first for so long the whole school speaks about it like weather—reliable and annoying, but inevitable.
He hates that even now, after all these years, you can still make him feel fourteen and furious and half a step behind.
He looks at Yeonjun and says, “I need you to distract someone.”
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a/n: hello hello hello my loves!! its been a hot minute hehehe i missed you all soooo much. how have you all been? also what do we all think of this? i think you guys can all see the kdrama inspo, specifically sky castle!! i cant promise when part two will be up but as always your comments, reblogs and asks fuel my fingers!!
review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here
taglist: request in the series masterlist or here only
— fratboy!han jisung x nerd fem reader in which you are forced to attend a homecoming party that you know you wouldn't like, only to be blocked by a tall, handsome, guy yoi wished you never met that night because fuck—if he doesn't make you all vulnerable. and it doesn't help that you are exactly his type to corrupt, so he'd do anything to lure you on his bed.
content warnings: this fic includes detailed nsfw scenes that may be too much for some readers. includes penetrative sex, alcohol consumption, corruption kink, consensual sex, sex in alcohol influence, degradation, pinv, fingering, multiple orgasm, intense make out session, porn that has barely plot, and other scenes that might be uncomfortable for some readers. please consume what you can, and separate fiction from reality. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
a/n: i'm in my fratboy jisung era. please bear with me. i'm ovulating as fuck.
word count: 5.4k words
The heavy bass from the speakers downstairs throbbed through the wooden floor like a second heartbeat, vibrating up your legs as you stood awkwardly in the corner of the crowded hall, trying to make yourself invisible.
You never wanted to be here tonight.
For days, the thought of this homecoming party had filled you with dread. The loud music, the sweaty bodies grinding against each other, and drunk strangers shouting over the noise. It all made your stomach twist with anxiety. You had planned to stay safe in your dorm, curled up in your favorite oversized hoodie, lost in your literature notes with a warm cup of tea. But your professors had stopped you after class, smiling with fake concern.
"It's a good chance to socialize," they said. "You need to get out more. College isn't just about books."
Then your friends burst into your room like a storm, refusing to hear the word "no."
They raided your closet and forced you into this dress. A tiny, off-the-shoulder black piece you'd bought on a wild impulse months ago but never dared to wear. The soft, stretchy fabric hugged every curve of your body like a second skin. The neckline plunged low, barely covering the tops of your breasts and showing off your delicate collarbones. The hem was dangerously short, stopping just three inches below your ass, making you painfully aware of every little movement of your thighs. Worst of all, the back was completely open, only two thin straps crisscrossing between your shoulder blades, leaving almost your entire back naked to the cool air and wandering eyes.
You felt completely exposed. Naked.
Every few seconds, you nervously tugged at the short hem, trying to make it longer, while your other arm stayed wrapped tightly around your red cup filled with cocktail you haven't took even a sip. The makeup your friends had done made your eyes look bigger and your lips shiny and plump. You kept shifting your weight from one foot to the other, your cheeks burning with embarrassment every time someone brushed past you.
That's when you felt it.
A slow, burning stare cutting straight through the noisy chaos, right at you.
Han Jisung.
He was leaning against the wall across the room, looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. His dark eyes were locked on you with raw hunger. Like a wolf that had just spotted a soft, trembling lamb. His gaze slowly dragged down your body, taking in the way the tight dress clung to your tits, your waist, and your hips. He stared openly at your bare shoulders, your exposed back, and the way your thighs pressed together under that tiny hem. A slow, predatory smirk tugged at his lips. He tilted his head, his tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip, as if he was already imagining how sweet you would taste on his tongue.
Your stomach flipped hard. Heat rushed through your body. You quickly looked away, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, but you could still feel his heavy, hungry stare crawling all over your skin.
You barely had time to think about running toward the exit before he started moving.
Jisung pushed through the crowd like he owned every person in it. People moved out of his way without thinking, he was the campus' most famous fuckboy, after all. In just a few seconds, he was standing right in front of you, his tall frame blocking out the rest of the party.
Up close, he smelled intoxicating expensive cologne mixed with whiskey and something darker, something dangerously addictive.
Han Jisung had been watching you for years.
Even though he had fucked his way through half the campus, none of those girls ever truly satisfied the hunger he felt for you. You were his favorite fantasy, the quiet, innocent girl with soft eyes and those cute glasses, always hiding behind books and oversized hoodies. He had spent countless nights stroking his cock to the thought of you, imagining how pretty you would look with your glasses completely fogged up, mouth open in a broken moan while he rammed into you from behind, hard and deep.
And now, here you were. Finally dressed like sin in that tiny black dress that barely covered your ass. All that soft skin on display. All that untouched innocence just waiting to be ruined. He stepped closer, his tall frame crowding you against the wall until there was almost no space left between your bodies.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite little nerd," Jisung drawled, his voice low and dripping with teasing amusement.
You gulped hard, letting out a shaky breath as you squeezed your eyes shut. Of all the people at this party, he was the last one you wanted to see right now. He had been invading your thoughts constantly ever since that day your professor forced you to tutor him. All he did back then was tease you relentlessly, leaning in too close, whispering dirty comments, and looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.
"I almost didn't recognize you without your glasses," he added, his tone playful but laced with something much darker.
You slowly opened your eyes and found him staring straight at you with that hungry gaze. He took his time looking you up and down, eyes lingering on your plunging neckline, the curve of your breasts, and the short hem that barely covered your ass.
"What do you want?" you huffed, trying to sound firm, but your voice came out soft and shaky, the nervousness clear in every word.
Jisung chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. Instead of answering directly, he tilted his head and gave you a slow, knowing smile.
"What are you doing here, baby?" he asked, voice smooth and teasing. "This isn't exactly your scene, is it? Loud music, drunk people grinding everywhere... I thought you'd rather be curled up somewhere quiet with your books and those cute glasses."
As he spoke, his hand casually slid from your waist to your hip, fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh there. His touch was warm and bold, like he had every right to it. When you didn't pull away, his other hand came up, lightly tracing the bare skin of your lower back with his fingertips, sending little sparks up your spine.
You took a deep breath and tried to push his hand away, but Jisung didn't budge. His fingers stayed stubbornly on your hip.
"It's not exactly my decision why I'm here," you muttered. "My friends dragged me."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. His other hand stayed on your lower back, slowly tracing lazy circles on your bare skin.
"And where exactly are those friends now?" he asked, voice low.
You glanced around the crowded room for a second. Right... where were they? Probably somewhere in the dark corners, making out with whoever they found tonight. It wasn't your problem anymore.
"I don't know," you admitted softly, your cheeks burning. "They disappeared as soon as we got here."
Jisung let out a soft, dark chuckle. Instead of pulling his hands away, he grew bolder. One hand slid higher up your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast, while the other hand gently squeezed your hip, pulling you a little closer to him.
"Is that so?" He asked. "So you plan on standing here in the corner all night, just watching everyone like a lost little kitten?"
As he spoke, his hand slowly traced up your exposed back, fingers gliding over your bare skin with deliberate slowness. The touch was warm and confident, sending shivers racing down your spine.
"Ji—" you gasped, the nickname slipping from your lips before you could stop it.
Jisung's smirk widened instantly, dark and satisfied. He loved how naturally it fell from your mouth. His fingers continued their lazy journey up your back, tracing every inch of exposed skin until they reached the thin straps crossing between your shoulder blades.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You don't have anything to do here anyway, right? Your friends are gone..."
His hand on your back slid lower, resting dangerously close to the curve of your ass.
"Why don't you come upstairs with me?" he suggested, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "We can spend some time together... just the two of us. Away from all this noise." He paused, letting the words sink in before adding with a wicked smile, "If you know what I mean."
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you, made your head spin.
Without thinking, you lifted the red cup to your lips and drank the entire contents in one go. You had completely forgotten it was alcohol. The sweet, fruity cocktail burned slightly as it slid down your throat.
It hit you faster than you expected.
Within seconds, a warm, hazy feeling spread through your body. Your cheeks grew hotter, and the room started to feel a little blurrier around the edges. You weren't used to drinking, this was actually your first drink ever, and you had no idea your tolerance was this low. Your head felt light and fuzzy, your limbs strangely warm and heavy at the same time.
Jisung noticed the change immediately. His eyes darkened with amusement and something much more dangerous.
"Easy there," he chuckled softly, steadying you with a firm hand on your waist. "Did you just down the whole cup?"
He tilted your chin up gently with two fingers, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were already getting a little glassy.
"You okay, y/n?" he asked, though the smirk on his lips told you he was enjoying every second of your sudden tipsiness. "Or do you need me to take care of you upstairs even more now?"
You could only nod weakly, a soft, unintelligent little sound escaping your lips instead of actual words. Your head felt too fuzzy to form a proper sentence.
When you tried to push yourself off the wall to create some distance, your legs wobbled dangerously. The room tilted slightly and you almost stumbled forward. One cup. Just one stupid cup of alcohol and you already felt this dizzy and ditzy? Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Jisung reacted instantly. His strong hands grabbed your waist, steadying you before you could fall. He pulled you gently against his chest, holding you upright with surprising gentleness.
"Woah, careful there," he chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his body into yours. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your soft curves as he kept you close.
“Come on, pretty girl. Let me take you somewhere quieter.”
Before you could protest, Jisung easily scooped you up into his arms, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. You let out a small surprised gasp and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck as the world spun a little.
He carried you upstairs like you weighed nothing, pushing through the crowd with ease. The loud bass and voices faded behind you as he brought you into a quieter room at the end of the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut, the noise from the party became nothing but a distant hum.
Jisung walked over to the large bed in the center of the room and gently set you down on the edge of it. Your body felt heavy and warm from the alcohol, your head pleasantly fuzzy.
He took a step back and just… watched you.
You were sitting there with heavy, sleepy eyes, your head lolling slightly to the side. The tiny black dress had ridden up dangerously high on your thighs from being carried, exposing even more of your soft skin. Your cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, and your breathing was a little uneven.
Jisung’s gaze darkened with raw hunger as he stared at you. He looked like a wolf finally cornered its prey.
He couldn't hold back anymore.
He stepped closer until he was standing between your legs, his hands finally giving in to the hunger he'd been fighting all night. His palms slid slowly up your bare thighs, pushing the tiny hem of your dress even higher until it bunched up around your hips.
"Fuck, baby..." he breathed, voice thick with lust. "You're so soft."
His fingers traced teasing circles on your inner thighs, getting dangerously close to your panties but never quite touching you there yet. He watched your face closely, enjoying every sleepy, hazy reaction you gave him.
You blinked slowly, head still lolling a little, your breathing shallow and uneven. The alcohol made everything feel warmer, slower, and more intense. Every touch from him sent sparks straight to your core.
Jisung leaned down, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other continued stroking your thighs. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered.
"I've waited years to touch you like this... to have my hands on a good girl like you." His hand on your thigh slid higher, finally brushing over the thin fabric of your panties. He pressed two fingers against your clothed pussy and let out a low groan when he felt how warm and slightly damp you already were.
"See? Your body's already getting wet for me," he murmured, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit through the fabric. "Even if your pretty little head is too hazy to admit it."
You let out a soft, broken whimper, your thighs trembling around his hand. Jisung smiled darkly, clearly loving how easily you were falling apart.
"Come on, baby... " he coaxed, his voice low and seductive as he kept rubbing you. "You've been thinking about me too, haven't you? Thinking about letting me ruin you... letting me fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."
He kissed the side of your neck, then gently sucked on your skin while his fingers pressed harder against your aching clit.
"Give in to me," he whispered hotly against your throat. "Just say yes... and I'll make you feel so fucking good tonight." His free hand moved up to squeeze your breast through the thin dress, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.
If you were sober, you probably would've snapped back at him with some sharp reply. But right now, with your head all fuzzy and warm, all you could do was bite your lower lip and slowly shake your head.
Jisung let out a low, amused chuckle. His fingers never stopped moving, still rubbing slow, teasing circles against your soaked panties.
"No?" he asked, voice dripping with fake innocence. "You haven't thought of me touching you like this? Not even once after those tutoring sessions, hm?"
He pressed his fingers harder against your clit, watching your hips twitch involuntarily at the pressure. Your breathing grew heavier, and a tiny, needy whimper slipped past your lips. Jisung leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his sweet corruption.
"Liar," he whispered, voice dark and husky. "I saw the way you used to squeeze your thighs together whenever I leaned too close to you. I bet you went back to your dorm after every session and touched this pretty little pussy while thinking about me."
His hand slid up from your breast to gently grip your jaw, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him with your sleepy, hazy eyes.
"Tell me the truth, baby," he coaxed, still rubbing your clit in torturously slow circles. "Did you ever finger yourself at night imagining it was my cock instead?"
He leaned down and placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your neck, then gently sucked on your skin, leaving a faint mark.
"Don't lie to me... I can feel how wet you are. Your body's already betraying you."
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth.
But even through your hazy, alcohol-soaked mind, Jisung could tell how stubborn you still were. He sighed and slowly pulled back, removing his hands from your body. The second his touch disappeared, something in you panicked.
Your hand shot out instinctively, fingers grabbing the hem of his shirt tightly, stopping him from stepping away. You looked up at him with wide, glassy bambi eyes, your breath coming out in short, shaky little gasps. Your head was still lolling slightly from the alcohol, but your grip on his shirt was desperate.
You tugged weakly at the fabric, pulling him back toward you.
"Ji... please..." you whispered, voice soft, needy, and trembling.
Jisung froze. The sound of you begging, even that small, broken please, hit him hard. His eyes darkened instantly, a hungry smirk slowly spreading across his lips. He stepped back between your legs, crowding you again. One of his hands came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he tilted your face higher.
"Please what, baby?" he asked, voice low and rough, dripping with satisfaction. "Use your words. Tell me what you want."
You whimpered softly, still tugging at his shirt like you were afraid he'd pull away again. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, the ache between your legs growing unbearable in your hazy state. Jisung leaned down closer, his forehead almost resting against yours. His free hand slid back onto your bare thigh, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.
You licked your glossy lips slowly, your hazy eyes locked onto his with pure desperation. Your voice came out small, shaky, and embarrassingly needy.
"T-touch me please..." you whispered. "It hurts... It's so itchy down there, Ji... Please..."
The moment the words left your mouth, Jisung's eyes flared with raw hunger. A low, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest.
"Fuck..." he breathed, voice thick with lust. "Begging so sweetly already. Does your pretty little pussy ache that badly, baby?"
He didn't make you wait any longer.
Jisung immediately pushed your thighs wider apart and stepped fully between them. One of his hands slid up under your bunched-up dress without hesitation, cupping your soaked pussy over your panties. His fingers pressed firmly against your aching clit and started rubbing slow, deliberate circles.
"Poor baby," he cooed mockingly, eyes never leaving your face. "It's itchy and hurting because you're so fucking wet for me, huh?"
You let out a broken whimper, hips twitching forward into his touch. The relief was instant, but it only made the heat inside you burn hotter. Jisung leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as his fingers kept stroking you through the thin, drenched fabric.
"Such a naughty girl... telling me your pussy hurts and itches," he whispered darkly. "You want me to make it better? Want me to rub this swollen little clit until you cum all over my fingers?"
He slipped his hand inside your panties, finally touching your bare, dripping folds. Two fingers glided easily over your slickness, teasing your entrance before focusing back on your sensitive clit.
"Tell me again," he demanded softly, voice dripping with corruption. "Tell Ji exactly where it hurts... and how you want me to fix it."
You pressed your lips together tightly, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure clouded your hazy mind. Both of your hands flew down to grab Jisung's wrist, desperately guiding his fingers exactly where you needed him.
"Here..." you whispered breathlessly, voice small and needy. "Here... Ji, please..."
Your hips started moving on their own, shyly rolling against his hand as you rode his fingers, chasing the friction your aching pussy craved. Jisung let out a deep, sinful groan at the sight. His dark eyes were glued to where your hips were grinding against his palm like a desperate little slut.
"Fuck, baby..." he rasped, voice thick with lust. Two thick fingers slid between your slick folds, rubbing firm, slow circles directly on your swollen clit. The wet sounds of his fingers playing with your pussy filled the quiet room.
"That's it," he praised softly, watching your face intently. "Use my hand, pretty girl. Show me exactly where it hurts."
Your breath came out in short, whimpering gasps. Your head lolled back slightly, lips parted as you kept grinding against his fingers, your grip on his wrist tightening. Jisung leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips.
"You're soaking my fingers, baby," he murmured, voice low and filthy. "Such a messy little thing... Can I kiss you, hm? Tell me I can." He pressed harder against your clit, rubbing faster as he watched you fall apart.
You could barely think straight. The alcohol made everything feel too intense, too good. Your lips parted, letting out soft, needy whimpers while your hands still gripped his wrist tightly, guiding him.With heavy, glassy eyes, you looked up at him and whispered breathlessly.
"Yes... Kiss..."
The words had barely left your mouth before Jisung crashed his lips against yours. He kissed you hungrily, deep and possessive, swallowing every little moan that escaped you. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the sweet cocktail still lingering on your tongue as he devoured you. At the same time, his fingers never slowed down, rubbing your dripping pussy faster, harder, making wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet room.
He groaned into the kiss, the vibration traveling straight through your body. When he finally pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his lips were shiny and his eyes were dark with lust.
"Fuck... you taste so sweet," he rasped against your mouth, still rubbing your clit relentlessly. His fingers suddenly slid lower and teased your entrance, circling it teasingly before slowly pushing one thick finger inside your tight, wet heat.
He swallowed your gasp with another deep kiss, then murmured hotly against your lips.
Your grip on his wrist slowly softened as your whole body began to shake. Jisung could feel it, the way your stomach was tightening, the way your thighs trembled around his hand. Your orgasm was building fast.
Your hips stuttered helplessly against him, losing rhythm as the pleasure became too much.
Without hesitation, Jisung plunged two thick fingers deep inside your soaked pussy, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you.
A loud, broken moan spilled from your lips. “Ah—! Fuck… Jisung!”
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The sudden intense pleasure made your head spin even more. In your haze, you unintentionally bit down hard on Jisung’s lower lip, breaking the skin just enough to draw a tiny bead of blood.
Jisung hissed at the sting, but the sound quickly turned into a deep, filthy groan. His eyes darkened with pure lust as he tasted the metallic tang on his tongue.
“Yes—! Right there!” you cried out, voice shaky and needy. “Please don’t stop… I’m— I’m gonna cum!”
Jisung curled his fingers faster, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust while his thumb rubbed tight, relentless circles on your swollen clit.
“That’s it, baby. Cum for me,” he growled against your lips.
Your whole body tensed up. Your hips jerked wildly as the orgasm crashed over you hard.
Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers, pulsing and gushing as waves of pleasure ripped through you. Your head fell back, eyes rolling slightly while soft, broken whimpers and moans kept spilling from your lips. Your thighs shook violently around his hand as you rode out every last second of your orgasm.
