Your Fan, Mingi (part 1)

Your fan, Mingi (part 1)

(pt.2 here)

🎤 pairing: mingi x rapper!reader 🎤 genre: slice of life, mix of fluff and angst, music and the industry, slow burn 🎤 summary: a bulletpoint-style wordstream of what it would be like if mingi was stanning you 🎤 wordcount: 3.4k 🎤 warnings/tags: language, reader is an underground rapper, mingi is totally starstruck, producer hongjoong energy, activism, criticism of music industry, dark side of idol life, hongjoong-ah instead of hyung, yunho is supportive friend (TM), mingi being a rebel, sneaking out, potential rap battles incoming, reader with that mic drop, let me know if anything else 🎤 a/n: Hello there <3 thank you very much for your support, feedback and appreciation, it means the world to me! Here is the next installation of the "Your fan, _____" series, for none other than Song Mingi!! Any reblogs, asks and love is appreciated!

You were an established independent artist, having made a name for yourself among the real veterans and rap appreciators.

Years of tracks, freestyles and collaborations that you had published or appeared in under your belt, you were dead set on making a permanent home in the underground scene, deeming it to be the place where real art was made.

As such, you had openly turned down offers to get signed to bigger labels, spitting on their fineprint.

Besides, after trying to connect with you over music, they had always immediately veered off the trail to discuss image, visuals and something or other about them helping you develop your own style.

Blocked without a second thought. What bullshit was this? You? Not having your own style? Please.

You made it this far riding your own wave, making your own connections, and you sure as hell were not about to sell that off to entertainment industry vultures.

It was the managers, the bureaucrats that you did not want to face. The casting directors with ulterior motives.

You were an activist for creative freedom and helping new artists break through properly. You were vocal about these issues, both in general and through music.

You had first hand experience with how hard it was to become an idol, having actually been cast as a young teen and being a trainee for 2 years, but it turned out that the agency was... questionable, to say the least. And thus your independent journey started, and your doubt of any larger music-related organisations grew.

And the last thing you wanted was to, in front of all those people you were fighting for, who trusted you and saw you as a role model, support those who had questionable intentions. No.

You were a wildfire, spinning things around, remixing reality into raw and emotional lines, your only goal being that at least one person out there could find comfort in your songs.

Fully aware of the responsibility you had as an artist, you breathed your work and never backed down until just conditions for all collaborators, agents and assistants were met.

Though this was honourable, you became notoriously difficult to work with, often deemed to be a pain in the ass.

You would only shrug at that - it wasn't your fault that the music industry was full of self-centred manipulators. Your agent kept assuring you that you were exaggerating, but who said that a nice person couldn't have malicious intent?

Maybe you were overly cautious at times, seeing as you did not enjoy letting people close to you.

Were you alone? No, not at all. You had strong friendships with some legends, attended major events, hell, even gave whole press conferences and readily used the media to spread your message.

You even had some friends who were idols (albeit few), and connected with them deeply over shared passions and visions for the future.

But your soul? Strictly off limits.

Though you did, when the moment called for it, elaborate on one verse or other, either giving it a relatable backstory or linking it to a national or global issue, not once did you bare all.

That was not your style.

Neither was it your fans'.

They did not need to be spoon-fed pretentious monologues to understand.

Your fans were a real unit, many connecting with each other and becoming life-long friends. Since you never tried to gather the bigger venues, even if you were touring the country, you had a chance to interact with them. Reassure them. Connect with them. Human to human.

You understood each other. No accessories. That was the most powerful way to bare all.

It was through these concerts that Mingi had gotten to know you, and soon enough you had become his idol, for the lack of a better word, and muse.

One time he had snuck out of the dorms late at night having heard that a new artist he had heard and liked the sound of was going to be opening for another artist.

By sheer luck he managed to swipe the last ticket available, hours before the concert, and was off, having only alerted Yunho that he was "going out".

The event was held at a club, which technically was forbidden for him, but he was feeling rebellious and wanted to immerse himself in the underground atmosphere for once.

He had to squeeze past many bodies to take his place by a pillar off to the left. There were no seats, as he had expected so he perched himself against the structure, waiting.

The opening act was pretty good, as he had hoped, with the teenage boy on stage having a confident flow. There was that yearning in his eyes, hope for something bigger, like this venue was not enough, but maybe with some time and practice that dream could be achieved.