Jisung watched you with dark, hungry eyes, groaning at how beautifully you fell apart for him.
“Good girl… such a good fucking girl,” he praised, slowly pulling his soaked fingers out of you.
Before you could even catch your breath, Jisung sat down on the bed and pulled you onto his lap, making you straddle him. Your tiny dress was now completely bunched up around your waist.
“Come here, baby,” he rasped, gripping your hips tightly.
He guided your dripping pussy right over his cock, rubbing the swollen head between your slick folds teasingly.
“Dizzy…” you whispered weakly against Jisung’s neck, your voice soft and breathy. You managed to wrap both arms around his shoulders, clinging to him tightly as the room continued to spin.
Jisung cooed at you softly, his tone dripping with fake sweetness and lust.
“Aww, my poor baby’s so dizzy,” he murmured, one hand gently caressing up and down your bare back while the other gripped your hip. “It’s okay… I’ve got you.”
He slowly guided you down onto his cock, the thick head pressing against your soaked entrance. Inch by inch, he eased you lower, stretching your tight walls around him.A shaky, high-pitched moan slipped from your lips as he filled you up. “Ahh… 's so big…”
Jisung groaned deeply, his fingers digging into your soft hips. “Fuck… so tight. You’re squeezing me so well, baby.”
He kept going until he bottomed out inside you, your ass flush against his thighs. He held you there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size while his hand continued stroking your back soothingly.
You murmured and babbled something on his neck that he doesn't understand. “It's okay, baby. I got you. I'll take care of you, yeah?”
Jisung took full control. His hands slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slowly lifted you up until only the swollen tip of his cock remained inside your tight pussy.
Then, with one smooth, powerful motion, he slammed you back down hard, burying his entire length deep inside you.
“Ahh—!” you cried out loudly, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as a sharp moan tore from your throat.Jisung groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Fuck… so tight.”
He didn’t rush. He kept the pace slow but devastatingly deep, lifting you up almost all the way off his cock, then slamming you back down onto him with controlled strength. Every thrust made sure you felt every single inch stretching you open.
“Ji—! Ahh…” you moaned breathlessly, your voice shaky and broken with every slam. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your body bounced on his lap.
He continued the slow, heavy rhythm — lifting you up, repeating the action over and over while your walls flutter around his length, slammjng you down on his lap from time to time, making your ass slap against his thighs with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of your soaked pussy taking his cock filled the room.
Each thrust punched a broken moan out of you.
“Jisung—! Ahh… fuck…” you whimpered loudly, your head buried in his neck, arms shaking around his shoulders.
He gripped your waist tighter, controlling every movement as he fucked you deep and steady. His lips brushed against your ear, voice low, dark, and dangerously sweet.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” he murmured, slamming you down particularly hard. “Tell me. Say ‘It feels so good, Ji.’”
You only moaned in response, too hazy and overwhelmed to speak properly.
Jisung suddenly stopped moving, holding you still with his cock buried deep inside you. The lack of friction made you whine desperately.
“No… no, please—” you begged, trying to move your hips. He chuckled darkly against your ear, and gripped your hips tight, stopping you from moving.
“Uh-uh. Use your words, y/n.” His voice turned firmer, more commanding. “Tell me it feels good. Say ‘Your cock feels so good inside me, Ji.’ If you don’t… I’ll stop right now and leave you empty and aching.”
You shook your head frantically, panic mixing with the overwhelming need.
“I-it… It feels so good…” you whispered shakily, voice trembling. “Your cock feels so good inside me, Ji… Please don’t stop…”
Jisung smirked and rewarded you by lifting you up again and slamming you back down, but this time he's fucking into you faster.
“Good girl,” he praised, groaning at how tightly you clenched around him. “Now tell me… whose pussy is this?”
Your eyes rolled at the back of your head, hand gripping his hair. You whimpered pathetically, hips twitching.
“Yours…” you moaned loudly, embarrassment burning your cheeks even through the alcohol. “It’s your pussy, Ji… Please—”
Jisung’s eyes darkened as he watched you fall apart on his cock, desperately agreeing to every filthy thing he said. He finally decided he was done holding back.
“Fuck this,” he growled under his breath.In one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around you and flipped you onto your back on the bed. You let out a surprised gasp as your back hit the soft mattress. Before you could even catch your breath, Jisung hovered over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.
He looked down at you with pure hunger, his chain dangling above your face.
“I'm done playing nice for now. I fucking need you wrapped around my cock,” he muttered, voice rough.
He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his waist, then pushed his thick cock back inside you in one deep thrust.
“Ahh—!” you moaned loudly, your back arching off the bed.
Jisung didn’t waste any time. He immediately picked up the pace, fucking you harder and faster than before. The slow, controlled thrusts were gone. Now he was pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
You cried out, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He leaned down closer, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed.
“You like that?” he taunted, breathing heavily. “You like when I fuck you like this? Tell me.”
He slammed into you particularly hard, making your eyes roll back.
“Say it,” he demanded, not slowing down even for a second. “Tell me you love getting fucked like a whore.”
His pace was brutal now, fast, deep, unforgoving. The bed creaked loudly beneath you as he fucked you into the mattress, completely unrestrained.
Jisung kept pounding into you relentlessly, his hips snapping against yours with deep, powerful thrusts. The sound of skin slapping wetly filled the room, mixed with your loud, broken moans.But he was losing control fast.
“Fuck… baby,” he groaned, voice strained. His rhythm started to falter as pleasure coiled tight at the base of his spine. “You feel too fucking good… so tight and wet around me.”
He tried to hold back, but it was useless. Every time he buried his cock deep inside you, your warm, slick walls hugged him perfectly. The way your pussy clenched and fluttered around him was driving him insane.
“I’m not gonna last…” he rasped, breathing heavily against your neck. “Your little pussy is squeezing me so hard—shit, I’m gonna cum inside you.”
You were right there with him, trembling violently beneath his body.
“Ji—! Jisung!” you cried out loudly, your voice cracking. “I’m cumming—! Ahh!”
Your walls suddenly clenched tight around his cock as your second orgasm hit you hard. Your back arched sharply off the bed, a loud, shameless moan tearing from your throat while your pussy pulsed and gushed around him.
That was all it took.
“Fuck—!” Jisung groaned deeply, his hips stuttering.
With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard inside you. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your pussy, filling you up as he kept grinding into you, riding out his orgasm with shaky breaths and low groans.
He stayed buried deep inside you even after he finished, both of you panting heavily. His body trembled slightly as he pressed his forehead against yours, still twitching inside your cum-filled pussy.
“Shit…” he whispered, voice hoarse.
Jisung stayed buried deep inside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his head and stared down at your face, his dark eyes drinking in every detail.
Your eyes were closed, lashes resting against your flushed cheeks. Your lips were slightly parted, still swollen from his kisses. Soft, uneven breaths left you as your body slowly relaxed underneath him.
He watched you intently, waiting for your eyes to flutter open… but they didn’t.
Instead, your face slowly softened even more—all the tension melting away as your head lolled slightly to the side. Your body went completely limp in his arms.
Jisung blinked.
“…Baby?” he murmured, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.
No response.
A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as realization hit him. You had passed out. The combination of alcohol, overwhelming pleasure, and your low tolerance had finally knocked you out cold.
He stayed still for a moment, before slowly pulling out, and laying beside you so he could stare at your peaceful sleeping face properly.
“Fuck…” he whispered, a slow, hungry smirk spreading across his lips. “You really passed out on me?”
He gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb, his gaze darkening with a new wave of desire .Instead of feeling disappointed, something twisted and possessive bloomed in his chest. Having you like this, flushed, marked, filled with his cum, and completely unconscious beneath him, only made him crave you more.
He had finally tasted you… and now he was addicted.
Jisung leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss on your forehead, then whispered against your skin.
“Sleep well, my pretty girl.” His lips found the curve on your neck and sniff against your scent there. “Because when you wake up… I’m nowhere near done with you.”
drabble — he's so cute begging for you to peg him.
Jisung had never been the type to stay quiet about what he wanted. He wasn't shy—he'd tell you straight up if something made him uncomfortable, or if he was craving something new.
And right now, he was doing exactly that.
He sat at the foot of the bed, legs spread comfortably. You stood between them, his warm hands resting firmly on your waist, fingers gently pressing into your skin. He tilted his head up, looking at you with those big, glossy puppy eyes, dark, needy, and impossible to resist.
"Are you sure, Ji?" you asked softly for the third time, your fingers slowly threading through his silky hair. The gentle caress made him sigh deeply, a soft, contented sound that vibrated against your palm as he leaned into your touch like he couldn't get enough.
"I... we've never tried pegging before," you added, voice laced with worry. "What if it hurts you?"
Jisung kept his eyes closed, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. He nuzzled his face deeper into your hand, rubbing his cheek against your skin with quiet need. For a moment, the only sound was his slow, heavy breathing. Then he slowly shook his head, his voice coming out low, husky, and full of trust.
"I know you won't hurt me," he murmured, his warm breath brushing your wrist. "I trust you completely."
That's exactly how he ended up like this.
Jisung was pressed face-down into the mattress, his soft cheek squished against the sheets. His back arched so beautifully for you, hips lifted high, round ass raised and offered up like a gift. His eyes were wide and glassy, completely blown with pleasure, as if he were under a spell. His pretty lips stayed parted, sweet, broken moans spilling out nonstop with every breath.
You were right on top of him, chest pressed flush against his back, both hands gripping his tiny waist tight. Your fingers dug into his warm skin as you fucked him deep and steady from behind. Each smooth thrust made both of you groan loudly, the wet, filthy sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room as pure pleasure rolled through your bodies.
You picked up the pace, hips snapping faster and harder against his ass. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin grew louder, sharper, filling the room as you drove deeper into him with every thrust.Your hand slid down his sweat-slicked body, fingers wrapping firmly around his aching length. Jisung instantly cried out, his voice cracking into a loud, needy whine. The moment you started stroking him, slow, tight, and perfectly in time with your thrusts. His moans turned higher, whinier, more desperate.
"F-fuck... ahh—!" His whole body trembled beneath you. His back arched even deeper, pushing his ass back to meet every powerful thrust while his cock throbbed hot and heavy in your hand. Pre-cum leaked steadily over your fingers, making each stroke slick and filthy.
Jisung's eyes fluttered, his wide puppy gaze growing hazy and unfocused. His pretty mouth hung open, drool slipping from the corner of his lips as broken, whimpering moans poured out nonstop. He was slowly slipping deeper into subspace, every rough snap of your hips and every twist of your hand pushing him further under.
Jisung started babbling, his words turning into soft, incoherent little sounds.
"Mm—ah... please... s-so good... can't... hah—"
His voice cracked and broke, the sentences melting into desperate, whiny noises that barely made sense. His hips jerked weakly against the mattress as his orgasm slowly built, thighs shaking hard.
You caught on immediately. A small smile tugged at your lips as you tightened your grip around his leaking cock and started pumping him faster, long, firm strokes that matched the quicker snap of your hips. You drove into him deeper, harder, the wet slap of skin against skin growing frantic and loud.
Leaning down, you pressed your lips right against his ear, your warm breath brushing his flushed skin as you whispered sweetly, "That's it, baby... you're doing so good for me. Let it build. You're so close, aren't you? Gonna cum so hard for me?"
Your voice stayed soft and loving, even as your hand worked him relentlessly and your hips kept pounding into his tight heat. Jisung's moans shot up in pitch, turning into high, broken whimpers. His body tensed beneath you, every muscle pulling tight as you pushed him right to the edge.
Jisung's babbling suddenly sharpened, his voice turning raw and desperate.
"I'm— fuck, I'm gonna cum... I'm so close— please, please—" His words tumbled out broken and shaky, hips jerking uncontrollably as the pressure inside him built higher and higher, threatening to snap.
You didn't slow down for even a second. Instead, you doubled down, slamming your hips forward faster and harder, burying yourself deep inside his tight heat with every powerful thrust. Your hand tightened around his throbbing, leaking cock, stroking him fast and firm, slick sounds filling the air as pre-cum coated your fingers.
With your other hand, you reached up and grabbed a thick fistful of his soft hair. You yanked his head back firmly, forcing his back to arch sharply. Jisung let out a loud, gasping cry as his chest lifted off the mattress, his body curving into a perfect, trembling bow. The new angle was devastating. Every brutal snap of your hips now drove your strap directly against his prostate, hitting that sweet, sensitive spot over and over with perfect precision.
"Yes— right there— ahh!" he screamed, voice cracking loudly, completely wrecked with pleasure.
You kept pounding into him without mercy, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. Your lips hovered right beside his ear, your warm breath hot against his flushed, sweaty skin as you whispered sweetly.
"That's it, baby... cum for me. Let it all go. I want to feel you fall apart so hard for me."
The overwhelming pleasure finally crashed over him. Jisung's entire body seized up violently, back arched impossibly tight, thighs shaking, toes curling into the sheets. A loud, broken scream ripped from his throat as he came hard, his cock pulsing wildly in your hand, thick ropes of cum spilling messily over your fingers and onto the sheets below. His walls clenched rhythmically around you, milking every last wave of pleasure while his loud, desperate moans filled the room.
Jisung's loud, broken scream slowly melted into soft, shaky whimpers as his orgasm crashed through him. His whole body trembled violently beneath you, cock pulsing hard in your hand while thick, warm ropes of cum spilled messily over your fingers and soaked the sheets. His tight walls clenched rhythmically around your strap, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until he was completely spent.
You stayed buried deep inside him for a few more gentle thrusts, helping him ride through the aftershocks, before slowly pulling out with care. Jisung let out a tiny, needy whine at the loss, but you were already moving to take care of him.
Carefully, you loosened your grip on his hair and guided his head back down onto the pillow. Your hands slid soothingly over his sweat-slicked back, massaging the tense muscles as you whispered softly against his ear,
"You did so good for me, baby... so perfect. You took me so well." You gently rolled him onto his side, then pulled his limp, trembling body into your arms. Jisung immediately curled into you like a sleepy kitten, burying his flushed face in the crook of your neck. His breathing was still ragged and heavy, little aftershocks making him twitch every few seconds.
You pressed soft kisses all over his damp forehead, his cheeks, and his swollen lips, while your fingers gently carded through his messy hair. One hand rubbed slow, comforting circles on his lower back, right where he was probably sore, while the other wiped the sticky mess from his spent cock with a warm cloth you'd prepared earlier.
"Shh... I've got you," you murmured tenderly, holding him close against your chest. "You were amazing, Ji. My good boy. Just rest now. I'm right here."
Jisung let out a tiny, contented sigh, his body finally relaxing fully in your embrace. His eyes fluttered shut, a small, blissed-out smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzled deeper into your warmth, safe and loved in your arms.
maria’s note: all the fanfics listed below contain explicit scenes, so MDNI! these authors are all incredibly talented writers whom I’ve always admired, so don’t forget to show them plenty of love!! 🤍
making love by @chandora
apartment #203 by @skzfflovers
drink it up by @skzfflovers
fantasy by @elylyyy
walk him like a dog by @emmiesoverthemoon
risky text by @stryscribbles
‘cause this type of love’s the epitome by @kloversung
attention by @hanjinology
fire vs. fire by @joyracha
messy by @ghostlyscripture
target acquired by @ghostlyscripture
i like it by @skzophreniic
the third mug (3 parts) by @skzophreniic
national anthem by @seospicybin
for your recommendation by @seospicybin
burning love by @starlostjisung
the birthday game by @starlostjisung
the friend i love by @starlostjisung
needy by @ysljoon
fwb seungmin by @jisunggy
rainy day by @moch3rii
you shook me by @1nthedarknessofthenight
as we are (5 parts) by @leeknowlore
I’M IN LOVE WITH THOSE AUTHORS SO PLS SHOW THEM SUPPORT AND LOVE, THEY’RE AMAZING 🤍🫶🏻
soobin lets you slide onto him while he’s soft so you can feel him slowly grow hard inside you.
❛ content 2.8k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom!male reader, nerd!soobin, getting hard while inside, big dick!soobin, unprotected sex (p in a), cockwarming kinda, riding, creampie, praise, lots of kisses.
"can we put it in soft and feel it grow together?"
the question hangs in the air of soobin's dimly lit room, completely severing the comfortable silence that had settled over them like a well-worn blanket.
soobin's pen freezes mid-annotation over his biology textbook, and for a solid three seconds, or maybe just a little more, his brain — usually so quick, so sharp when it came to memorizing diagrams and reciting historical dates — completely short-circuits.
he hears your words, processes each one individually, but putting them together into a coherent concept feels like trying to solve a calculus problem underwater.
beside him, you're already wiggling with barely contained excitement, your phone abandoned face-down on the mattress. you're watching your boyfriend with those eager eyes, waiting, practically vibrating.
soobin slowly turns his head, and he can feel the heat creeping up his neck, flooding his cheeks. his glasses have slid down his pretty nose slightly, and he pushes them up with one finger, a nervous habit.
"what?!"
but you're already leaning into him, your hand finding his knee through the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants.
"i'm serious! think about it, babe."
your voice is that special kind of excited, the one soobin usually hears when you're explaining a new game you're completely obsessed with or suggesting a takeout place you've been dying to try.
"we've never done it like that. it's always, you know... we're both already hard, and it's kind of rushed and intense. but this..." you squeeze his knee, your thumb tracing a small circle. "this would be different. slower. we could just... be together. and feel everything."
soobin's heart is doing something erratic in his chest.
he's still holding his pen, still surrounded by highlighters and flashcards, and his ridiculously attractive boyfriend is sitting on his bed, talking about his dick like it's the most natural thing in the world. which, okay, it is, they've been together for eight months, they're past the awkward stage. but this is... new.
"you want to..." soobin swallows, his throat suddenly dry. he glances down at his own lap, then back at you, his cheeks impossibly pinker. "you want to sit on it? while it's... you know?"
"soft, yeah."
you nod enthusiastically, scooting closer, and your thigh presses against his.
"i just keep thinking about what it would feel like. the sensation of it... waking up inside me. getting harder because of me, because of us," your voice drops a little, losing some of its excited energy and gaining something warmer, something more intimate. "i think it would feel really good, babe. really close."
and that's the thing.
soobin has never been able to deny you anything when you look at him like that, when your voice goes soft and you say his name like it means something more than just letters strung together. he's completely, utterly gone for you, and you know it. you use that power sometimes, but never cruelly. always like this — to pull him closer, to bring him into a moment with you.
he sets his pen down carefully, marking his place in the textbook with a sticky note; a small, practical gesture that's so distinctly him that it makes your heart clench.
"you really want to?" soobin asks softly, his voice quieter now, a little shy.
"yeah, more than anything right now," you admit, and it's the truth.
the textbook, the phone, the outside world — it's all completely faded away. there is just soobin, in his ridiculously soft-looking oversized white t-shirt and those grey sweatpants that you've told him a hundred times should be illegal, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his glasses framing those warm, curious eyes that are currently fixed entirely on you.
soobin bites his lower lip, a telltale sign that he's thinking, he's considering. then, slowly, he shifts on the bed, putting his textbook on the nightstand. he leans back against the headboard, the wood creaking softly, and his long legs stretch out, then bend slightly, creating a space for you, an invitation.
"okay," he breathes out, the word carrying a mix of nervousness and genuine curiosity. "let's... let's try."
and oh, you don't need to be told twice.
you're moving immediately, crawling over the messy comforter to settle between your boyfriend’s legs. soobin watches you, his hands coming up to softly rest on your hips as you straddle him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs.
you're face to face now, close enough to see the tiny mole under his eye, the way his eyelashes flutter.
"hi," you whisper, a stupid, giddy smile spreading across your face.
a matching smile tugs at soobin's lips, despite his obvious embarrassment.
"hi," he whispers back. his hands are warm through the thin fabric of your pajama pants. "this is so weird."
"good weird or bad weird?"
"just... weird. different."
soobin ducks his head slightly, looking at where your bodies meet, at the tentatively interested bulge in his own pants that's nowhere near full attention.
"are you sure you're gonna be comfortable? what if—"
you cut him off with a kiss; it's soft, just a brush of lips, simply meant to soothe.
"we'll go slow. if it's weird or uncomfortable, we can just stop. okay?"
soobin nods against your mouth. "okay."
you kiss him again, deeper this time, and you feel his huge hands tighten on your hips. you rock forward experimentally, just a small shift of weight, and soobin makes a tiny sound against your lips.
you break the kiss to sit back slightly, your hands finding the hem of his oversized t-shirt. "can i?"
soobin lifts his arms without a word, and you pull the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind you, and your breath catches, like it always does.
you've already seen him naked countless times, but the sight of his pretty bare chest, the smooth expanse of pale skin, the subtle definition of muscle from carrying heavy books and the occasional gym session with his friends — it never gets old. he's beautiful in a way that feels accidental, unassuming.
soobin doesn't seem to fully realize how hot he is, and that, somehow, makes him even hotter.
your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants, and you look at him for permission. once again, soobin gives a small, shy nod. you tug them down, along with his boxers, just enough. his cock lies soft against his thigh, and you feel a fresh wave of heat pool in your stomach. it's still him, still soobin, still the part of him that makes you feel so incredibly full and complete.
it's just... resting.
you shimmy out of your own pajama pants and boxers quickly, not wanting to break the moment. when you settle back on his lap, it's skin-to-skin, his soft length pressed against the curve of your ass. soobin hisses in a breath, his fingers digging into your hips.
you position yourself carefully, one hand on soobin’s shoulder for balance, the other reaching down to guide him. your eyes meet his.
"ready?"
he looks terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
"ready."
you shift your weight, lowering yourself slowly. the head of soobin’s soft cock presses against your entrance, and for a moment, it just... sits there. it's an odd sensation, really — the familiar pressure, but without the familiar hardness. it feels almost impossibly soft, pliable.
you take a breath and push down gently.
the slide is different; way slower. there is no resistance in the same way, because he's soft, but your body still has to accommodate his size. even soft, soobin is... well, considerable. you feel yourself stretching around him, taking him in inch by inch, and the sensation is so unique, so new, that a shaky moan escapes your lips.
soobin's eyes are wide.
"oh," he breathes. "oh, wow."
"you okay?" you manage to ask, pausing when you're about halfway seated.
soobin nods frantically, his hands softly stroking up and down your sides.
"y-yeah. it's just... it feels so warm, and so tight. but it's also different. it's like... i can feel everything. i can feel every part of you."
you lower yourself the rest of the way, and then you're fully seated, his soft cock buried completely inside you. you sit there for a moment, just breathing, just feeling; the weight of him, the fullness, the strange, intimate knowledge that he's inside you but not hard inside you.
it's like a secret, a moment stolen from time.
you're both still for a long, breathless moment. soobin's hands are splayed across your lower back, warm and grounding, and you can feel his heartbeat, or maybe it's yours — it's hard to tell anymore when you're this close.
"how does it feel?" you whisper, your forehead resting against his.
"warm," he repeats, his voice soft with wonder. "and... tight. but it's like..." he struggles for words, his brow furrowing adorably. "it's like i can feel you holding me. not like... fucking. just holding."
you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to soobin’s lips.
"yeah. that's what i wanted."
you start to move, but not in any real rhythm.
just small, subtle shifts of your hips. you were rocking, more than anything, simply testing the sensation. with each tiny movement, you feel him, soft and pliant, moving inside you, and it's incredibly intimate in a way you hadn't tully anticipated.
soobin's hands roam your back, your sides, his touch full of reverence. your boyfriend is looking at you like you're something so precious, something he can't quite believe is real. his cheeks are still flushed that pretty pink you love so much, his lips slightly parted.
"you're so beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself.
you feel a flutter of warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with where you're connected.
"so are you."
you kiss him again, deeper this time. your tongue slides against his, slow and exploratory, and soobin’s hands come up to cup your face, holding you close. the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, more hungry. you feel his hips twitch beneath you, a small, unconscious thrust.
and then, finally, you feel it — the slightest change; a thickening, a growing weight inside you. you gasp against his mouth at the very new sensation, pulling back just enough to look at him.
soobin’s eyes are hazy, his pupils blown wide.
"soobin," you breathe. "i can feel you."
he looks down, as if he could see through both your bodies to where they're joined.
"it's you," soobin whispers, his voice wrecked. "it's because of you. you feel so good."
another small, unconscious thrust. another surge of growth. soobin’s cock is filling out inside you, pressing against your walls in a way it couldn't when it was soft. the sensation is really overwhelming — the gradual stretch, the increasing fullness… you can feel every ridge, every vein as they become more pronounced.
you can feel soobin getting harder because of you, because of the way your body is wrapped around him, because of the kisses, because of the closeness.
"oh—my god," soobin pathetically whimpers, his head falling back against the headboard. his hands grip your hips tighter, his knuckles white. "oh my god, that feels... that feels so..."
"i know," you groan, and you start to move with more purpose now, rolling your hips in a slow circle. each movement seems to encourage him, to draw more blood, more hardness. "i can feel every second of it. you're getting so hard inside me, babe."
soobin makes a sound that's somewhere between a moan and a whine, high-pitched and desperate.
"d-don't stop. please don't stop."
you don't. you keep moving, keep kissing him, keep whispering praise against his lips.
"feel how good you feel. feel how perfectly you fit."
"i can't—" soobin cuts himself off with another whine, his hips starting to thrust up in small, jerky movements that meet your rolls. "it's too much. it feels too good."
"it's not too much," you assure him, your hand coming up to card through his soft hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "you're doing so well. just feel it. feel me."
soobin is fully hard now, thick and heavy inside you, and the transition from soft to hard has left you both breathless and shaking. you've never experienced anything like it — the gradual, inexorable filling, the knowledge that his arousal is a direct response to you, to this moment. it's really intoxicating.
"i wanna move," soobin begs, his voice cracking. "please, baby, please can i move? i need—i need to—"
you simply nod, unable to form words properly. you lift yourself slightly, and soobin thrusts up, a real thrust this time, deep and sure. you both moan, the sound mingling in the small space between you.
"y-yeah," you gasp. "like that. just like that—"
soobin sets a rhythm, slow at first, still overwhelmed by the newness of it all. his thrusts are deep, deliberate, each one punching a soft sound from your lips, and his hands are everywhere — your hips, your back, your face.
he can't stop touching you, can't stop looking at you.
"you're so perfect," soobin babbles, his words tumbling out between kisses and pretty moans. "so perfect for me. i love you so much. i love being inside you. i love—ah!—i love feeling you."
you capture his mouth with yours, swallowing his words, his every sounds. you simply love him like this — open, vulnerable, completely undone by you. the pretty nerd who annotates his textbooks and makes color-coded study guides, reduced to a whining, desperate mess because of how you feel around him.
you start to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, making it deeper and harder. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound joining the wet, obscene noises of your bodies coming together.
"i'm close," soobin warns, his voice tight.
he's gripping you so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow, and you can't bring yourself to care.
"i'm so close, baby, where do you want—"
"inside," you moans. "stay inside—wanna feel you come inside me."
soobin’s eyes roll back slightly at your words, and his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm. he's chasing his release, but he's also watching you, making sure you're with him. your boyfriend’s hand snakes down between your bodies, finding your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.
it only takes a few more strokes; you come with a broken cry of his name, your body clenching around him, and that's all it takes to push soobin over the edge. he follows with a desperate, high-pitched moan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and deep.
for a long moment, neither of you moves.
you're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same humid air. soobin's hands are still on you, but they've gone soft, just resting.
right now, you can feel him softening inside you, the reverse of the sensation from before, and it's just as incredible in its own way.
finally, you shift, wincing slightly at the oversensitivity, and soobin's hands immediately try to hold you still.
"wait," he murmurs. "just... wait a second. i'm not ready to not be inside you yet."
you smile, pressing a kiss to his nose.
"okay."
you simply stay like that for a long time, connected, breathing together. soobin’s thumbs trace absent patterns on your skin, and your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
the room slowly cools around you, but you're both warm, wrapped up in each other.
"that was..." he trails off, searching for the right word.
"incredible?" you offer.
"yeah," soobin laughs softly, a little puff of air against your lips. "incredible. you always have the best ideas."
"i know," you tease, but you're smiling too.
eventually, you have to move.
the practicalities of cleanup, of bodily functions, of reality intruding on the perfect bubble you've created. but even as you disentangle yourselves, even as soobin disappears into his attached bathroom and returns with a warm, damp washcloth to clean you both with gentle, careful hands, the intimacy doesn't break.
when you finally settle back into bed, both of you having pulled on fresh boxers, soobin immediately pulls you against his chest. he's warm and solid, and you can feel his heartbeat, still slightly elevated, against your cheek.
"so," you mumble against his skin. "worth interrupting your study session?"
soobin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest.
"my biology textbook can wait. this was..." he pauses, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. "this was the best kind of practical application."
you snort, elbowing him gently. "such a nerd."
the room falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after moments of profound intimacy.
outside, the city continues its endless hum.
inside, in soobin's small, cluttered bedroom, there's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, sated and sleepy and utterly, completely in love.
pairing: high bf!felix x high gf!reader; kinda implied minsung (you can’t spell me without minsung, srry)
genre: smut, a lil fluff, established relationship
synopsis: you, a reformed stoner, never expected your boyfriend to be so eager when he got high for the first time.
wc: 3k
cw: swearing, self-consciousness, drüg consumption (w33d), felix’s first time getting high <3, munch!felix, kinda somno if u squint, fingering, 0ral sex.
a/n: this fic is a repost!!
“Y/N, can you please tell Minho that getting high before eating is, like, the best thing ever!” Jisung argued with Minho from the living room sofa. You walked towards them, sitting down on your living room carpet.
You had been Jisung’s best friend for years before he introduced you to Felix. Most of your first core experiences were with Jisung; your first time getting high, your first time getting drunk, your first concert, matching tattoos, college graduation and so on. Felix’s eyes widened at Jisung’s mention of you trying weed. You chuckled nervously.
You and Felix hadn’t been dating for long, there were a few topics you still hadn’t discussed during your relationship. You were afraid that he’d feel a certain way if you told him that you had been a stoner back in the day and hadn’t even included him.
“Yeah, food does taste better when you’re high.” You replied, avoiding giving out too many details.
“See? I told you! Trust me, I’ve gotten high with Y/N like a billion times.” Jisung added. Felix’s expression remained conflicted.
“No, getting high is much better when you’ve already eaten.” Minho countered. “What about you, Felix?”
“Oh… I haven’t done it before.” He answered, nonchalantly.
“WHAT?” Jisung asked in disbelief. “You gave me your brownie recipe to make edibles! You’re dating the biggest stoner in the room after me!”
“Actually, it’s been more than a few months since I haven’t done edibles or anything.” You corrected Jisung. He clenched his heart dramatically, which made you roll your eyes.
“So, I leave for grad school and you get sober?” Jisung asked, you shrugged.
“I haven’t had the need to do it when you’re not here.” You cleared up, Jisung looked at Felix, with his mouth open in disbelief.
“By the way, I have nothing against it or anything.” Felix added. “I just haven’t had the chance to do it.” Jisung smiled widely.
“Well, well. Lucky you, then.” Jisung said, taking out four packets of infused gummies from his bag. “They’re low dosage, only 10 milligrams, so you won’t have any problems with them.”
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Lix.” You reassured him. He shook his head.
“I actually want to. It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to try it. I didn’t know you liked it.” Felix assured you, grabbing one of Jisung’s packets from his hand. Jisung smiled.
“Okay, so the real question is: are we going to eat the pizza before or after we eat the gummy?” Minho asked, smirking.
You and Jisung stared at each other, with a look that said: “after”.
Minho rolled his eyes at you, knowing that Felix would take your side. “Fine, eat the stupid gummy and I’ll call the pizza place.”
You probably could have anticipated that Jisung would want to get high with you after months without seeing each other. Still, you expected to shrug it off and watch a movie or something else since you knew that Felix wasn’t explicitly into that. The fact that he was totally on board, made you realize that there’s a lot of things you didn’t know about Felix either.
You opened the small packet and took out a sticky, blue gummy. You looked at Felix, once again. He nodded, smiling at you, and ate his gummy. You sighed and ate yours in one bite. The taste of weed failed to be masked by the artificial blueberry flavor.
“Okay.” Felix said. “What now?” Jisung chuckled, placing his arm around Felix’s shoulder.
“You’ll feel it in like half an hour… maybe less…or more. I haven’t tried these before.” He replied as he ate his with his free hand.
Minho returned from the kitchen and sat down on the rug next to you and Felix. He opened his packet and ate the final gummy.
You waited impatiently for the effect to take place, anxious about how Felix would react to getting high. You were starting to feel a bit fuzzy, suddenly anything Minho or Jisung did or said made you laugh and the rug felt nice against the palm of your hand.
You looked at Felix, who stared back at you dreamily with a wide smile on his face. His eyes were already glossy and reddened and he laughed along with you. Jisung, who had the most resistance to weed, went downstairs to pickup the pizza once the delivery driver arrived.
Minho rested his head on a pillow on your lap. You tried to shrug it off because Minho was one of your best friends, a very platonic best friend. But, you couldn’t help being nervous about what Felix thought about that, too; as Minho wasn’t at all touchy you when you weren’t high. You looked over to him, Felix was too preoccupied moving his hands on the rug in awe at the sensation to pay mind to Minho. When he did look over at you, he wrapped his arm around you.
“This is so cool, baby.” He commented. “I can’t believe we hadn’t done this before.” You sighed in relief.
“Y/N kinda became prude-ish when she started dating you.” Minho teased, with a smirk, “she’s so on edge now. I think she’s scared of you.” He laughed.
“Babe, is that true?” Felix asked, in a serious manner, pouting at you. You tensed up again.
“No, Lix. I was just scared that you wouldn’t like this version of me.” You replied calmly, but still paranoid on the inside.
“Please.” Minho interrupted. “Felix likes all versions of you. Are you blind?”
“Okay, Min. Get up.” You said shoving him off your lap. Minho walked to the sofa with a pout.
“He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know why you thought this would be a turn off for me.” Felix inquired. “I’m friends with Jisung, aren’t I?"
“You’re just so… perfect.” You said, disappointed in yourself. “I’m sorry…”
“I’m not.” He disagreed. “Plus, being perfect is so overrated. I love seeing all of your layers, like an onion. Oh! like Shrek.” He laughed, making you laugh loudly as well. You felt yourself relax after that, sinking further into Felix’s warmth as he bickered with Minho on who’s going to eat most of the pizza. Though, you knew Minho could out-eat Felix and Jisung any day.
Jisung returned a few minutes later, struggling with both extra-large boxes of pizza and a few diet sodas in a bag.
“Geez. Someone could’ve helped me.” He said, lowering the boxes to the floor in front of you. “Felix is pardoned because it’s his first time but you and Y/N are not.” He signaled Minho.
“Stop crying, Jisung.” Minho argued, “I wanted to eat first so this is on you.”
You reached to open the pizza box on top, while Felix clumsily served the drinks, spilling a few droplets of soda on the already cool, marbled floor. Felix laughed and apologized to you, cleaning it up with a paper towel. You hadn’t even asked Minho what flavors he ordered, to your surprise he took you in mind, ordering a margherita pizza for you. You grabbed a slice, feeling hungrier than you expected when you laid eyes on the pizza. Felix sat next to you and grabbed a slice, handing you the drink. You watched as Felix took a bite of his pizza, savoring every mouthful.
“Oh my god, Y/N. This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.” He gushed, taking another bite of his own slice. You nodded enthusiastically.
You looked over to Jisung and Minho, who where frantically stuffing their faces with their meat-lovers pizza. You rolled your eyes and took your first bite of your slice.
Felix wasn’t kidding, though. The pizza tasted incredible. You did miss eating while being high, your heightened sense of taste, made the pizza taste a million times better than you expected.
Before you realized, you had already eaten three slices of pizza. Your munchies didn’t discriminate against feeling full, so you had to stop yourself. Jisung played the first vinyl he saw on your record player, supporting the vibes of the atmosphere. Aside from eating, your favorite thing to do when you were stoned was listening to music.
“Y/N-nnie.” Jisung spoke up. “I don’t think I could drive home tonight.” You snickered.
“I didn’t even know you could drive.” You teased him.
“Y/N-nnie, I don’t think Minho can drive home tonight.” He corrected himself, signaling to a sleepy Minho, now on the couch again.
“You can take the guest room.” You replied. Felix was too busy dancing to the record that Jisung had played to even notice you and Jisung laughing at Minho’s sleeping form.
You were thankful that Jisung had gotten you indica and CBD gummies instead of sativa ones, because you were sure that you couldn’t handle Jisung and Felix with so much energy; as they were both frantically dancing along with the music. You retrieved your tablet and started drawing the scene that was unfolding in front of you, enjoying the music in a more relaxed way but barely even concentrating on it.
Felix seemed to be enjoying himself, you were surprised to see he was so calm, cool and collected despite being so evidently high. His movements were clumsy, opposed to his usual well-structured dancing.
Jisung suggested that you played some video games, but you declined, sitting next to Minho’s sleeping body and drawing, while Jisung and Felix played on your console. You continued drawing, this time Minho in his sleep. Your art was by no means at an expert level but it did make you feel better.
Minho stirred in his sleep, opening his eyes when his head bumped into your thigh. He blinked a few times upon seeing you.
“Y/N-nnie, can I stay here?” He asked, you nodded. He snuggled further into your thigh. You chuckled and messed up his hair.
“Min, sleep on the bed at least.” You said, feeling a bit hazy yourself.