Mingi was about to leave, turning to try and snake through the crowd that was practically pressing him into the pillar, but their screaming that turned into a hypnotic chant, cult-like made him freeze and turn back.

And there you were. In all your glory. Sitting on a high stool that you had dragged after yourself onto the stage, a wired microphone in your hands that were folded in prayer as you bowed your head repeatedly to the audience.

A single spotlight illuminated your form, clad in pitch black industrial-style trousers, chunky sneakers and matching jacket that was zipped up half-way revealing a black tank top loosely hanging off you.

The aura that spread from the stage into the room was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it only got stronger as you began to perform.

And not just run through the lines as if you had somewhere better to be, no, you were living through the song, riding the beat, eyes ablaze.

The song you had started with, (which he later found out was something you had written in response to some hate your fanbase had gotten), called "Welcome home, to the show", started with a low hum. It reminded him of a rumbling thunder, your voice distorted by intentionally added digital noise.

Then, you broke into a quiet mutter, each phrase so perfectly constructed that it was sending wave after wave, and he was being swept in. He looked around and noticed that all present were whispering along with you, eyes not leaving the stage a single time.

He was also in shock at how few phones there were, being used to seeing thousands.

And after a few more bars, all hell broke loose, and he was ready to rip his heart out and give it to you then and there.

You were captivating, your message and vision resonating beyond the walls of this club. Connecting philosophy, ethics, even politics and popular culture, you were the truth.

You were alive and resurrected those who had broken away from routine to see you.

The concert was as though you were telling a gripping saga, in one breath. No wonder your fans were near mad towards the end, while you finished up with a 'classic' of yours.

The audience begged for an encore.

You were smiling wide, pure ecstasy on your face like you were just coming down from a high. The jacket had long been forgotten, and you were currently wiping sweat off your tattooed arms.

And just when your fans began to quieten down, you raised your mic, and in one motion summoned a beat.

Another roar erupted as you admired your followers. Mingi swore you locked eyes with him, piercing his body.

There it was. A freestyle where you managed to incorporate an impossible flow change, and personally addressed some of the fans you knew personally and spotted in the audience.

After the performance, there was a near total flip in your demeanour. Mingi observed as you settled on one of the seats at the bar, changed in a different top and now sporting a beanie

Both you and your fans were beyond respectful, sharing embraces and kind words like you were old friends. Maybe you were, he still had so much to learn. You looked at each one of them like they were your entire world, recalling and asking about personal troubles they had shared with you before.

Mingi was starstruck, he wanted to learn what you knew. Learn what drove you. Learn how to be like you, even just a fraction.

And that was how you became his definition of an artist, rapper and role model

Needless to say, after the concert he could not just ‘stay the same’.

The members noticed that Mingi was walking around the dorm, travelling and even taking breaks between schedules with earphones in and eyes glued to his screen.

He had also grown to prefer being immersed in his thoughts, more often observing chaos among the members rather than participating in it.

The collection of changes began to alarm the others, as they had no clue what the source of this Mingi switch up was.

All except Yunho, that was. The lad quickly put two and two together, since he was in the know about Mingi's escape to attend a concert, and was homie goals to not spill this information to the others as there had not been any press or spottings.

So during a day when the group was miraculously free, Yunho approached Mingi to go for a drive together, and the latter not suspecting the interrogation incoming, agreed.

While they were navigating around the city, eventually settling for their final destination to be a quick visit to Bucheon, Yunho, passively, in an even tone, inquired:

"So what happened that night?"

Fully not expecting Mingi to BURST. The boy was literally bouncing in his seat recounting the experience, to the point where Yunho had to use "the mom hand" to try calming his best friend.

After agreeing to not act like a car crash risk, Mingi delved into explaining why exactly he had been acting the way he was, happily answering any and all questions that came his way.

Really, he was waiting to fanboy all this time.

He took out his phone and attempted to show Yunho some screenshots and notes, once again forgetting that road safety was a thing that existed.

"Man you really want to Tokyo Drift off this bridge huh?"

So he spent the rest of the drive reading out extensive analysis he had conducted, picking apart your rap and diving into what everything could potentially mean, how the rhyme and structure worked and how he could potentially take some patterns to experiment with.

Yunho was in awe - he could not get enough of professional Mingi, so he was more than happy to hear that he found such a good role model.