“Have a good sleep, Y/N. I love you.” Minho yawned and kissed the top of your head before standing up.
“I love you, Min. Good night.” You replied. Minho groggily disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him.
Meanwhile, Felix and Jisung had their minds blown by the game that they played. You had to shush them eventually or you would surely get some complaints from your neighbors.
“Lixie, Ji… I’m tapping out.” You yawned after about half an hour of blank staring at the tv. Jisung paused the game and looked at you straight in the eye.
“Y/N, it’s like 10 pm, are you sure you’re not 100 years old?” Jisung teased.
“Shut up, Ji. If you hadn’t gotten me high, I wouldn’t be so tired.” You snapped.
“Don’t blame me. You know that I love you.” Jisung said with a shit-eating grin. You remained silent, frowning at him. “And, what do you say when I tell you that I love you?”
“I love you, Ji. Good night.” You scoffed.
“I’ll join you after I finish this round, baby.” Felix’s deep voice made you turn to his direction instead. “I love you.” He smiled sheepishly. I love you? He had never said that to you before.
“I’ll try to stay up until you get there.” You added and lowered your face to his level. He pressed his lips on yours softly.
“Don’t worry. If you’re tired, please sleep.” He remarked. You nodded, pecking his lips once more.
“Good night, Lix. Ji, please don’t destroy my house.” You spat as you walked towards your room.
“I love you, Y/N-nnie.” Jisung sang, before you entered your room.
Felix generally didn’t sleep in your apartment unless you had dates that ended later in the night and he was too tired to drive back. Still, you took no time in getting ready for bed, having a brisk shower and washing your teeth before crashing into the comfort of your bed. Being high meant that you didn’t have any of your usual difficulties to fall asleep.
You drifted off quickly, the cool temperature of the room mixed with the warmth of your fluffy blanket made everything feel differentl. You felt more comfortable than you had ever felt in that bed.
You didn’t even hear Felix enter the room after finishing his game. Nonetheless, of course he noticed you; whimpering while you slept. Felix worried that you were having a nightmare or sleep paralysis so he rushed towards you, but instead he heard you moan something that sounded too much like “Lix”.
“So, you’re having a wet dream?” He thought out loud, feeling a rush of blood to both his cheeks and his cock. Felix decided to gently shake you, in an attempt to wake you up.
You stirred in your sleep, but calmed down. Felix decided to take a shower before sleeping. He still felt fuzzy from the gummy and, also, slightly disappointed at the fact that he couldn’t even beat Jisung once in any of the games they played.
And, to Felix’s surprise, he found you to be whimpering again, when he exited the bathroom. He approached you and gently rubbed your shoulders from behind you.
“Baby?” His voice called you as he continued to caress your shoulders. Your eyes shot open.
“Lixie? What were we doing?” You asked, confused to whether what you were experiencing was a dream or not.
“I just got here, angel. You were calling my name.” He replied, you bit your lip.
“Oh, nevermind, then.” You said, calmly and cuddled up to him.
“Were you dreaming?” He inquired, knowing already what your answer was going to be. You felt your cheeks heating up from embarrassment.
“I guess…” you mumbled, rubbing your aching eyes.
“What do you mean?” His voice was deep, teasing you.
“Ah… you know… I was kind of having a… sex… dream.” You slurred the last part, he smirked at you for a second.
“Really?” He asked with a faux innocent expression. “What happened?”
“Lix, c’mon. This is so embarrassing.” You diverted.
“Maybe I could help you.” He teased. “I happen to be feeling pretty famished.”
“Well, in that case…. you were doing exactly… that.” You started. “You were eating me out…”
“Mmmm. My favorite meal.” He commented, making you blush even more. “Continue.” His voice was the perfect combination of deep and raspy, just enough you make you clench your thighs together. You shook your head.
“Y/N…” he said after a moment. “I think I have the munchies…” Felix brought his lips to yours, kissing you messily; his soft lips felt heavenly against yours.
“We can’t have that, then.” You smirked as you broke the kiss, quicker than you initially intended. Felix took his chance and lifted up your shirt over your breasts.
He took his time kissing over them, leaving small, gentle love bites on the way down to your stomach. Your stomach was arguably Felix’s favorite part of you, he never missed the opportunity to kiss his way down it, making sure to leave small bruises on it, as well.
Nonetheless, he proceeded kissing down your stomach and right above your cunt, where you needed him the most; and where he craved to be.
Felix hooked two of his fingers on your underwear and lowered it down slowly, leaving you bare before him. You could see the daze in his eyes while he stared at your wet folds. Felix took no time in slipping a lithe finger inside you. He dragged it inside and out at a slow pace, making you instantly moan at the feeling due to your enhanced condition. Felix kept a slow pace, especially since you clenched around his fingers every time they moved.
You felt your orgasm approach quicker than it usually did, your wetness spreading around Felix’s digits. His face was the most breathtaking sight, brows furrowed with focus, bottom lip bitten, and his beautiful hair fell across his face. Your face fell when you almost reached your peak and Felix’s fingers slid his fingers out of you. He brought them to his mouth to taste your slick and hummed in appreciation.
“You taste so good, baby.” He said in a low, hushed voice and chuckled. “I think I want more.” His fingers gently grazed your cunt. “Do you want more?” You answered with a nod, unable to coherently form a sentence due to your interrupted orgasm.
You pressed your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Felix chuckled. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t realize you were close to cumming. Let me make it up to you.” His voice was sweeter that time, which made you feel flustered.
His face dove into your slick cunt without hesitation. Felix was always attentive and receptive to your reactions, even when he was silly and excited. His tongue lapped at your folds and you couldn’t help with whimper. You could feel every crease in his tongue against your sensitive cunt. You felt yourself clenching against nothing as Felix quickened his pace on your cunt. His tongue circled your throbbing clit as his hands found their way to your hips.
Felix’s small fingers dug their way onto your hips whenever his pace quickened or you let out a sweet moan. You held off your orgasm as long as you could, but feeling Felix’s tongue trace your arousal was making it impossibly hard. Your hands found their way into his hair, in a silent indication that you’d cum. Your orgasm followed through, soft at first and then all at once. You spasmed as it came over you, gushing arousal on Felix’s tongue. You could feel every limb in your body tingling when you reached your peak. Felix was moaning into your cunt, desperately licking every part of you.
“Fuck, you’re incredible. You’re so good.” He said as he separated from your cunt. “Please never leave me. No pussy will taste as good as yours.” He chuckled, leaning forward to place a kiss on your cheek, his weight now on top of you.
He peppered kisses on your face and you couldn’t help but fondly smile at your amazing boyfriend. That is, until you felt his hardened cock against your thigh.
i love love love this concept (still a very short one, though), so here is a translation for everyone :p
warnings: otaku!soob + fem!reader + roomie!gyu. implied threesome. voyeurism. dirty talk. degration. nothing much, just beomgyu being an asshole. and oh, dressing up as bunny girl senpai!
"Babe, I am coming out now!"
You loudly announced from the bathroom. To be honest, it's been a while since you've been here. Silently checking yourself out in front of a mirror wearing a costume that your boyfriend gave you as a gift.
It is a black strapless bodysuit that hugs your curves in the most perfect ways. It also came with fluffy bunny ears, a cottontail, and a black bowtie. The box he handed also had white cuffs inside, leaving you confused with no instructions on how to wear them properly.
Your gaze went down on the black fishnets you are wearing, then to the high heels resting on the counter that will be the cherry on top of your outfit.
Staring at your reflection, you look like a Japanese hypocrite. Just like that Bunny Girl Senpai that Soobin loves to watch with his friends. All you need is a wig and you could bring the character to life.
With a heavy sigh, you gave yourself a last glance in the mirror. This is all for your boyfriend, no one else will see you like this aside from him. Moreover, this is somewhat your gift for him, and for yourself for graduating college on time. It is good that you get to experience these things before the hellhole of adulthood suck you up both.
Another sharp inhale left you before you unlocked the door. You saw your boyfriend walking back and forth beside the bed, even biting his nails in nervousness.
"Soobie..." You softly called him, now turning his attention to you. His flustered reaction immediately sent a warm feeling to your core. Soobin looks like he forgot how to breathe in the sight of you cosplaying one of his favorite characters. Gently making your way towards him just to check if he is still functioning.
"Hey... Do you not like it?" The short fabric kept rising on your thighs, and your hand instinctively pulled it down as you spoke. His amused eyes roam over your body, and you can earnestly feel it with the tingling sensation it gives in your insides.
"Uh..." His lips began trembling, causing you to sheepishly giggle. You held his cold hand before placing it on your waist.
"Don't I look pretty?" Soobin's eyes are almost brimming with tears, wholly vulnerable and pretty in front of you. His hold on your waist grew tighter, before he shook his head to disagree. The heavy burden in your chest subsides, especially with how your boyfriend couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from your figure. It was very evident how hungry he is, with his body radiating an irresistible heat. Soobin looks like he is ready to tore you outfit all the way down until he can fuck you bare naked.
"No? But you won't even kiss me..."
His breath went heavier with your nuances, even shuddering under your grasp. A low whine left him when you wrapped your arms around his neck, restricting him from breathing evenly.
Soobin anxiously gulped before cupping your cheek, which put a sweet smile on your lips. You tiptoed up to him, leaning yourself to close the distance between you.
But to your dismay...
"Bro, can I borrow a char...ger..."
You instantly let go of his nape at the sudden interruption, even hiding yourself behind your boyfriend's broad back. What the fuck. Does his roommate not know how to knock? Why is he still here in the first place?! Didn't Soobin say that they all went home after the graduation ceremony?!
Mind in a daze, you could not fathom how your stomach churns in embarrassment. Utterly unable to think straight with the fact that what was made for your boyfriend's eyes has reached his roommate slash best friend, Beomgyu.
Even Soobin was stunned in his position, shocked pupils darted to his roommate who was not accustomed to the word knocking. Your sight is blocked by Soobin's back, unaware of what is happening. Until the next thing you heard was the door shutting close and the lock being twisted.
"And, your pet as well."
The beat of your heart went faster with what you just heard. You could feel your knees wobble when the realization hits you—you are locked in a room with your boyfriend and his obnoxious friend wearing a stupid costume out of a cartoon. As a cry for help, you clutched Soobin's shirt, and he tentatively enveloped his hand into your fist before facing you. His eyes are unreadable, but one thing is surely clear to you; there is no taint of fright or even anger in them.
"I'll... I'll let him have you first, yeah?"
What?!
Your stomach dropped at his sentence, heartbeat extremely rapid in your chest. Soobin didn't even let you reply when he offered your hand to his friend—who is now smiling like he won the lotto.
Beomgyu placed his hand on your shoulder, leaving goosebumps on your body. Your eyes stayed on Soobin, feeling betrayed and confused by how he could just sit there, completely unbothered by all of this. The man near you harshly cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, which almost made you moan.
"First of all," He starts, disgust evident in his stare at what you are wearing, "You don't know your boyfriend well enough to not know that he is a fucking porn addict." Beomgyu huffed at you, adding more flame to your burning core.
"So, don't worry much. Your boyfriend will cum in his pants by just watching all the things I would do to you."
He added, an irritating smirk remains on his lips. You want to look at Soobin, to ask and confirm what his best friend has said but Beomgyu has his grip tight on your chin.
"For another," He whispered in your ear, plump lips nearly touching your skin, "I hate picky bitches."
You can feel your own body betraying you. Because even if Beomgyu degrades you and the situation doesn't sit right within your morals, you could still feel the uncomfortable slick between your legs. It is making you more agitated since you are not wearing any panties under the tight bodysuit, causing you to feel the very wetness of your pussy.
"Do you get me?"
Beomgyu hissed directly in your ear, earning a soft whine from your throat. You don't know where your decision to nod at his question will lead you, but one thing is certain—your pussy is about to be roughly pounded by your boyfriend and his asshole roommate.
mostly real i, too, wonder how I've managed to make it this far, but my mom debates I more..... (#loredrop) (do NOT ask further about my mom)
💟 no pressure tags bcs i need to see my moots n their tropes : @woniefication @shyoko @yooniso @myuviis @koiiq @chrrific @blooddlusts @seobluuu @luvmahae etc
that was your initial, fleeting impression of chan. he didn't really leave a mark, not at first anyway. just another familiar face that you shared lectures with. but its hard to miss constant stares burning at the back of your skull.
You’d noticed it weeks ago — the way his gaze lingered a little too long when you leaned over your desk, or when you'd always catch him staring when you looked around, and he'd look away right when your eyes met his.
At first, you thought it was just the usual nervous energy of a guy who didn’t know how to talk to girls, I mean he's certainly too jacked to not have any girls approaching him. but then again he always minded his own business, like he didnt want to be seen.
And well... that backfired on his part, because you did notice him.
Chan wasn't the first guy to stare. college was full of eyes that wandered, hands that "accidentally" brushed against yours in crowded hallways. but he was the most interesting. Unlike the frat boys who made their desire loud and obnoxious, Chan's perversion was quiet.
yea. he's a pervert. you've probably guessed that by now. but he never really did something about it. never approached.
of course he wouldn’t approach first. he wasn’t stupid — he knew exactly where he stood in the unspoken hierarchy of college life. You, draped in effortless popularity, always surrounded by friends and attention. him, quiet, never spoke to anyone unless it was his two friends.
The math was simple. you wouldn’t give him the time of day, not in any way that mattered.
atleast that's what he thought, but you had other plans.
You waited until the lecture hall emptied, watching from the corner of your eye as Chan packed up. Perfect. You timed it just right, slipping into the hallway as he shouldered his bag, then ducking into the supply closet two doors down.
The hinges squeaked, and you counted the seconds. Three. Five. Seven. Then his shadow appeared in the doorway.
“Looking for something?” you asked, leaning against the shelves with your arms crossed. The closet was narrow, cramped, the air thick with the scent of industrial cleaner.
Chan froze, his throat working as he swallowed. You could practically see the realization flashing behind his eyes — realization that this is a trap, and that he royally fucked up by falling for it — but his feet carried him forward anyway, till you clicked the door shut behind him.
You tilted your head, letting your gaze drag down his body, pausing at the strained fly of his jeans.
“Pathetic,” you murmured, stepping closer until the toes of your sneakers brushed his. “You really followed me in here like some desperate little puppy.”
he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. The evidence was literally right there.
You reached out, pressing a single fingertip against the bulge, relishing the way his whole body jerked at the contact. “How many times have you gotten off thinking about me, huh?” you whispered, tracing the outline of him through denim.
Chan let out a choked off whimper,His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. You smirked, applying just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. “Answer me,” you murmured, dragging your nail lightly down the length of him. “How many?”
Chan’s lips parted in a gasp when your fingers flicked open the button of his jeans. The zipper came down next, teeth parting with a quiet hiss, and you watched the way his chest heaved, the flush creeping up his neck. “I—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish.
Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, tugging just enough to make his hips jerk forward involuntarily. "Look at that," you murmured, thumb brushing over the damp spot where pre-cum had already soaked through the fabric.
"So fucking eager." Chan's breath came in ragged bursts, you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his muscles tensed when you finally pulled his boxers down just enough to free his cock, hard and flushed, already leaking.
"You gonna tell me?" you asked, wrapping your hand around him slowly, watching his eyelids flutter. "Or do I have to make you?"
You stroked him once, twice, your thumb swiping over the head. Chan's lips parted again, but all that came out was a broken, "T-too many," before his head thumped back against the shelf with a dull thud. making you grin before sinking to your knees in one smooth motion.
his fingers scrambled against the shelf behind him for purchase just as you took him into your mouth, a strangled gasp tore from his throat, followed by a frantic, whispered, “shit—shit—” before he slapped a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide with panic.
You pulled off just enough to smirk up at him “Try to be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear how much of a slut you are for me, would you?” His answering whimper was pitiful, his free hand tangling in your hair as you swallowed him down again.
Chan’s breath came in short, ragged bursts through his nose, his chest heaving. Every time you hollowed your cheeks, every time your tongue curled around him just right, his hips jerked forward involuntarily, only for him to force himself still again with a shudder.
You could feel him straining, his cock throbbing against your tongue, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. “P-please,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, his hips stuttering forward helplessly.
“I—I can’t—fuck—”he stammered, but the words dissolved into a strangled groan as you took him deeper, your lips stretching around him. His palm left his mouth and scrambled against the shelf behind him, knocking over cleaning supplies that scattered across the floor with a clatter. “oh—,” he gasped, his voice raw, “ I—I’m gonna—”
You pulled off him with a wet pop, your lips glistening, and wrapped your fingers around his cock instead. he gasped, his hips jerking forward into your fist before he could stop himself.
“Nngh—fuck—” The words tore out of him a little too loudly. His hand flew back to his mouth, making you twist your wrist just the way you knew would make his thighs tremble, and watched his face contort with pleasure.
“W-wait,” he stammered, but his hips rocked forward anyway, fucking into your fist with desperate little thrusts. His cock was slick with spit and pre-cum, the sound of your hand moving over him obscenely loud in the cramped closet.
“I—I’m gonna—” His voice was wrecked, his words dissolving into a broken moan as you sped up, your thumb swiping over the head of his cock with every stroke.
His head thudded back against the shelf, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp, his eyelids fluttering shut — and then you stopped. your hand going still around him, your grip loosening.
Chan’s eyes flew open, his breath stuttering. His hips jerked forward searching for friction that wasn’t there anymore. “W-what—” he rasped, his voice hoarse, his face was flushed, his lips parted in disbelief, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.
You watched the confusion ripple across his face, his brows knitting together, his breath still ragged, cock twitching pathetically in your slack grip. Then, without a word, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, soft and chaste, like none of the last five minutes had happened. “Wh—?” he managed, his voice cracking.
Ignoring him, you tucked him back into his stupidly expensive chrome hearts boxers, your fingers brushing against his still hard cock just to feel him shudder. The zipper came up next, teeth clicking into place , then you smoothed his shirt down over his waistband
“There,” you murmured, patting his chest “All better.” Then you leaned in again, pressing a quick, closed-mouth kiss to his lips, the kind you’d give a boyfriend before heading to class.
“You—you can’t just—” he started, but you were already stepping into the hallway, tossing a wink over your shoulder.
a/n: im neck deep into the sub!Chris agenda rn (also requested by @zukaii since like feb)
Summary: Your boyfriend — despite being naturally leading, is pretty submissive in bed. It comes as quite a shock when he decides to take control once but who are you to say no?
⤷ smut!!! p in v, softdom!soobin. established relationship. soobin spits in and on you a couple times. lowk size kink. big dick!soobin agenda. few praises thrown in.
a/n: fem!reader (afab so implied), inspired by my dream & requested kinda 🫡 soobin nation rise up. not proof read ><
Being intimate with Soobin has never felt this heavy and hot. His bigger, more intimidating frame easily envelops your body and naturally leads the progress of your connection. You’re not sure when you ended up in his lap, swallowed by his broad stature as you struggle to keep up with the prodding tongue exploring your mouth. Your heart is dizzy with lust-fuelled excitement and your stomach starts to clench and sends sparks of passion towards your lower body. Your hips rock subconsciously against his own as you chase relief for the pressure that’s built up in your sensitive clit from his actions.
You’re practically panting as Soobin continues his ministrations. The usually passive and quite submissive man clings to you needingly, pressing his mouth against yours in a clash of teeth and tongues as if trying to prove a point to someone in his head.
Your hands which dig into the skin as the base of his neck falter and squeeze at the wisps of hair as he pushes you impossibly closer by the small of your back. Your lips disconnect slightly so his hot, heavy tongue can lick a daring stripe from your neck to just above your jaw.
You can’t help but whimper at the feeling. You feel like you’re going insane as Soobin continues to have his way with you. It’s not like Soobin to practically jump on you and have you sit pretty in his lap as he does what he wants to you. Usually, he’s staring at you with eyes blown large with desire as he asks you want you want him to do. What he can do to make you feel so good. Usually the control over someone so much larger than you makes your legs clench but the way Soobin is practically treating you like a doll has you drenched in a way you didn’t think was ever possible.
“Mhmph — Soobin!” You mewl as he presses heavy kisses against your cheek, travelling up your face to press them into your hairline before he lands back at your mouth. He snakes a hand from the small of your back to clench your chin between fingers, pulling his face back so he can stare at you with dark eyes. You swear your eyes almost roll to the back of your head at the sight of his plush, bruised lip. They’re slick with saliva and a small string still connects your lips.
He breathes heavily but the way you’re panting at having your breath stolen from you is undeniably hot to both of you. Your hands slip from his neck to hold his broad shoulders. You must look crazed — hair messy and lips swollen from the nips caused by Soobin.
“What’s gotten into you?” You question under pants, eyes darting around your boyfriend’s face. His hooded eyes drink in the details of your wrecked face. Soft eyes, furrowed brows and parted, kiss bitten red lips that glisten under the dull light in the bedroom like a crude layer of lipgloss. Soobin’s dick twitches at the sight.
“Need you.” Soobin mutters honestly as his hand drops from your chin. You swallow thickly before letting out a small puff in surprise as Soobin swiftly scoots back to lay you flat against the bed. Your stomach flutters as he easily manhandles you in a pliant position he wants to see you in.
“H-Hah..” You exhale shakily as Soobin’s hand runs down your body. His large plans envelope your tits, squeezing and pushing them together under the fabric of your top. He uses his thumbs to rub over the protruding tips, revelling in the way you shiver and bite your lip at the feeling. Your legs greedily rub together, ignoring how your knees knock into his legs and give away what you’re doing.
Wriggling and twisting, you reach after his touch. He curses as his hands trail further down your body until he reaches the hem of your shirt. His head dips as he pushes the material up, lips pressing wet searing kisses to the exposed skin of your torso. When he lifts away to press more, tongue darting to lap at the skin, the cool air causes a nipping sensation that makes your back arch.
Your head falls further back into the pillows as your hands grasp at the sheets. Soobin pushes your shirt up to the point it bunches over the swell of your breasts, pert nipples facing the cool air without much cover. Your legs press together as his head rounds up to the flesh of your tits. His tongue leaves a hot trail of desire, mapping his ministrations as he finally targets your breasts. He swirls the tongue around the perky bud, lips suctioning down as his teeth graze at the sensitive surface. You mewl and yelp as his other hand comes to twist at the neglected nipple.
“A-Ah, Soobin..” You moan wantonly, back arching and twisting. You try to pull away from the pinching of your right nipple but it leads you to push against Soobin’s face causing his teeth to dig into the soft flesh. You hiss and mewl as you feel yourself become more needy at the opposite sensations.
“So needy.” Soobin mumbles around the flesh as he moves to suck the skin just under your areola. You seizes his pinching to lightly roll over the bud with his thumb. You sigh as he separates from your tit with a soft ‘pop!’
The skin presents with a slight red tint. Soobin exhales as he realises the mark will slowly darken over time.
You release your hands from the sheets to weave your fingers into Soobin’s dark strands. He follows your lead until his face connects with your again. Your lips jut into a pout as you motion for him to meet you halfway with another kiss but he stills despite the pull on his hair.
“Jus’ kiss me, already.” You whine, feeling slightly lightheaded by the change in dynamic. Soobin’s lip flips into a smirk at one corner, the expression sends a flutter straight to your cunt. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against your lips.
You relish in the soft kiss. It’s different from what he’s inflicted upon you tonight.
He pulls away softly and his eyes almost seem a little lighter. They’re still clouded with unwavering desire but his expression seems just a fraction smaller.
“..My beautiful baby.” Soobin practically whispers as his eyes take in the features of your face. You turn hot under the appreciation. Soobin presses a soft kiss against your jawline, eyes dazzling with love.
“Soobin..” You whine with embarrassment laced into your words, “Just fuck me already.”
If the room wasn’t hot before it was hot now. As soon as the plea left your mouth Soobin was stripping his shirt and unbuckling his belt. The visual of the taller man sat on his knees above you as his belt clacked and jiggled as he whipped it off and threw the accessory to the side with a metallic thud made your thighs clench. The way his brows furrowed slightly as the belt fumbled a little and the groan of relief once he was able to undo it and throw it to the side made the everyday action just a little hotter.
You shuffle and pull yourself up to fully take off the shirt that was uncomfortably bunched around your chest. Soobin’s eyes shamelessly stare at your tits as they shake a little when you readjust the strands of hair that fell into your face.
“Shit. Baby. Let me eat you out.” Soobin asks as he hurriedly pushes his trousers around his ankles. If you weren’t so turned on you’d probably laugh at how he swears when the material bunches on his thighs and he’s forced to hop off the bed to fully take the denim off. The strain of his cock against the black material of his Calvin Klein’s makes whatever humour die in the back of your head as you zone in on the print.
“Jus’ need you in me.” You reply earnestly. Soobin crawls back on the bed, leaning over you like predator to prey. His eyes meet yours softly, “I’ve been dying to taste you, baby.”
You almost moan at his words. Soobin uses a hand to trace your features with delicate fingers. Your hand raises to softly hold at the hand. Not to stop him but just to simply touch him.
“I just need your cock, ‘Bin.” You say it so easily Soobin feels himself twitch in his underwear. The fingers tracing your lips lead themselves to your lips, slightly pressing down on the pink flesh to open your mouth silently. You let him use you, opening your mouth so he can press down on your tongue.
“Get my fingers wet, my love.” Soobin hums as he zones in on the way your tongue twirls over the long digits. He wills himself to not teasingly press a little deeper. If he was feeling a little meaner maybe he’d see how far he could go before you gag against the prodding digits. He hooks a thumb on your chin so he can rub his pointer and middle fingers against your tongue.
You hum, voice bordering on a whine as your mouth salivates from his actions and face alone. Soobin pulls his fingers away but taps on your lips to tell you to keep your mouth open. You flinch a little when he spits but you can’t help but smile when the droplet of saliva lands on your tongue neatly. He dips his fingers back in to scoop it up and really coat his fingers.
He lets you breathe when he pulls away. You swallow thickly as Soobin shifts his attention to your needy cunt. The cool sensation of his fingers prodding as your hot, gushing pussy is enough to make your eyes roll back. He circles your clit a few times — the way you like — before dipping the tips of his fingers into your needy hole. He glances up to gage your reaction before pushing in his fingers, wiggling a little to ease them in.
“Didn’t even need you to drool all over my fingers.” Soobin laughs a little as your mouth falls open. You let out a breathy exhale as he scissors you open, fingers slowly spreading against your gummy walls to get you used to the feeling.
“Ha-ah, told you I need you.” You retort as your fingers curl against the sheets. Soobin hums and bends his head so he can leave a small kiss at the top of your thigh. The muscle twitches at the sensation but the loving action next to the pumping of his fingers makes your stomach feel warm and fuzzy.
It’s not long before the usual dirty sound of squelching fills the air. Soobin manages to wiggle in a third finger despite your little huffs when it stings as he introduces the third. He hums as he shifts back on his knees so he can use his other hand to circle at your clit.
Your thighs begin to shake a little. Your head lolls back as you whimper. Soobin’s long fingers and strikingly ability to find the spot that makes you see stars is a lethal combo, but one that makes you moan like a bitch in heat.
“Soob, ‘m gonna cum.” You warn. Soobin continues, twisting his fingers just slightly as he rubs a little faster on your clit. You should be embarrassed at the wet sloshing sound that fills the room but you can’t focus on it when the familiar warm tugging sensation starts to pull in your lower stomach.
“Gonna cum for me?” Soobin asks as he looks at your face. Your hair is disheveled from throwing your head back but it falls around your head like a halo. He presses a fingers a little harder against the spongy spot inside your cunt as he continues to coo little praises that makes your walls clench against the fingers.
“Pretty baby.” Soobin cooes as you cum. Your back arches with your pretty tits pointing perkily to the air. Soobin wills himself to not grab at the flesh as he continues to slowly pump his fingers in your squishy walls to help you ride out the orgasm. Your hips chase after the fading sensation before eventually stopping.
Soobin takes the signal to slowly detach his fingers from your cunt. Your pussy clenches as he pulls out.
Your head feels dizzy as you turn your head to look at your boyfriend. He’s slowly peeling the elastic band of his boxers away from his hips. You’d offer to help if you weren’t still a little breathless from whining for Soobin to keep going.
He rolls the material down his thighs. His quads tighten as his hand wraps around the base of his cock. He uses the juices from the hand he used to finger you to spread it across the sensitive skin.
He hisses at the contact. Despite being sexually active Soobin still swears he feels like he could cum from one touch alone as he looks at your body. He feels like a dam teenager who just got their hands on their first porn mag as he drinks in your vulgar position.
“Roll over for me, baby.” Soobin commands. You nod, slowly rolling yourself over so you can plant yourself on your hands and knees. It used to feel embarrassing to present yourself so freely to Soobin but you’ve gotten used to this man and his libido to realise he’s way to horny to care for slight imperfections you’ve decided you’ve got in your head.
Your back arches as Soobin places a palm on the skin of your ass. You feel the bed dip as he shuffles forward, stomach clenching when the head of his cock taps against your weeping hole.
You hear Soobin inhale before pausing. He shifts backwards before a hot, wet trail of liquid meet your puffy lips. The needy moan that erupts from your mouth when you realise Soobin’s spat on you again — specifically your pussy, turns you on immensely.
“Tell me if it hurts.” Soobin comments as he guides his cock with his hand. He use the fleshy tip to spread the wetness over your folds, gathering them on the bulbous tip so it makes it easier for him to press into your fluttering hole.
The hand on the palm of your ass smooths to your lower back. You instinctively arch further into the mattress, proving him a better view of your messy pussy. He groans as he presses in, relishing in the way your wet cunt immediately sucks him in.
The stinging is delicious. The way the tears poke at your eyes as you clench them shut would make Soobin cum on the spot if he could see your face. You press your face into the pillows, gasping as he inches in slowly.
“Doing okay, love?” Soobin asks as he stops halfway. You nod against the pillow, biting your lip to swallow any hisses. The stretch does burn but the reward after is too enticing to stop him. Soobin leans forward a bit, accidentally pushing in more as he tries to catch a glance of your face, “Words, baby.”
“G-Good! Keep going, Soob. Need it bad!” You squeal as he inches in more. Your legs want to flail but you ground yourself by biting at the pillow you’ve forced your head into.
Soobin bottoms out swiftly. The base of his hips sit snug against your ass as he allows you a moment to breathe. The way your walls clench rapidly around his cock makes the hand on your back slip to grab at your waist. He holds the flesh firmly between his fingers.
“‘M gonna cum if you keep doing that.” He confesses breathlessly. You whimper out an apology as you try to calm your racing heart.
“Move. It’s okay.” You give Soobin the green light to move.
He rocks his hips slowly. Your eyes almost roll back at how big he is. Soobin doesn’t seem to understand that he is bigger than average because the amount of times you have to tell him he can’t just jackhammer into you from start to finish is astonishing. He doesn’t seem to understand that you barely squeeze him into your cunt before he’s almost breaking into your cervix. Poor guy just wants to make you feel good.
He sighs, both hands finding home on your hips as he finds his rhythm. His thighs slap against the back of your legs, filling the void silence in the room as he slowly speeds up.
Your legs shake. His stupidly big cock practically abuses your gspot, punching and drilling it stupid. Even at the slower pace the mushroom tip makes your toes curl like you’re about to cum on the spot.
“Faster!” You command greedily as you press your hips against Soobin’s. Soobin takes your word for it as he begins to press harder, transferring his weight to the grip on your hips so he can thrust harder.
The bruising placement of his hands makes your mouth water. The thought of him leaving imprints of his hands on the soft flesh like a silent marking of ‘Soobin was here.’ is dirtily tantalising.
“Always so tight. You sure you can take me?” Soobin muses as he thrusts harder. The sounds filling the room are a perverts fantasy. Between the sound of slick skin slapping, obscene squelching and pornographic moans alongside the softest dirty talk would have any person sweating.
You pant and wriggle, hips pushing back to meet Soobin. The plush of your ass slaps against the skin of Soobin’s hips leaving soft little stings in its wake. He slides a hand from your hip to messily play with your clit. You cry as he punches hastily, the force of his thrusts making his hand slip and pull at the sensitive skin.
“‘M gonna cum!” You warn as Soobin continues to draw messy figure 8’s on your clit. He pants as he chases the orgasm, legs and arms burning as he wills himself to keep going.
The sweat that was building on his hairline falls down his face in small streaks and he groans as he flicks his head back. The strands of his hair stick to the sweaty skin, casting a shadow across his face.
“Go ahead, love. Come.” Soobin keens when you clamp down a little firmer than usual. The spasms of your sensitive walls leads him to a quicker release but he refuses to come before you do.
You yelp as a specifically hard thrust makes your vision dot “Fuck! Mhmph!! Soobin — Ha-ah, shit!”
“You sound like a pornstar.” Soobin manages to speak past the whiny whimper that escaped him when the first spirt of his cum shoots into your walls. He spews apologies when he can’t hold it back, fucking you like a pocket pussy as he chases his relief.
You’re practically melted onto the sheets when you come. Whether it’s from Soobin’s off handed comment or the searing hot feeling of his cum costing your walls, one last clench around his bulbous cock and you’re cumming like a whiny bitch.
Soobin lets you ride it out despite his sensitive nature. The sounds that escape him are more adjacent to his usual tone during sex, soft and needy. The slamming of his hips has slowed to a rocking pace. You both hiss as his sensitive heads prods at your spongy spot.
“You did.. so good for me.” Soobin exhales faintly. He slowly pulls out and your walls clench uncomfortably at the feeling. His hands detach themselves from your body as you fully embrace the soft bedding below you. Getting caught up in the heat of the moment made you forget about how hot you are. The warm flush radiates form your body as you both separate for cool air.
You shift, turning so you can face Soobin. He settles against the pillow next to you, facing the ceiling as he catches his breath.
“What got into you?” You ask with a trace of a laugh. Soobin snickers as he rolls his neck softly. He just shrugs.
s: you're going on a midnight swim with your best friends; they're not the ‘best’ when moonlight glistens the water on your skin, and not that ‘friends’ when the night comes to an end.
w: bsf!beomkai × f!reader, 90s AU, midnight swim, pervs/punks, smoking and drinking, shameless smut, high/drunk car sex, humping, blowjob, fingering, eating out, hair pulling, pussy slapping, DIRTY talk, it's all over pretty much dirty actually.
WC: 7k
Beomgyu's soft voice is not for waking someone up; for short and intriguing lullabies maybe. It’s creating an awake but not-very-awake situation, peeling the unconscious state off so slowly. Without his own awareness and effort because it’s heavenly. Out of the sleep terms, even he would say he’s a middle-earth guy, acting like an inferno-guaranteed. Heaven is far, far away from this Darlington County. So it feels like a dream for thirty seconds more, his hand leaves your hair and settles on your shoulder to make your eyes open, thumb hovering over your bare skin.
But the sudden, familiar honk makes it instead.
“Damn…” Beomgyu says, while you’re frowning confused. “He's a bitch, isn't he?” He turns toward the window. “I was being gentle.”
“What's going on?” you ask, frown deepening. Waking up and seeing Beomgyu again feels like you didn't sleep at all.
But he's unacceptably awake. “Come on, get up, we're going to that lake.” he explains, walking toward your closet now.
“What?” you sit up on bed. Your soft and warm bed. It's terrifying to imagine the shocking cold water.
“Don't even look at the clock, come on!” Beomgyu insists, doing something in your closet, down on his knees. He's probably picking some clothes for you to wear after getting out of the water.
And your body that already has goosebumps is now panicking, too. “Beomgyu…”
“I'm taking this?” he lifts something, doesn't even hear you. ‘Something’ because it's dark and none of your vision is clear. So, you both look at it for twenty seconds and then Beomgyu stands up, approaches the window, looks at it with the help of moonlight and the poor streetlamps.
Now you can see it, too. It's the black, transparent shirt. No different from soaked clothes.
But Beomgyu's mouth falls open, “Fuck, what's this?” he lifts it by holding its shoulders, “I've never seen you in this one!” he scolds you by whispering, looks so dumb it makes you chuckle and slap your hands on your face. Just to have a moment to yourself and wake up fully.
“You hate me.” Beomgyu mumbles before diving into your closet again.
And you're pushing the duvet off you finally, remembering some conversations about ‘that lake’ as you come to yourself. The one you've all talked about at least once for your birthdays, yet none of you has ever even dipped a toe in. It’s no surprise, though, that it’s no one’s birthday today and that even the sun isn’t shining. The Plan of No Plan is a radical method in this zone.
“Whose sudden inspiration was this?” you ask, not letting the yawn interrupt your question.
“Me, babe.” Beomgyu answers, folding the clothes he’s chosen for you on his upper legs. Then he looks up, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “We've been talking about this for a fucking year now. I don't give a shit about your capitalist schedules, okay? We're doing it tonight.”
You’re crossing your arms over your chest lazily, unaffected. “You really need a puff, aren't you?”
Beomgyu can't help but smile at this. Still stubborn, though, he nods to the bathroom. “Go wash your face.”
Spring nights keep the waters warm, all the seasons are in their own places, not helping with the coming-to-yourself process. So you’re making sure you press your cold wet hand on the nape of your neck and not wiping off the water completely. It’ll help with the lake preparation when the wind blows on your skin, even though spring nights keep the winds warm, too.
You’re holding hands with Beomgyu absurdly, running to the door before Kai stabs the neighborhood with another roaring honk. He would do it; he never cares. And you still don’t know what clothes Beomgyu picked for you, you don’t even check them out, they’re on the big camping bag now — the one he’s carrying while giving a speech about you only live once, jump into a lake at midnight, kiss a girl, fuck a cowboy and something, something. Until you two finished putting your converse on.