It was that sparkle in his friends eyes, the grin that would not leave his face as he talked about a rare video he found on YouTube of you freestyling during a radio show, his pride as he exclaimed that he had found some of your earliest recordings in the depths of SoundCloud, diving into babbling away about how your sound, though had always been unique, had indeed evolved over time.

To Mingi, you were a daring character, not caring for the blueprints or trends, and inspired him to work harder than ever before, hone his skills further so that he could enjoy the music as much as you did. He wanted to live every line.

He already had the ability to feel the music coursing through his body, and move impeccably to every beat, but there was something indescribable about how you created your creations, something unreachable, that drew Mingi in.

He desperately wanted to crack the code - maybe in a way of natural competition, as he was also in the music industry, hell, also a rapper, but when he tried that theory on it did not sit well. Mingi did not see himself ever having even an echo of a thought to surpass you or wrong you – to him, you were in your own unique realm.

The young man had nothing but respect for you and wanted to simply translate that into a deeper understanding of your skills. He knew far too well just how hard it was to make performances like yours appear effortless.

As he listened and listened to studio recordings and compared them to the live versions he had replaying in his head, he noticed how you had even changed up the emotional landscape for the specific audience. There was no limit to how much variability there was.

Seeing how he had won over Yunho and even got him into being one of your listeners, albeit more casual, Mingi became even more bold about his passion for your music and his professional growth.

So, day in, day out he had begun to learn some of your rap, slowing it down, trying to repeat it after you. He had attempted to record himself on his phone to review progress, and then, for the final challenge… he needed Hongjoong’s help.

Upon hearing that the younger member wanted to go to the recording studio Hongjoong quite literally shot up from his sprawled position on the floor, dropping his paint brushes (much to Seonghwa’s rising discontent) and rushing to get ready.

He knew that when inspiration struck, it was a race against time to try recording anything.

Once they were in the studio and Hongjoong checked that all equipment worked, Mingi decided to sit him down and elaborate on what he wanted to do and why.

What he did not expect, however, was for Hongjoong to have a smug expression on his face, leaning back as if he… knew something. And knew it so well that it seemed he could maybe even fact check the information he was being given.

Soon enough, Mingi stopped his monologue to stare his captain down, eyebrow raised.

“Do you want me to text them?”

Mingi.exe stopped working.

What did Hongjoong mean by that? That he could text you? Did he mean to message you on social media? Or to try reaching out to you indirectly through management perhaps? That all seemed more realistic-

“No, for real, I have her number, lucky for you we are what one could consider friends.”

Mingi felt as though he was on some hidden camera prank show, quite literally turning his head to check if that was the case. When the first wave of shock did pass, he managed to mumble:

“But… how? How did you meet?”

“At a speaker and networking event, of all places. It was one dedicated to fusion of different disciplines that fall under the umbrella of creative arts, a few months back.”

“Oh, I think I remember! And wait wasn’t it the event where you presented about combining fashion and music and stuff like that, right?”

“Yes, exactly. So, really, it wasn’t a talk that I exclusively gave. There were a couple of others on the stage with me, and it was like a panel discussion. And guess who was one of the guests there? Your new celebrity crush! We had talked previously on occasion, but after that panel it was a 180 flip.”

“And that is when you got her… number?”

“Yeah. She gave it to me.”

Mingi did not want to admit but he was experiencing an odd pang of jealousy, at how serendipity had led you to Hongjoong and not him. How the older member could consider himself a friend of yours, but Mingi was just a fan. But he could not stay in this state for long – after all, this second level connection was an opportunity. He was sure to be able to reach you now.

A silence fell over the two members.

Hongjoong finally broke the silence with a chuckle, returning to what Mingi had been meaning to do:

“So, you want to record a cover, right? Or what was it again?”

“Yep… there is that one track. From her second album. ‘Dum Spiro Spero’. It blew me away. The title means 'While I breathe, I hope', and it tells a story of a child dreaming of making it on the big stage and working hard, and then finishes with them achieving it. When I first heard it... it just spoke to me."

Hongjoong shifted in his seat and moved to search up the track on the studio computer. Once on, he began to nod his head to the entrancing beat.

“This one is one of the less known ones, isn’t it? How did you come across it?”

“Setl-” Mingi slapped his hand over his mouth, realising that he may or may not have just exposed himself and set himself up for the scolding of a lifetime.