He lifts his I-forgot-something-painted face there. “Uh. For the underwear…?” his voice is finally quiet, or he’s whispering. You can’t decide because you can’t believe Beomgyu can blush about underwear, or darkness causes a lack of hearing, too. And right now, once again, you’re seeing that he only wears his purple Converse at night.
“I hate bras this early.” you say, stepping outside first.
“Right,” Beomgyu says, following right behind you. “Me, too.”
You chuckle, shaking your head, and Beomgyu’s lips curve up, glistening with something uncertain as you’re holding hands again going downstairs. “Means you don't wear one now?” he whispers into your ear. You open the building’s heavy-ass door, opening the night before you are able to slap his chest and say, Right. Me, too.
The S10 Blazer shines brightly under the moonlight with its dilated, square eyes, right wheels sitting on the curb, quite flirty. It's obviously Kai’s father's handsome Chevy. We are so fucked, you think.
But there’s a Bon Jovi concert inside of the car, it feels like the sun has just set. Light a candle, blow the world away. Table for two on a TV Tray. It ain't fancy, baby, that's ok. Our time, our way!
...Right?
And when Beomgyu changes it with Wanda Jackson’s cowboy song and starts to join her, even singing (:trying and failing) the yodeling parts, all of you are thinking about living once, kissing a girl, and fucking a cowboy.
~
The lake has moonlight as a blanket, dances and glistens sweetly in the darkness of the night, looking happier than the sun could ever dream of. And there's something about the moon, it always makes things tempting. It's like a shining sphere sitting on the palm of a siren's silver-black glove. But even this depiction can't make you think about the underwater creations now. That's the thing: peace in the wilderness.
The water gives a cold shock as always but then it quickly turns into a semi-sauna. You all know what that means, though: It's going to be freezing cold if you stick any limb out of the water.
But still, it's peaceful. Once you manage to prevent the boys from swimming all the way to the broken pier on the other side and avoid their attempts to dunk your head underwater, you feel it much more. For about three minutes, you don’t even know whose legs you’re tangling with, who you’re kicking, who’s grabbing you, who you’re grabbing, or where you’re grabbing them. It's the darkest and funniest mess. You don’t stray too far from the shore, just to make sure it’s still each other you’re touching. Relaxing your muscles, it promises that the sleep to come will be perfect. Kai is wearing only his necklace; he likes being 70% naked, and you don’t know if Beomgyu realized he was still wearing his black tank top after jumping into the water or if that was the plan all along. What you do know is that the water makes all your nipples stiff, and only shows yours so clearly.
And that Kai’s skipping stones on the water looks even more beautiful in the moonlight. Sometimes you even think he could walk on water.
The car’s radio is still on, playing Bruce Springsteen behind you three. You have six beers, and a blunt, passed from hand to hand. Conversations are either spicy or weird; Beomgyu’s ‘smoking hot’ neighbor Auntie Cecilia, riches pouring wine into their bathtub, how many animals are sleeping and how many are not now, if the lighthouse keeper would take a puff or kick your asses if he caught you, Sha la la la la… And the Bob guy for sure.
“You guys remember the Bob guy?” Kai says, curving his non-existent mustache between his index and thumb, making it easy for you to remember.
You chuckle, sipping the beer. You could never imagine them like that. Not yet.
“I was in his house the other day, he was having problems with his fucking computer again. I was fixing it and he was sleeping on his couch in front of the TV.” he smirks here, bringing the bottle to his lips. “Guess the movie,”
Beomgyu lifts his chin. “What?”
“Crash, baby.”
“Fuck off!”
“Oh, yeah,” Kai laughs, putting the bottle on a rock so as not to drop beer into the Mother Water. “The scene was, uh… where they fucking under a car, y’know? I don't actually remember them fucking somewhere else but shit, anyway!” he pulls his back away the rock and holds his hands out for this part: “He had a little fucking shrimp in his pants but he was snoring, too!”
“Gross,” you spit, face grimacing automatically with the hate towards the old, stinky men.
Beomgyu frowns. “Think his dick was that small or he was semi-”
“Oh my God,” you stop him there, with Kai’s passionate laughter perfectly backing up.
“Let me change the question!” Beomgyu laughs, too, his voice coming out funny because of the blunt between his lips. “The brain is that sober while we're sleeping!” he says, “Sober enough to pop a boner, yeah?” he chuckles at his potential pizza commercial. “Neurology is wild.”
“And what's the only time we're going unconscious?” Kai asks, mouth still holding the shape of his laughter.
You turn your head to him when Beomgyu approaches, water stirs quietly between you. “Evidently, when you're under a spell, my man.” he mumbles, twirling the words for a spell: belt impact.
And your mind sings the song for you: Well, he always squeezed me at night, while the moon was shining bright! And I knew I was under his spell!
Beomgyu settles the blunt between your lips, and watches them wrapping around the paper. The most shameless stars sparkling in his eyes, tonight, his damp bangs do nothing to hide them. And you're taking a long, and slow drag, not quite knowing why you want to see it a little more.
You're feeling dizzy when you're finally pulling back. “Shall we…?” You say, smoke escaping your mouth, pointing at the car with your thumb.
“You cold?” Kai asks, colliding the empty bottles together.
“That's an outside question,” you say.
“Okay, let's get out.” Beomgyu puts the blunt back between his lips and you all walk the big lake rocks until you step on the little ones and reach the soil again. Feeling heavier with each step is terribly magical when your head is spinning like Jupiter. It's like you're not walking on the soil but it's walking to you; it's pulling you from the knees.
“Almost there,” Beomgyu chuckles when he sees you pressed on there. You're lifting your head, chuckling, and can't really bring yourself to say something. He presses the blunt on a rock and kills the fire, the smoke from his last drag dancing between his nose and mouth. Then he takes off his tank top, it's just a wet and annoyingly tight thing now, combing his hair back for him, showing his forehead, and his skin to the night. You're turning your head somewhere else like a teenager boy, somewhere black or green or gray, and get up avoiding the feeling of your wet t-shirt sticking to your skin.
It's annoying.
Kai is collecting all the trash, and colliding bottles creates a soft tinnitus for you. His necklace is dangling when he bends down and sticking to his skin when he straightens up again. He looks beautiful, mumbling along with the radio. You're joining him inwardly, too.
Superstar in your own private movie,
I wanted just a minor part,
But I'm no fool.
But the music comes from the car, and it hits, lifts your head suddenly. “High driving? Really? We're doing it?”
Beomgyu's gaze shifts between you two for a straight minute, like he just realized that when you said it. “Believe it or not, I've never done that.” he says, raising his hands in the air.
“You did.” Kai chuckles, double knotting the trash bag.
“Once means zero.”
“Once means courage.”
“OK, Jim Rohn.” Beomgyu puts his Misfit t-shirt over his head, and ruffles his hair. “Would you rather sleep in the forest or in the car?” he turns to you. He's literally asking highly, and you purse your lips highly. “Bears aren't hot.”
“Right,” Beomgyu nods, frowning in a stupid seriousness. “A good fuck would make me sleep in a car, too, yeah.”
“No worries, princesses.” Kai murmurs, letting go of that bag and stepping toward you finally. “Cops’ll only give us a good night Mr. Huening honk if they see us.”
Beomgyu smirks, “Baaad son.” and you giggle with him just because you guys experienced this one time. People always assume Kai’s father is driving when they see the Chevy, and Kai never acts any different, honking them back affectionately.
You sigh, the wind is done with washing and sobering you up, everything's still cold and still soft. Unlike Beomgyu's gaze on your soaked white t-shirt. It's almost transparent now, a hot map, having large and small islets painted in your skin color on it. And you're getting used to their gazes. Putting your hands on both sides of your waist, showing a little more, too. Carrying a sweet ache under your skin.
It's not giving enough warmth, though.
“Fuck, you're shaking…” Kai hisses behind your back, squeezing the water out your hair gently. Diamond beads sparkling and sliding down his forearms, dripping on the ground. “We should’ve got more towels.” he mumbles to himself.
And you chuckle, turning back to him for a second to give a What are you talking about? look, “I bet you guys even planned this.”
“No-” Kai refuses immediately but Beomgyu's laugh interrupts him, putting a wide smile on his face, too. And you join them, shaking your head. These boys.
Beomgyu raises his eyebrows. “Think we wanted to check out if boobs are more gorgeous when they get out of the water?”
Kai groans at the back, Beomgyu still can surprise him with that filthy mouth of his.
“We already knew that, lady.” Beomgyu murmurs, sticks the towel on your face and wipes the water, not letting you speak. And you're kind of grateful because you've been catching their eyes on the different spots of your body but this is the first time one of them enters a conversation. With a cocky compliment?
Kai’s fingers are almost massaging to your scalp on the other hand, combing your hair gently, feels really good. You're doing nothing but leaning on the boys a little for a moment, hugging yourself. They're preventing the cold. And you're slowly realizing that you love being in between them like this.
When Beomgyu finally pulls the soft fabric back from your face, you look at each other, your chins shaking. Your teeth are even chattering because of the cold. You laugh again while Beomgyu bumps your heads together.
He squints, putting the towel on his shoulder. “I think,” He holds your waist, his hands feel surprisingly warm on your skin. “You need another squeeze…” he murmurs, hands sliding on your upper body, taking his time before pulling your shirt upwards. Your chest rises and falls under his hands, leaning his warmness secretly. “...from there…” he whispers, squeezing your wet shirt for you, and watching how the fabric tightens on your nipples with his parted lips. The drops fall both on your skins, disappearing between your crotches.
Kai briefly touches your hip bones, giving you shivers without realizing it. Then, he wraps his arms around you. Carefully. His damp, cold chest presses slightly against your back. Slightly.
Maybe he's protecting you from the sudden wind. Or maybe they're just being your best friends. As always. Maybe Beomgyu isn't really pressing his hips forward. Maybe his semi-erect cock isn't really leaning against your stomach. Not at all.
It's happening so slowly because you're all high.
It's just starting, and it'll grow. You know that. They know that. Your hands cup Beomgyu's face in a weak grab since you're best friends. His cheeks are warm, but your hands are cold, but he just leans into your touch and doesn't even hiss. His hands climb up under your shirt, cautious but needy. His sparkling eyes are even bigger now, reflecting the moonlight.
Your back arches slightly into Kai’s chest when he finds your breasts and touches them gently, waiting to see what you're going to do about it.
And you don't know. You two— hell, you three never did something like that before.
It's confusing. Exciting.
Your thumb touches his lower lip, parting his lips, they're a cold shade of pink and look really nice this close. The tip of his tongue sticks out slightly to touch your fingertip. The sensation turns your stomach, and Kai holds it, caressing his way through your ribcage. Now, both of their hands are touching your bare, damp skin. Caging it, maybe.
Beomgyu looks down at your finger, wanting to wrap his lips around it. But you pull your hand back and bring your face closer to his instead.
His thumbs press on your nipples while your lips touch softly. It's not a kiss, just a soft caress of your mouths. Since you're still best friends.
Right?
You wish you were high enough for this. For biting Beomgyu back when he nips at your lower lip, walking the fine line for all of you, and circling your nipples to urge you. For sliding your hand between you and Kai, grabbing his cock or just putting your hand inside of his wet shorts and—
The images create a pulse between your legs so quickly. You sigh against Beomgyu's mouth and turn your head to the side. You grab the back of Kai’s neck; you don't know why—maybe because he's not right in front of you like Beomgyu, so you can't see him properly to think about it. You feel his soft gasp on your face for just a second before he leans in and captures your mouth in a needy kiss. It's unstable, full of tongues and teeth. You do better when you close your eyes and he even nips and sucks your tongue. Finding out that your best friend is a good fucking kisser wouldn't ruin your friendship at all.
The humping starts like that; Beomgyu lifts your leg and presses it against his side, shamelessly touches and grabs you wherever he can reach. Now, you can also feel Kai’s length against your hips. He's grinding against you, too. It's overwhelming and awesome, making your mouth falls from the kiss. You turn to Beomgyu insatiably while his fingers pinch and pull your nipples. "Ah-" moaning softly, you kiss the cocky smile off his face, ruining it. Beomgyu tilts his head to the side, licks your lower lip, and bites it, pulling on the flesh until you gasp into his mouth again.
It's hitting your crotches. Your head. "Oh," you are pulling back from the kiss, frowning. The ‘pop’ still sends shivers down your spine. Feeling too hot and desperate, you bow your head until your forehead touches Beomgyu's chest. "I..." you breathe, licking the taste of them off your lips. "I need to change."
You understand that nothing will change for the next ten-plus seconds. You really do.
Again: It's confusing but exciting, too.
Maybe Beomgyu would tease you for your impressive not-even-flinches-against-grass logical thinking skills, and you know Kai’s face would change forms with a cotton candy for the next six hours… And that'd be okay?
It's just the rule: Everything gets blurry when desire grows.
The cage breaks slowly. First, Kai’s breath disappears from your neck and Beomgyu's from your face. Then, Beomgyu lets go of your thigh and Kai’s arms are no longer wrapped around you... You no longer feel two rock-hard cocks pressing against your stomach and hips. It's cold again.
You swallow, and press your lips together just because they're tingling. The scenarios are not happening; nobody talks, but you can see what was this looks on their faces, too. What did we do?
You're hugging yourself, watching Beomgyu's head disappearing inside of the trunk. He finds the clothes he picked for you, “There,” he says, holding your gaze for a second.
“We'll…” Kai begins, but can't finish his word when a weird ten seconds of you three staring at each other's faces interrupts him.
So, you just nod and they walk away slowly.
Beomgyu on the driver's seat and Kai on the passenger seat.
The trunk is still open. They're only one turn of their heads away from seeing you. Nothing really changes...
You sigh softly, looking down at the clothes. Beomgyu really got you proper cotton pieces, all you could ask for now. You joked about the towels earlier, but apparently, what just happened wasn't none of your plan. Even though they're the craziest men in the county.
They're not, at this moment. Until then what was this looks slowly turned into I don't know what was this but i need more ones.
Beomgyu turns his face to you first, leaning his cheek on the seat. Between the damp locks, his eyes are still sparkling; like he is always leaving the lights open there to watch you properly.
Then Kai.
You feel the ghost of his gasp on your face again, but Kai is not that cotton candy now. He's silent, even his eyes are silent, respectfully staring.
You're taking off your shirt slowly, like you waited for them to look at you. Like you didn't want space for yourself just a moment ago. Kai turns his head somewhere else for a second, while Beomgyu's lips part slowly; he licks away a smirk from his lower lip. His eyes are giving you a name already.
The wind caresses your bare breasts and keeps your nipples erect. It's soft and cool on your skin, raising goosebumps. Your T-shirt drops onto the stack of boys’ wet clothes, completing the crime scene. Your face feels hot as you feel the pressure of Beomgyu's gaze. He's taking in every curve until you're dressed again. Not Kai.
But his door opens slowly when you close the trunk. You can see his face now, sharing one seat?
He holds your hand like a gentleman and guides you onto his lap, right on his cock. And fabrics don't matter, it's pressing up against your cunt, making you gasp and press your hips down on it. Kai hisses against your mouth, captures your lips for the second time tonight. Rougher. He grabs both of your ass cheeks right after he closes the door, squeezing them tightly in his palms while tangling your tongues together. He's guiding you, patiently so that he can feel the way you're grinding against him desperately and how your warm pussy makes his cock fatter with each second.
You like kissing Kai. He's dirty at it, he's not pulling back until he makes sure you're dripping down there. Not like the first time. You're tangling a fist in his hair, tugging at it while you're pressing your hips together. Impossibly closer that you feel the warm stickiness licking you down your folds, can't keep up with the kiss anymore.
The windows are steaming up already.
“We're really doing this?” Beomgyu asks, breathing heavily, his palm pressing down on his covered cock.
Friends wouldn't answer this, right?
You all smile with pink cheeks, looking at each other, feeling how the air is getting warmer and climbing up on your legs. It's just like the lake; water is a lot warmer, and you need to go step by step this time, savoring the feeling of water rising up on your skin until it takes the lead and carries your body for you.
“You feel it?” Kai asks, looking down at your connected hips. He's slightly panting from the kiss, and his voice is driving you wild in this tone. You're grabbing his shoulders and rolling your hips against his cock to look at it, spreading your wetness on your panties more while doing that. He's aching there, probably. Your lips can't build a smile, “We didn't even…” and can't whisper more because his cock is aching under your pussy. Your aching-too pussy.
Kai’s lips curving up a little. “You can't take compliments?” he mumbles, pressing his tongue under your ear, licking a small line there. Breath stuttering in your chest, “Compliments.” you smile, cheeks burning, “That's all you'd give me?” voice getting quieter.
Kai smiles against your skin, takes your hand and guides it on his cock, pressing on it a little. “You can take it?” he whispers. Your eyes fall close after this, your pussy throbs on his hardness. “You could die from how much I could take.” you whisper back, even quieter. Even desperate, now. You can't see him but you know Beomgyu likes this sentence a lot.
“Oh, no doubt I'll die.” Kai chuckles quietly, tingles your skin. He grabs your hand properly and slides it up and down on his length, slowly. “I'm just letting you think again,” he whispers into your ear, caressing himself with your palm to let you know what you're about to take. He's big. “Fuck,” you exhale.
Beomgyu chuckles darkly to the porn in front of his eyes, feels the need to interrupt it before Kai stuffing himself inside your walls and dicks you down in his dad's car.
He's not the only one who wants to fuck his best friend.
“You like foreplay, aren't you?” he asks, eyes half-lidded, an uncertain smirk on his lips. “I'm still not that hard,” he looks down on his body for a second, “Unlike some of us,” teasing quietly.
Kai turns to him, smiling, not even in his negative. And seeing that you're not going to cut off two pieces between them loosens your shoulders.
They'll share.
Respectfully.
Beomgyu helps you approach him by holding your waist. You're looking like a cat there for a moment, knees with Kai and hands with Beomgyu. Still, none of you are complaining about being in a car.
Kai grabs your ass, informs you all that it's staying with him. Beomgyu pulls you upward quickly and grabs your boobs, your mouth falling on his with a gasp. His smile doesn't kiss you back. His palms are warming and squeezing your skin; he loves it, cursing under his breath while he plays with your nipples, loves the way you're slowly falling onto his lap because he is turning you on with his fingers like that. “I could do it all night…” he groans. You're grabbing his wrists and your head falls onto his thighs.
He stops there.
You're breathing through your mouth, leaning it on the tent while closing your eyes to the feeling of Kai’s fingers tugging at your shorts. Beomgyu slowly lets go of your breasts, brings one hand on your head, combs your damp hair back, pressing your head on his cock slightly, urging.