“Setl… setlist? SETLIST? Song Mingi… Are you meaning to tell me that you attended a public concert… without telling anyone?”

Mingi contemplated whether he wanted to drag Yunho into this, but chose not to as he merely lowered his head and gave Hongjoong a sheepish smile.

“Mmm… perhaps?”

“Boy, I don’t even need to ask you to come to my room, everything’s prepped already. You are about to get that breath knocked out of you Mingi.” Hongjoong’s expression darkened as he stood up to approach the younger man. But then the latter had the audacity to stand up too.

Ah, the benefits of having a height advantage. “You were saying?”

“Listen here you big little shit-”

After indeed having to listen through an extensive collection of colourful words and a stern warning to never do such risky things (at least without Hongjoong knowing) ever again, they moved to recording the cover.

Since they did not have the instrumental for your track, Hongjoong had laid a beat that was similar and, in front of Mingi’s very eyes sent you a message asking if it was okay to even attempt to do what they were about to do.

Midway through recording, the phone buzzed with a simple offer. To come to your studio so that the three of you could make something even better.

If it was possible for a human being to literally light up a room, Mingi was sure to be the brightest star. Glowing, he stepped out of the booth, mouth wide open, morphing into the most adorable grin.

"Is... that... is that really them?"

"Yep, and you should be getting added to a group chat right... now."

His phone dinged, and he could not believe his eyes. It was a number, your number, on his screen, a notification saying that he was added to 'triple threat trio' and a quick text of you informing that this, indeed was yourself and no one else.

Hongjoong was genuinely afraid that Mingi was going to hit the ceiling because he jumped that high.

A giggly mess, the young rapper and your fan fell back onto the sofa behind where Hongjoong was seated, and typed out a response introducing himself and adding that he really liked your work.

"HYUNG SHE SAYS SHE LIKES OUR WORK TOO AHH"

"You know I sent her some of the tracks from our album before they were even officially released, right?"

"You did what now?"

"Yeah, but don't worry it was just snippets and I had it cleared with the producer. He knows her too so it was easy enough."

"WHY WAS I IN THE DARK ABOUT THIS!!!?"

"BECAUSE YOU NEVER ASKED?"

"I am going to stop calling you hyung I have not an ounce of respect left-"

"Now that's too far boy one more word and I am asking Y/N to write a diss track about you."

"And I would thank you, HONGJOONG" he exclaimed, still beaming, making a run for it out of the studio and into the corridor, the captain hot on his heels.

The only thing on his mind was that he was going to be recording with you. He would be able to hear you, basically one on one, doing what you did best. And on top of that, you would be creating art together.

summer nights (j.yh)

summary: he's your best friend and roommate, but during the heat of summer and the confinement of quarantine, you just can't seem to help yourselves.

note: 18+ content, minors DNI. // this fic is just pure self indulgence, but i'm kind of liking the cheeky college au yunho vibes, you can blame the new wonderwall photos

warnings: best friend!yunho, fem!reader, quarantine and talk of early covid times, sexual frustration, big dick!yunho, oral (m receiving), fingering, semi rough sex, use of toys, light overstimulation, basically reader is pent up and struggling to get off and hot bestie yunho helps out. please let me know if I missed any.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: college non idol au; suggestive, smut, fluff, comedy

word count: 8.5K

my masterlist || read it on AO3 || the sequel; summer's end

              It’s a little impossible not to look at him when he’s like this. He’s been your friend since the start of college, but your roommate for only a little over four months. You didn’t think it would be this difficult. It’s not as if you didn’t know he was attractive, of course you did, but you had always found a steady friendly rhythm with him that never turned overly flirtatious, so living with him should have been safe. It probably would have been until the firm constraints of quarantine, and now it feels like you’re trapped in a pressure cooker.

              He’s collapsed back into the couch cushions, Xbox controller in hand and his headset askew, one ear off and one ear on. He’s wearing a pair of ratty gray sweatpants, ones that have been driving you particularly insane the last few weeks, and a fitted black tank top. Yunho’s eyes are trained on the screen, intensely focused. You watch him play, one thumb circling on the left joystick, his other clicking buttons calculated and quick, the tendons in his hands jumping.

              “I said on the left,” Yunho says through the mic, his voice firm.