And Kai pulls the fabric down with everything, revealing your bare skin. You moan softly when the air touches your skin, and nip Beomgyu's covered cock slightly when Kai’s warm breath touches your pussy.
“You,” Beomgyu sighs, “You're even prettier when you lose control like this.”
You never heard his voice like that before. Their voices. It's not even the tones. You can feel their hunger in your bones.
Kai slides a finger on your slit, pressing deliciously, making your thighs tremble. Your hands press on Beomgyu's thighs for a second, then pull his shorts down in a hurry until his cock slaps against his stomach. “Wow, wow…” Beomgyu breathes, hand settles on the back of your head, slightly shaking. Your saliva drops on his tip, which is an accident, but makes Beomgyu's cock twitch. “Fuck…” he groans.
Kai spreads your wetness around, his heavy breathing caressing your skin, taking his time until he reaches your clit. He presses his finger pads on it roughly, while you're wrapping your lips around Beomgyu's cock and Kai starts to circle, making your eyebrows knit in pleasure.
“Oh-” Beomgyu’s mouth forming an ‘o,’ frowning. You're sucking his soul out of him, still grabbing his shorts, and groaning around his cock because of Kai. Damn Kai.
You bow your head and take more of his cock. You don't know what you're doing or that you're that good at it. Beomgyu hisses, tangling a fist in your hair. "Don't rush, baby. I need to feel this," he whispers, then lets go of your hair to tap your mouth gently with his index finger.
You swallow, lifting your head up and cupping his tip with your lips again, turning back to the cat-licks. Beomgyu nods, satisfied, “You beautiful,” breathing heavily.
Kai slides two fingers at once in you, so easily, your walls swallow them with a sticky sound, squeezing and hiding them with need. Beomgyu touches it when your back arches more, they're constantly cursing that you can't keep up with them anymore.
The car starts to shake slightly like that. You have a tempo now. Kai fucks you slow and deep with his fingers, and Beomgyu lets your mouth play with his cock. Drunkenly from so many things. Wet, sticky sounds from your pussy, small sweet noises from your lips, all of your breathing together… Nobody's talking for a moment, you all are savoring every second of this, and going for more and more. Beomgyu's hips bucking upwards, your nose touching the short hair on his crotch, Kai curving his fingers toward the sweetest spot yet… Drops falling down on his lap right after, burning your cheeks.
You're pulling back with a soft ‘pop,’ panting, “Kai…” But he adds the third finger, like the way the letters of his name are shaking on your tongue. “Kai, I don't wanna…” ruin the car… You groan, losing your voice to the knot in your stomach.
Kai hushes, “I like you more than this car.” urging you to make a mess all over on him. And you like every second of it, but you shake your head, too. Until it falls on Beomgyu's cock, taking him in your mouth again with the sweetest whine.
Beomgyu pats your head, chuckling darkly. “Only from his fingers?” he whispers, teasing you about the sounds of your pussy like it didn't get him leaking.
Kai pushes deeper, your walls clenching around him so tightly that the rhythm gets messy. You're bobbing your head lazily on Beomgyu's cock with the sensation of each push and pull, sucking rougher. Beomgyu likes it. You're even prettier when you lose control like this.
“I was trying so hard to not imagine this mouth of yours, girl,” Beomgyu speaks quietly, guiding your head up and down, up and down… “Look at you,” he groans, head falling back, eyes half-lidded, can't catch much of the scenery playing on the windshield.
What a scenery.
Your frown deepens, you're panting on Beomgyu's cock, licking his slit quickly while your whole body trembles. Beomgyu pulls your hair, doesn't mind the teeth when you reach your orgasm loud. "Ahhh!" Kai fucks into you through your it, cursing under his breath. Something like fuck, fuck, fuck, and he presses his mouth on your folds, catching the juices with his tongue. Definitely not because his dad will fuck him up. More like, he's been waiting to have a taste of it…
Beomgyu caresses your hair while you catch your breath, your cheek pressed on his thigh, and helps you lift up when Kai adjusts your shorts for you.
The console feels hard under your butt, and Beomgyu's arms feel warm wrapped around you from behind, sensations mixing with each other for a long moment.
“Feels like I'll die if I don't fuck you tonight,” Beomgyu confesses behind your ear, saying it like it's the most innocent thing, voice quiet and sweet like a poison.
“Guess we should've possessed somewhere less lakey,” you sigh, smiling stupidly. Lakey? What stage of aftershocks is this?
It makes Kai chuckle anyway.
Not Beomgyu.
He's fidgeting behind you, making you turn to him with curiosity. He opens the door, carefully leaning your body to his seat. “Wait.” he says, getting out of the car quickly.
You settle on the warmness his body creates there, and turn your head to the trunk with Kai when you two hear it's opening. Beomgyu takes the big camping bag and opens the zipper, making an annoyingly long and loud full-of-letter-z sound. You're blinking at each other with Kai for a second while Beomgyu dives into the bag’s deepest pockets.
And when you turn to him back again, Beomgyu has a metallic-blue, thin little square in his hand, closing the trunk.
“Shit,” Kai says, frown deepening. He's giving the reaction for you, but not with the same feelings. You're holding your breath while Beomgyu walks toward the opened door and holds your hand. Blood rushes down between your legs again.
“Sorry, man, there's one.” he says, taking you out of the car, chuckling with you.
“Fuck you, man!” Kai, too, chuckles. In betrayal.
Beomgyu doesn't waste any time, and pins you to the car window, his hands pulling your shorts down quickly, dropping around your ankles. Breathing heavily, he grabs your hips and leans the head of his cock against your entrance, his urgency turns your stomach. He pushes his hips forward, sliding his cock inside with one, quick swift. And he groans at the feeling, arms wrapping around you, hands slip under your top and finds your breasts. Again.
“Ah…” you gasp, creating a small steam on the window, you lean your hands on it, back arching. Beomgyu’s face falls against your shoulder, not moving yet just because your clenching around him feels like heaven.
“...let me breathe?* He whispers, head leaning against yours, smiling weakly. You smile, too, and squeeze his cock tightly on purpose. “Oh-” He hisses, grabbing your hips roughly. He pulls back slightly and slaps his hips toward yours, pressing your body to the car. You gasp, clawing the cold surface, and can't hold on to anything. “How about that?” He groans, nipping at your ear, settling his rhythm inside, starts to fuck you rough and slow, pulling your hips back to his with each thrust.
“God…” you breathe, leaning your cheek on the window, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of every push and pull. “Wrong.” He says, changing the angle so that his cock strokes every sweet little spot inside, and he's fucking good at it. “Beom-” your knee coming up, pressing against the door hard. Beomgyu catches it, grasping your thigh, his nails biting on your skin. Bending you nicely so that you can feel it better, he starts to pound into you, hitting that spot with a cruel pace.
Your mouth opens in pleasure, your hips moving back messily, joining his rhythm. Your cheeks pink with how the second orgasm builds up that quick.
And how he is holding himself back to fuck you a little more.
Thrusts grow deeper, and slower for a moment, his chest leans on your back. “You could die from how much I could give,” he whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
Turning your face to his, a soft moan slips on your tongue for a kiss. He leans in to tangle your tongues together while his hand runs down over your skin and his fingers tangle with your clit, too.
He presses hard on it, holds your body and swallows all the cries from your tongue. “Beomgyu, Beomgyu…” your legs start to tremble again. He's so fast and rough that you're about to melt and fall under the car, doesn't even let you speak about it.
“I need to feel it,” his teeth tugs on your lower lip, rolling the nerve bundle roughly. “Feel it all over my cock,” his thrusts start to shake your body, growing faster again, filling your ears with only that dirty skin-slapping and his much dirtier words. “Feel this pussy can't handle it anymore,” he groans, slapping your pussy hard. “Ah!” Enough to burn your skin, and catch the sweetest scream.
You squirt all over his cock, trembling in his arms, left boneless in seconds. Panting and making unconscious little noises against the window, you let your mind melt away with ecstasy.
“Shit-” Beomgyu groans against your neck. “That's my girl.”
He repeats it over and over again while his rhythm goes unstable, and he comes after you, hips stuttering.
We'll fall on the ground, you think. Your lips trembling, almost building a smile in that naughty shade of pink like you'd enjoy it. Don't mind Beomgyu would never let you fall, and always holds you that tight.
Realities collide there on the backseat, or you just slept forty seconds. Who'd know the dreamiest sleep you've ever had would also be the shortest one. It doesn't leave your body when you feel Kai’s weight. His arms wrap around you, his chest to your back, safe. Maybe you two share another forty seconds sleep there, you wouldn't tell.
Kai nuzzles your neck, “Promise, I won't come inside.” he whispers. And you smile, drunkenly, stupidly. “Yeah?”
Kai smiles, too, when he feels your smile through your words. “I swear to my fucking God.” he whispers again.
And you chuckle together, quietly, you feel the vibration of it on your back.
“Okay,” you murmur, poking your ass up slightly. Quite sweetly, actually. He grabs them with gratitude, putting a soft kiss to your temple.
His weight lifts from your body slowly, his hands leaving your skin for a moment to reveal his cock. He's patient, doesn't rush anything even though he's been aching long enough for this. Slowly pulling down his shorts, and grabbing himself, he leans on you again, putting his other hand on the seat beside your ribcage.
His cock sliding up and down on your slit, the head kisses your clit, making you gasp, and then slides up again. You're pressing your cheek on the seat’s burgundy fabric, breathing heavily. The friction is delicious, got your pussy lips winking, but he teases, cock pressing up from your folds and reaching your asshole, rubbing the way to your back.
“I'll kill you.” you moan, eyes rolling back behind your closed lids, body fidgeting under him with sensitiveness.
“I know.” Kai smiles, drawing his cock down to your pussy just to repeat it again. Up to your back, down to your clit; up and down, up and down…down until you lose your minds together.
“Let me see your face,” you gasp, lifting your head up. Kai puts a kiss to your hair, and grabs your waist, turning your body to him carefully.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and you both bow your heads and watch his cock leaning against your stomach, leaking. “Fuck,” you grab the back of his neck while he grabs his base and rubbing on your clit with his tip.
Kai nuzzles into your neck, nipping at the thin skin gently. Sliding his cock down, pushing the tip in, and pulls back, rubbing upwards to slap on your clit. Sounds are…
“You feel so soft, I'll lose it…” Kai sighs against your skin.
And you squeeze his hair, pulling him into a kiss when he pushes inside you properly this time. Your legs wrap around his waist, walls warming his cock nicely. None of you bite, keeping the kiss soft and passionate. Maybe because it was a long night, maybe because it was a sweet night.
You realize the radio is still on. Quieter or all the sounds are colliding back and forth messily just for you. But you hear the new strong guitar intro clearly, it's filling your ears up, putting a wince on your face.
You also hear Beomgyu opening a beer with his mouth, and spit the cap to sing with Courtney Love.
“Ah, ba-by-doll! Here you are sucking my energy, and ah, drill it in my good hole so that I can see you are, you are so much bigger than me!”
You chuckle with Kai, lifting your heads to look at him. He's slurring the words, tired but also passionate, running towards the lake again.
And a huge splashing sound of water comes next.
“Bitch’s going to drown.” Kai murmurs, can't bring himself to care, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter, fucking you slowly. Again, nuzzling into your neck. Sucking a little mark this time for you to not forget this moment tomorrow.
For all of you to say, Why we didn't do that earlier? tomorrow.
And the sky’s sweetest tone of blue touches you finally. It'll keep its pace slow, and warm your skin by climbing on it gently. The siren’s glove will change its color, spreading it strongly on the shore.
i got an idea for another chan fic where him and reader have like a fun movie night with the boys, and now this is so freaky and like crazy i know😭, but then while watching the movie suddenly the movie turns into chans and readers like… sex tape (the sex tape is funny too) that they recently filmed and chan saved it there but forgot about it (or something like that) its so crazy i am sorry😭
i love ur fics, thank you!!💗
you weren’t supposed to see that ! ft : bangchan
⚘( ၴႅၴ summary : while having a normal movie night with the boys, something plays that was only meant for you and chans eyes
cw : SMUT, piv, recorded sex/homemade porno,
kitty talks : 600???? LOVE YALLLL i’m working on getting through your guys requests i’m loving your ideas. sorry this is so short i didn’t know how to carry it on without having the members join in💔💔 BUT I LOVE FHIS IDEA SM YOURE A GENIUS I LOVE YOU
wc : 865
the movie quietly carried on in the background, yet no one bothered to watch it, they were all too lost in their own conversations. it had been awhile since everyone had gotten a proper break and could just rest and enjoy each others company without the stress of schedules weighing on their mind.
jisung and minho were practically sitting on top of each other, tucked away in the corner of the couch. hyunjin was shoving changbin away as the older man tried to feed him pop corn. felix and seungmin were in the kitchen trying, and failing, to make dinner for everyone. you were laying your head in chans lap as he gently stroked your hair, watching his members with the biggest grin on his face. jeongin was the only one paying attention to the screen.
chan had so kindly offered to use screen share off of his phone and use whatever streaming service the boys wanted to pick out a movie. the youngest now sat in front of the tv, scrolling through the recommended films, none peaking his interest. that was until a notification popped up at the top of the screen, one of those ‘memories from this day!’ notifications that the photos app would send.
without thinking too much about it, jeongin clicked on it, expecting the photo to be a cute one of the members or some picture of berry. what he didn’t expect, was for such an explicit video to pop up on the tv for everyone to see.
you were sprawled out on the bed, legs spread, exposing your glistening core to then camera. the sound of chans cooing at the sight from behind the camera caught your ears and you finally looked up at the screen, your heart immediately dropped.
chan reached out behind the camera and ran a finger through your folds, eliciting a whimper from you. the noise grasped everyone’s attention and now all eight pairs of eyes were glued to the sight of your drooling pussy. you were too shocked to even form words, all you could do was stare with your jaw on the floor.
chans voice carried over the speakers, “my sweet girl want my cock? look at how wet you are for me.”
the camera moved closer to get a better look at your cunt, then panned down to show chan slowly stroking his cock, the tip pretty and red, leaking pre cum from his sensitive tip. some boys let out gasps while others were still too stunned to speak, you were just praying that this was a nightmare.
the video abruptly cuts to a new scene now, the camera set up on a shitty tripod to get a better angle at the bed. chan was now leaning over you, caging you between his arms while his cock pistoned out of your drooling pussy at a bruising pace. your moans and cries for more rang out in the small dorm and your stomach churns at the thought of it carrying through the walls.
right as your moans got louder, clearly rapidly approaching your orgasm, the camera fell off the tripod. chans movements immediately stopped at the sound of the crash and groaned.
“chaaan,” you whined as he pulled out to go grab the camera, “i told you that wouldn’t hold it.”
he huffed out as he picked it up and made his way back over to the bed, “it’s ok, it’s way better from this angle anyway.”
chan held it in a pov position, giving everyone a clear view as he pushed his tip back into your puffy pussy, stretching you out for all to see. you couldn’t handle it anymore, you finally sat up, clambering over to jeongin to rip the phone out of his hands. turning the phone off and throwing it to the side, you turned to face the members, trying your best to pretend that they hadn’t just see you naked getting fucked.
chan remained on the couch, his head in his hands and you can see his bright red cheeks peeking through his fingers. everyone’s eyes were still on the screen, still too shocked to look away even though it was now black.
“so um..” you finally spoke, clearing your throat when everyone looked at you, “this was fun! but i’m sure you guys are soooo tired, you should go home! me and chan will clean up!”
hyunjin couldn’t hold back his snickers as he got up, urging the rest to follow with him as he walked to the door. minho and seungmin laughed with hyunjin while changbin, seungmin, felix, and jeongin gave you and chan both sympathetic looks, whispering out quiet apologies for seeing something they clearly weren’t meant to.
after they had left, and silence now filled the dorm, you turned to chan, “you still have that video?”
he nodded, his head still in his hands, he mumbled, “it’s my favorite of ours.”
you blushed, “really?”
chan finally gained the courage to make eye contact with you and grinned, “of course, wanna go recreate it?”
“chan i don’t think i ever want to make another porno with you until we talk about using the ‘hidden’ folder.”
BACKSEAT DRIVING : featuring christopher chahn bahng
— street racer!bangchan x street racer!reader in which, bangchan's stubborness rooted from his desire with you has finally snap putting you in your place with one race—and it's below him, writhing in pleasure.
content warnings: includes detailed smut scenes that are not suitable for minor readers. this includes unprotected sex (tap it befor you pop it). slight choking, dom&sub dyamics, spitting, slight hair pulling, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasm. filth, filth, filth! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
a/n: this is all @channlust's fault so we all blame her for this /j. the racer!minho and racer!chan she posted has me on chokehold, so i guess i have to do it too because this won't make me sleep for real. ENJOY READING THIS FILTH. < 3
word count: 4.4k words
Street racing was never something you did for mere entertainment. It was your life, the very rhythm your heart had learned to beat to. Every roar of an engine, every sharp turn taken at impossible speed, every blurred streak of city lights rushing past your windows felt more like home than anything else ever had. You had devoted yourself to this world completely, carving your name into streets that had long been ruled by men and becoming one of the very few women bold enough to dominate it.
But you were never there for appearance's sake.
You were not some pretty girl sitting behind the wheel for a show, nor a name people remembered because it was unusual to see a woman in the scene. They remembered you because you were good. No, better than good. You were unbeatable. Even the cockiest racers, the ones who wore arrogance like a second skin, lost the moment they lined up beside you. The second the engines came to life and the countdown began, victory was already slipping from their grasp.
A demon on the asphalt.
The streets belonged to you, and everyone knew it.
At the center of your legend was the machine that had become an extension of your soul: your bright yellow Chevrolet Camaro Concept, who you call Bumblebee, a name far softer than the beast she truly was.
She was your pride and joy, the one and only car that had witnessed every moment of your journey on the streets. From your very first race to every victory that followed, she had been there through it all, sharing every win since the moment you decided that this life, the streets, was where you truly belonged.
By now, your name had become something the streets could not stop talking about. Men and women alike idolized you. Some admired the way you moved through the crowd with effortless confidence, leather jacket slung over your shoulders and your gaze sharp enough to make people look away first. Others were drawn to the danger that clung to you like perfume, the thrill of watching you slide into the driver's seat as if you had been born there. To the women who watched from the sidelines, you were power made flesh. To the men who dared race, you were every bruised ego and impossible fantasy wrapped into one. You were more than a racer. You were the streets' obsession.
Except Bangchan's fascination had always been different.
Where everyone else watched from a distance, content to admire you like a legend too untouchable to reach, Chan insisted on stepping directly into your path. Again and again, he pulled his car beside yours at the starting line, the familiar low rumble of his engine cutting through the night as his eyes found you through the open window. He challenged you every single time, and every single time, he lost. At least, that was what everyone believed.