              Your thighs press together unconsciously, four months of this absolute sexual drought was starting to take its toll and even his irritated competitive voice was frustrating you. You focus down on your phone from your spot on the opposite side of the couch and continue scrolling Instagram.

              “Obviously it’s our left, we’re going the same way, Mingi.” Yunho groans and you bite the inside of your cheek.

              It’s almost ninety degrees today and the two measly window units you have in the apartment are working overtime, but still not bringing the temperature down to a manageable temperature. Yunho’s skin has a light sheen of sweat across it, and you find yourself swallowing hard, trying to look anywhere else but at him.

              “Nice,” Yunho comments through his headset and you can hear the echo of Mingi and the other guys shouting through the one headphone that sits half off his right ear.

              When he takes in a sharp breath, hunching over with his elbows now on his knees to focus, you have to go. Climbing over the back of the couch so you don’t have to walk in front of the TV and break his concentration, you pass through the small breakfast nook and into the kitchen to open the freezer. Sometimes when you were sure he was going to be occupied for long enough, you’d slip into the shower and take care of this frustrated tension yourself, but lately even that wasn’t working. Four months without being properly touched was officially too much.

              You don’t hear him come into the kitchen until he chuckles at you, watching you lean into the open freezer, the cold frosty air passing across your cheeks.

              “Hot?” He raises an eyebrow.

              “Yeah,” you sigh and back up from the freezer to shut the door, opting to lean against the kitchen counter by the sink behind you in your small alley kitchen, “if I knew when we signed our lease that we were going to be literally trapped inside all summer I would have said let’s spring for the better place with central air.”

              “Same,” he steps past you to reach into the fridge and grab a water bottle.

              You watch him as he cracks the seal on the top and takes a long swig, the muscles in his throat tensing pleasantly when he swallows.

              “What?” he says, noticing the way your eyes are on him.

              You clear your throat, shrugging, “Nothing, I’m just out of it today.”

              “Ah,” he shrugs. After a beat he turns to you, “What are you doing today, anyways?”

              You sigh, “probably the same thing I’ve been doing since class ended? Nothing and more nothing? Maybe I’ll finally pick up a new hobby,”

              “You’ve picked up several,” he notes, a teasing glint in his eye.

              “Yes, I know, ha ha.”

              “I just don’t know why you thought picking up knitting in the middle of June would be a good idea,” he shrugs and starts to head back out of the kitchen. “Our air conditioner’s broken? Add more wool to the problem, that should solve it.”

              “Oh, whatever, at least I’m trying to fill the time,” You retort, heading back out to the main room with him, “I seriously never thought I’d say I wish classes would start up again, but at least I’d have something to do.”

              “Yeah,” he flops back down on the couch, tossing the controller onto the coffee table and taking another swig of water, “that and the not working thing is really kind of fucked.”

              “Yeah,”

              You had both worked as servers last year until Yunho lucked into a bar tending job at a better spot. When he brought you over with him it was the financial boost you needed to start really saving some money, but now with quarantine and the uncertainty, you are both eating into your savings month after month.

              “They said it should end by September,” he shrugs, “if we made it four months, we can make it two more.”

              “Flu season,” you shake your head, “it’s not ending.”

              He rolls his eyes, “you are the least optimistic person I’ve ever met.”

              “Realistic,” you counter.

              “Yeah,” he swipes a hand across his brow, “well if we’re still not working by October that’s gonna be tough,”

              “Yeah,” you can’t help but worry the inside of your lip with your teeth, the idea of it nerve wracking.

              “Mingi said his place might be hiring,” he notes, “but the pay isn’t great.”

              “It’s pay,” you say, “and hiring in the middle of a pandemic has to be a good sign, right?”

              “Maybe,”

              “I have to figure out what I can do from home,” you murmur, “I’ve only ever been a server, I don’t know who would hire me for a desk job.”

              He sits up a bit, and you can see his brain shift into problem solving mode, one of the many things you love about him. He thinks for a minute and then says, “You could do something like a call center?”

              “Eh, maybe,” you shrug, “not ideal.”

              “Transcribe stuff?” He offers.

              “I checked into that, the pay is terrible,”

              “Okay, so a last resort.” He thinks again, biting his lip, then looking up at you with bright eyes, “maybe you could finally do some freelance stuff? Maybe put a portfolio together, I could help with the website,”

              The way he’s looking at you makes you want to melt into the couch, but you manage, “Yeah, I could do that. It might take time to make it profitable, but it’s a good idea.”