The crowd loved to laugh about it, whispering about how stubborn Chan was, how foolish he had to be to keep throwing himself into races he could never win. But they did not notice the way his gaze lingered on you before the countdown began, nor the faint curve of his mouth whenever your car shot ahead of his. They did not see the satisfaction in his eyes as your taillights pulled farther into the darkness.
Because Chan was never chasing victory. He was chasing you.
There was something about the way you carried yourself on the streets that had gotten under his skin from the very beginning. The cold confidence in your stare, the way your fingers curled around the steering wheel like you owned the night itself, the almost cruel ease with which you overtook every racer who dared stand beside you. He was drawn to it in a way that made no sense, hopelessly addicted to the sight of you leaving everyone behind, including him. Maybe that was why he kept coming back. Or maybe, if he were being honest with himself, there was something intoxicating about letting you win.
Tonight, something about Chan felt different.
You noticed it the moment his Red Lamborghini Huracan pulled up beside yours, the low growl of the engine cutting through the night like a warning. The streets were alive as always, neon lights reflecting off polished hoods and asphalt, voices mixing with the hum of engines and the smell of smoke and gasoline. But the playful glint that usually lingered in Chan's eyes was gone. Tonight, there was something sharper—conviction, and maybe something more. He stepped out of his car and closed the door with a quiet click. His gaze found yours immediately, and for a moment, the crowd around you seemed to disappear. You straightened against Bumblebee, fingers brushing along the smooth yellow paint.
"You came back," you said softly. Not a taunt, just an observation.
"I always do," he replied, stepping closer, close enough that the air between you felt heavier. There was a flicker of teasing under the intensity in his eyes, and it made your pulse quicken even as your expression stayed calm.
"So," he added, voice low and deliberate, "How about we make this interesting." He leaned slightly toward you, just enough to make the movement noticeable, letting a shadow of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
"Let's make a bet." he said, locking eyes with you, "If I win this time, you'll come and ride with me." The words were bold, but the way he said them made it clear he was enjoying the tension, testing how you'd react.
You stayed quiet for a moment, holding his gaze. His lips twitched, a faint smirk, as he let the silence stretch.
"And if I win?" you asked at last, steady and composed.
"Then I'll stop," he murmured, almost playful, though the heat in his eyes showed he wasn't entirely serious.
He stepped back and ran a hand along his car roof, casual in gesture but deliberate. "Tonight I plan to make you work for it."
You glanced toward the empty stretch of road ahead, then back at him. "One race," you said softly. Chan's smirk widened, just enough to be dangerous.
"Good," he said, leaning slightly forward again. "Try not to make it too easy for me, okay?" His voice was teasing, low, like a game, but every word carried the same intensity that haunted the streets whenever he raced beside you.
You rested a hand on Bumblebee, calm and controlled. "I never do." Chan chuckled, soft and dark, sliding into his car and revving the engine. Even with the neon glow and the city buzzing around you, it felt like the two of you existed in your own world—a dangerous, electric world that suddenly felt more thrilling than ever.
You eased Bumblebee to a stop, chest heaving, hands trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline. Chan rolled up beside you, that infuriating smirk still on his face, and for a second, it felt like the night itself was holding its breath.
"See? Not too bad, huh?" he said, voice low and teasing, but there was an edge to it that made your stomach tighten.
You forced yourself to stay calm, but inside, a storm was brewing. Not too bad? You had given everything you had and still lost. You swallowed, steadying your racing heart, and said evenly, "Not bad... you drove well."
Chan leaned back slightly, eyes glinting, and that familiar half-smile tugged at his lips. "I could say the same about you... but I think you already know why you lost tonight."
And that's when the frustration hit—sharp and sudden. Your hands clenched on the wheel as a thought wormed its way into your mind. Why tonight? Why now? Was he... letting me win before? Every race you had fought him, every time you crossed the finish line first, suddenly felt different. Maybe he had never been trying to win against you at all, letting you take the lead while pretending to struggle.
Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you could barely look at him. Every smirk, every teasing glance, every effortless overtaking you had done before, it all flickered through your mind with a new, infuriating possibility. Was I just... a game to him all this time?
Chan leaned closer again, eyes locked on yours, voice soft but deliberate. "So..." he said, stretching the word, almost casually, though the intensity in his gaze made it impossible to ignore. "Shall we go?"
Your jaw tightened. The rush of the race had faded, leaving only the sharp sting of frustration, the mix of adrenaline and disbelief. For the first time, you wondered if he had been holding back all this time, letting you feel unbeatable while he watched, learning, teasing, playing his own dangerous game.
You sighed, starting Bumblebee’s engine again, ready for whatever chaotic path he had in mind, but the sudden roar of his Huracan made you whip your head toward him.
“Ah, ah,” he shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he leaned closer, tapping the passenger seat with his hand. “Here, pretty girl. Leave your Bumblebee.”
Your brow furrowed, jaw tightening. “You can’t be serious,” you muttered, voice steady though your chest tightened. “I just lost, and now you want me in your car?”
His smirk deepened, a dangerous, teasing tilt that made it impossible to look away. “Oh, I’m serious,” he said, eyes locking with yours.
“Besides, we made a bet before we start the race right?” His hand lingered on the edge of the door, almost invitingly, almost dangerous. “Don't tell me you don't do what you say now? So much for the best female racer image you have.”
A knock on the window made you glance up. One of your friends nodded. “I’ll drive your car back. Just… go with him,” he said, leaving you no choice. With a frustrated sigh, you turned off the ignition and handed over the keys.
Sliding into Chan’s Huracan, you immediately noticed the difference from your own car. The interior was clean and sharp, black leather with just enough detailing to make it feel… his. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of the cabin, and it hit you more than you expected, masculine, familiar, almost magnetic. Not overpowering, just enough to make your knees go slightly weak.
You settled in, your fingers brushing over the smooth leather and polished trim. The cabin wasn’t flashy, but it had character, a quiet confidence that matched him. Every detail, the seats, the controls, the way the light fell across the dashboard, felt deliberate, like the car itself reflected the man sitting behind the wheel.
“Now, buckle up, baby. We’re going to fly.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten. You hesitated for a split second, fingers brushing the seatbelt, and he caught your gaze with that smirk, half playful, half dangerous.
Before you could respond, the engine roared to life beneath you, the tires screeching as he pushed forward. The city blurred around you, neon lights streaking past, and for a moment, all you could feel was the raw pull of speed and the undeniable presence of him beside you.
It had been fifteen minutes of nothing but weaving through the city at insane speeds, the lights blurring past and your pulse still racing, when Chan suddenly slowed, sliding into a silent, dark alley. The engine quieted, leaving only the faint hum of the car and your own ragged breathing. He lifted his head slightly, adjusting his hair, then leaned closer, that smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand rested lightly on your thigh, casual, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
Your eyes dropped to it instantly, eyebrows furrowing, chest tightening. The warmth of his touch was maddening, a teasing reminder of the control he always seemed to have.
“Backseat, lovely,” he purred, tilting his head toward the backseat, voice low and velvety, dangerous in the way it made your stomach twist. His eyes locked on yours.
“You’re insane if you think I’m getting into the backseat with you.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Chan’s lips, dark and amused. He unbuckled his seatbelt first, then reached over to unclip yours before you could stop him. In one smooth motion, his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer until a startled squeal left your lips.
His face was suddenly much nearer, the mischievous glint in his eyes clearer now beneath the dim light filtering through the windshield.
“Do you really think that was the ride I was talking about in the bet?” he asked, lips curving into a slow, teasing smile, clearly referring to the fifteen minutes the two of you had just spent speeding through the city.
Your breath caught.
The warmth of his hand at your waist, the closeness of him, and the playful challenge in his tone made your heart pound against your ribs. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, as if he had been waiting for you to piece it together.
“I was talking about this ride, lovely,” he murmured, eyes flicking meaningfully toward the backseat before returning to yours, that same dangerous amusement still dancing in them.
“Now, to the backseat,” he said, his voice firmer this time.
Before you could even gather your thoughts, Chan’s hand was already at your waist, guiding you toward the backseat with steady insistence. The movement was not rough, but there was enough force behind it to leave you stumbling forward onto the leather seat.
Your hands landed first.
The soft leather dipped beneath your palms as you caught yourself, knees sinking into the seat a second later, leaving you on all fours before you could even turn around. A breath hitched in your throat as the realization settled in.
You tried to look back at him, but he was faster.
His hand slid to the nape of your neck, fingers curling there in a firm grip as he kept you in place, pressing you gently but unmistakably toward the backrest.
“Stay like that,” he growled, his voice low and rough against the confined darkness of the car.
The space inside the car suddenly felt impossibly small, the air thick and heavy with his presence as Chan leaned in close behind you. Every movement he made was slow and deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel the tension building between your bodies with agonizing precision.
His hand slid down, roughly hiking your miniskirt up around your waist. He gripped the fabric harshly for a moment before delivering a sharp smack to your exposed skin.
“Chan—” you gasped.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you like this,” he rasped against your ear, his voice low and laced with raw aggression.
Without another word, two thick fingers pushed inside you. A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
“Look at that… you’re fucking soaked,” he murmured, pressing a deceptively soft kiss against your heated skin. “Since when, hm? Have you been this wet ever since I shoved you into the backseat of my car?”
A soft, needy moan slipped from your lips. You bit down hard on your plump lower lip, eyes fluttering shut as your brows knitted together in pleasure. His fingers curled expertly inside you, stroking that sensitive spot that made your thighs tremble.
“Answer me when I’m talking to you, Y/N,” he growled, his voice dripping with venom. His fingers stayed curled, pressing firmly against your walls, before he suddenly began thrusting them fast and deep, hitting every spongy, sensitive ridge inside you with devastating accuracy.
“I don’t know— oh fuck!” you whined, your forehead dropping forward against the backrest of the seat.
But Chan wasn’t having it. His hand shot up, gripping your jaw tightly as he forced your head back, making you meet his intense gaze.
“Look at me,” he hummed, voice low and commanding. “Look at me while I mess with you.”
He slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving you clenching around nothing. Without breaking eye contact, Chan spat generously into his palm, the wet sound deliberate and obscene. Then he plunged his fingers back inside your cunt, deeper this time, the added spit making everything deliciously slippery.
His hand moved with relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of your soaked pussy. Filthy, wet sloshing sounds filled the confined space of the car, echoing loudly between your desperate whimpers and shaky breaths. The lewd noises only seemed to spur him on, growing wetter and louder with every thrust of his fingers.
Chan released your jaw, allowing your head to fall back against the headrest. His fingers never slowed down—plunging deep and fast into your soaked cunt with relentless rhythm. With his free hand, he quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, the metallic sound cutting through the wet, filthy noises echoing inside the car.
The sigh that escaped Chan’s lips as he rubbed his flushed, leaking tip along your sloppy, dripping cunt was heavy and raw, a visible shiver racing down his spine. He slowly withdrew his fingers from your pulsing heat, using his now-free hand to grip your waist firmly, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
“Ch-Chan, please—” you whined, nails digging desperately into the smooth leather of the seat.
“Stop whining,” Chan tutted, his voice dark with amusement. “I’ll play with this pretty little cunt as long as I want. And I’ll plunge my cock inside you whenever the fuck I feel like it.”
He groaned low in his throat as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back sharply and forcing your back to arch beautifully for him.
“Fuck… you’re so soaked,” he growled, still dragging his thick tip through your slick folds. “So fucking ready for me already, hm? Just messing with you like this gets you this hot and desperate?”
You gasped sharply as you felt the blunt head of his cock slowly push inside you, stretching your slick walls around just the tip. The sound made Chan chuckle darkly against your back, the low vibration rolling through his chest as he pressed soft, teasing kisses along your shoulder blades.
“There we go,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and barely restrained hunger. “Just the tip and you’re already moaning like a desperate little mess.”
“Christopher, I swear to fucking god—if you don’t move any deeper, I’m gonna fucking—fuck!” you cried out, frustration and need bleeding into every word.
“Hm? Did you say something, darling?” Chan asked teasingly, his voice dripping with mock innocence. You couldn’t see his face, but you could practically feel the smug smirk curling on his lips as he finally started fucking you properly from behind.
Your desperate moans spilled out like music to his ears, each one louder and more broken than the last. They blended perfectly with the obscene, wet plapping sounds of skin slapping against skin, filling the cramped backseat of the car.
“Yes! Fuck—hm!” you huffed, one hand flying up to grab his wrist where he gripped your hair, while the other clawed desperately at the leather seat. Filthy, broken moans tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained.
Bangchan was anything but gentle. His nails dug harshly into the soft skin of your waist, leaving crescent marks as he pulled his hips back until only the swollen tip remained inside you, then slammed back in with a powerful thrust. He cursed under his breath, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he felt your walls clamp down around him greedily, as if your body refused to let him pull away even for a second.
“Fuck—angel,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This tight little cunt’s gonna make me come undone so damn fast, baby. Squeeze me just like that.”
His hips snapped forward again, rutting into you faster, harder, and deeper with every thrust. The swollen tip of his cock slammed repeatedly against your cervix, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain through your body that made you shudder violently in his iron grip.
“S-shit—ahh!” you cried out.
“How’s that?” Chan growled, voice rough and taunting. “This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me buried so deep in your guts like this? Fuck yeah… moaning like a filthy little whore for me.” He let out a dark, breathless laugh, hips never slowing.
“So much for the best female street racer, hm? Look at you now—just a desperate slut falling apart on my cock.”
You shook your head desperately, mouth hanging open in a silent cry as the intense pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach, threatening to snap at any second. Your breath came in short, heaving gasps and broken huffs. Your hips moved on their own, bucking back greedily to meet every brutal thrust, completely beyond your control.
“God, I just wanna break you,” Chan groaned, voice dark and dripping with hunger. “Look at you… such a fucking mess for me.”
"I'm flipping you over." He gave one last deep thrust before suddenly pulling out, leaving you painfully empty. His hands gripped your waist roughly as he flipped you over onto your back in one swift motion.
“I wanna see that cute face when I ruin you.”
The moment Chan slammed back inside you, a filthy, broken moan tore from both of your mouths at the same time. He hooked one strong hand behind your knee, pushing your leg up high and folding you open beneath him. He didn’t even let you catch your breath. His hips immediately started rutting forward again, fast, deep, and utterly insistent, pounding into your soaked cunt with raw, relentless need.
“Oh shit. I’m reaching even deeper like this,” he huffed, his breathing short and ragged. “Fuck. You’re fucking unreal, baby.”
He leaned forward, invading your lips with a deep, harsh kiss. All teeth and tongue, messy and demanding, swallowing every moan and whimper that spilled from you.
He pulled away from the kiss when he felt you growing breathless. His lips hovered just above yours as he murmured softly, “Hold on, baby. I got you. I got you.”
His voice dropped into a low, shaky whisper. “You gonna cum for me? F-fuck… m’close too. So close…”
He licked his lips, then used his free hand to grab your jaw and force your eyes back on him. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips first, even licking across them slowly. All the while, his hips kept hammering into you with brutal force.
“Do it, baby. Yes, just like that,” he panted, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Look at me while you cum, yeah?”
He nosed along your cheek, hips never slowing. “Come, baby. Do it. You’re so fucking close. Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered urgently, his words pushing you closer to the edge.
“Let go, baby. Let go, you little tease.”
“Chan—fuck. Please— I’m gonna—” Your breath stuttered as your body finally convulsed, the orgasm you had been holding back crashing through you. Your tummy churned violently with pleasure. Your eyes rolled back into your head and your mouth hung open, a filthy, broken moan ripping from your throat.
Your fingers tangled tightly in his hair, back arching sharply off the seat as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through you. Your toes curled hard, legs shaking uncontrollably.
“Fuuuck! There you go…” Chan groaned, voice rough and wrecked. “Ugh, you look so fuckin’ good when you cum. Can’t get enough of you.”
Your walls were still fluttering and clenching around him from your orgasm when his rhythm started to falter. His hips, which had been so controlled and brutal, suddenly turned erratic. His thrusts became shorter, harder, and sloppier as he chased his own release.
“Shit… baby, I should pull out,” he panted against your lips, voice strained and desperate. His grip on your jaw tightened, forehead pressed to yours. “I really should… fuck, but you feel too good. Too fucking tight. I can’t—”
He tried to slow down, but you didn’t let him. You wrapped your legs around his waist tighter, locking your ankles behind his back and pulling him deeper into you. The silent demand made his breath hitch.
A broken groan tore from his throat. “Fuck… you’re not letting me go, huh?”
He tried one last time to pull back, but your legs held him firmly in place. The pleasure was too overwhelming. His hips stuttered violently, slamming into you with uneven, frantic strokes.
“Fuck it… I can’t stop. I’m gonna cum inside you,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “Gonna fill this pretty little cunt up. Take every drop, baby.”
With one final, deep thrust, Chan buried himself as far as he could go. His whole body tensed, muscles straining as he came hard inside you. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your still-spasming walls. He moaned loudly, raw and unrestrained, hips jerking against you with every pulse as he emptied himself completely.
Even after he finished, he stayed buried deep, breathing heavily against your neck while his cock twitched inside you, giving you every last drop.
“Just… lay with me like this for a bit,” Chan huffed between ragged breaths. He shifted your positions carefully, pulling you up until you were straddling his lap. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
He let out another tired breath against your skin. “Guess we should drive you back home then, huh?”
You nodded softly and tried to pull your head back just a little, but he held you close. “Can I spend the night with you?” you asked quietly.
He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Huh? You want to spend the night with me? Tch, no.”
Your face immediately fell into a frown, and you smacked his chest with your fist.
“Aw, fuck!” he laughed, grabbing your wrist gently. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Of course you can spend the night with me. I was already planning on you staying over anyway.”
He chuckled softly between his huffs, still catching his breath. “Oh, but I don’t have any clothes though,” you murmured. “My condo is too far to drive back just to get some.”
“It’s fine,” he said, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “You can just wear my clothes.”
Chan placed another sweet, lingering kiss on your lips, then trailed one to your cheek. He gave your ass a soft, affectionate pat.
“Alright, let’s go,” he murmured against your skin, voice still husky. “Get your butt back on the passenger seat and we’ll drive back to my condo.”
He pressed one final kiss to your neck before finally loosening his arms around your waist, letting you go.
⋆˚࿔ genre; smau + written / angst / bittersweet
⋆˚࿔ warnings; timestamps matter !! pay attention to the time for a more immersive experience
*** best viewed on mobile !! (there are carousel styled images)
+ got inspired by this song :) totes recommend listening to this while reading ^_^
꩜｡ editing the panels for this smau was so fun!! told myself i was going to make a ni-ki au ... ended up with heeseung. okay tbf this DIDD suit heeseung more !!! hope u guys know the little hee-ply easter egg i put there ... haha .... anyway i think this might be a little representation of how i felt when heeseung left enha :( i really miss him. never in a million years i wouldve thought he'd leave enhypen anyways ni-ki au is up next.. i hope
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