              He smiles at you, “You should, you’d be good at it.”

              “I’ll think about it,” you agree.

              His smile quirks into something a bit more wry, and you know he’s about to say something sarcastic, “In the meantime there’s always OnlyFans.”

              That is not at all what you expected him to say, and you can barely respond, “What?”

              “Calm down, I’m kidding,” he laughs at your panicked expression, “I know you wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”

              “Yeah,” his soft laugh helps you relax, and you continue, “it’s not like I have anything against the people who do, I mean, get it if you can get it right?”

              He laughs again, covering his mouth with his hand before he says, “y/n, relax. Besides, I doubt you’ve ever taken a nude photo in your life.”

              A sharp pang of heat runs through you, but you can’t help but fire back, “Yes, I have?”

              Both his eyebrows raise high, “I didn’t think you’d admit to it if you had,”

              You never talk like this with him. Short of you both checking in to make sure your respective dates went well, and Yunho having a slight history of eyeing up your past partners a little too much to make sure they weren’t total assholes, romance and sex was not a frequent topic. Something about the thick summer air and the fact that you had been trapped inside for months on end in such close quarters with him had you getting a little bold. “Yunho, I’m not a prude. I’m just selective,”

              “I’m just surprised,” he raises his hands in mock defeat, “you’ve just always seemed like kind of a romantic, less college hookup.”

              “Yeah,” you settle back against the arm of the couch, “I guess you’re right, but being a romantic doesn’t mean I don’t hookup with people. It’s just been…a while. And it’s not like I’ve sent a ton of nudes or something, I don’t mean that, I just mean that I have, once or twice.”

              “You seem nervous,” he chuckles, “I’m not judging. I think it’s nice that you’re selective.”

              “Thanks,” you manage, not sure what to say to something like that.

              He lets it lie for just a minute and then says it, unable to help himself, “who are you even sending nudes to?”

              “Sent,” you correct, “Past tense,”

              “Still,” he presses a little, a smile still across his mouth and you know that he’s just being playful. If you told him to stop, he would, if you said you were uncomfortable he would back off immediately, but there’s something open there, and if you just step through you’re not sure where this conversation might go.

              You groan, “Okay, fine,” he grins, “but we’re never talking about this again and you cannot tease me.”

              “Cross my heart,” he says, and he mimes it, his finger dragging into an X across his chest.

              “Do you remember Park Seonghwa?” You say, and your cheeks heat thinking about the very short lived but very lovely relationship you had in sophomore year.

              His mouth drops open a little surprised, “Yeah, I definitely do.”

              “What?” You press him.

              “I don’t know who I expected,” he says honestly, “you could do worse. He’s a good guy,”

              “I know, it’s a shame,”

              “What is?” he cocks his head to the side.

              “We just didn’t really gel long term,” you shrug, “but he was a really sweet guy, the kind who plans dates and stuff? Plus, the rest,” you catch yourself, blushing harder and dragging a hand over your face, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

              His mouth is pressed in a tight line, holding in a laugh before saying, “I mean you have to tell me now,”

              You sigh and let it rush out of you, “The sex was good, like really good. We just weren’t in love with each other so everything kind of faded after a while.”

              “You’re blushing really hard right now,” he grins, his tongue in cheek.

              “I said you couldn’t make fun of me,” you groan, “I don’t interrogate you about your sexual escapades.”

              “Escapades?” His eyebrow raises.

              “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

              “I know,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you. It’s cute,”

              Your stomach flip flops, “Great,”

              “But I’m sorry anyways, that it didn’t work out,” he leans back into his side of the couch and takes another drink of water, glancing out the window briefly before returning his eyes on you.

              “It’s fine,” you shrug, “it was a while ago.”

              “Mm,” he nods, “so that’s a no to OnlyFans, then?”

              He’s good at twisting moments back around towards a joke, keeping things light whenever there’s a serious turn in conversation. You give him a smile, “Yeah, that’s a no.”

              He takes a deep intake of breath and exhales long, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers along the side of his knee. You love this energy he has, seemingly boundless and pouring out of him in the smallest ways. It’s been months since he’s been able to properly visit the dance studio and see most of his friends other than you, you’ve both been good and careful about the pandemic, but you can see that it leaves him tense.

              You’re about to ask him what he’s going to do with the rest of his day, when his head snaps back you and he says, seemingly out of the blue, “Just Park Seonghwa, then?”

              “What?” You ask, confused.

              “You said you’re selective,” he explains, “so you’ve only sent pictures to him?”

              You feel yourself blush again, heat spreading across your cheeks, and your stomach knots tight. He’s walking an invisible line that you’ve always kept cleanly between you, and you have no idea how you should respond. “Why do you want to know?” Your voice sounds smaller than you wanted it to.

              “I’m curious, I guess,” he shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

              You shift positions on the couch, desperately trying to ignore just how tight your shorts seem to suddenly be where the denim bunches against your core. “No, not just him.”

              “Interesting,” he says.

              “There was a guy I was talking to at the beginning of lockdown,” you explain, thinking back on your brief connection, “we were supposed to meet up for a date and then the stay-at-home orders came down, but we kept talking.”

              “Oh,” his eyes widen a little, “I’m sorry, are you guys still… are you seeing someone, and I have like no idea?”

              You laugh, “No, no,” you wave him off, “we eventually just stopped talking. We were just messing around for a while.”

              “Damn,” he shakes his head, “I thought I was just the most unobservant man on the planet for second,”

              You shake your head, thinking back to your time attempting to sext the guy you met on Tinder during the first month of quarantine. It was fun at first, but something about him just didn’t do it. He never knew what to say, was focused on himself, and he was cute, but he left you more frustrated than when you started talking half the time.

              “He wasn’t like… an asshole or anything?” Yunho cocks his head to the side when he asks, his eyes studying you.

              “No,” you smile at him, “he was nice just not really… helping,”

              “Ah,” he clears his throat, his eyes flicking away. Now you have crossed the line, officially. Standing in this strange new space where you’re alluding to your orgasms, or lack thereof, with a man who up to this point had made it clear he just viewed you as a friend.

              You glance down at your phone nervously, not a single notification to open and distract you from this. The apartment is quiet for a beat, just the sound of the wheezing window unit pumping tepid air into the room. Your head snaps back up when he says, “So he couldn’t get you off,”

              “Yunho,” your whole body feels tense and anxious at his words, “what are we doing?”

              “Talking,” he answers with no hesitation, and for the first time the way he looks at you feels different.

              “This doesn’t feel like talking,”

              He holds your gaze, “We can stop talking if you want.”

              You’ve already come this far, and whatever you’re about to do or not do might fully ruin the delicately balanced friendship you’ve crafted with him, but you’re pretty sure you don’t care. “We can talk,” you assure him.

              The space between you on the couch feels miles long. Your eyes flick over him, his position reclined against the back of his half of the sectional, his knees spread wide, and he bends his arm at the elbow to rest his hand against his lip, thinking as he watches you. Finally, he prompts you again, “He couldn’t, right?”

              You look down quickly, away from his intense gaze, “Not really,”

              “Why not?” He asks, his voice soft and low.

              “I don’t really know that it was his fault,” you admit, looking back up to him, “it’s been a while and I couldn’t really get out of my own head about the whole thing.”

              The heated flirting drops and suddenly he’s back to being your best friend, “are you telling me you haven’t come in months?”

              “Jesus,” you cover your face with your hands for a second, dragging your hands through your hair, “when you just say it like that.”

              “I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to say that,” he shrugs, “but seriously, like what… this whole time?”

              “I mean,” you nod, “pretty much.”

              “You haven’t come in four months?” He clarifies.

              You wince, and find yourself admitting, “more like… six?”

              “Six months.” He repeats.

              “You really don’t have to make me feel worse,” you pull your legs up to your chest, “it’s not for lack of trying.”

              “I don’t mean it like that,” he shakes his head, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad I guess I just… I mean is everything okay?”

              You laugh, sharp, and shake your head, “This is kind of mortifying, you know that right?”

              “It doesn’t have to be,” he assures you, “It’s just me, but if you don’t want to talk about it, we definitely don’t have to.”

              “No, it’s just,” you sigh, “I really don’t know if it’s just me, or my meds, or what, it’s just been like not working right.”

              “Oh,” he nods, and after a beat he looks up, “can I help?”

              “Yunho,” You level him with your eyes, “I appreciate your confidence here, but if I can’t get myself off, I don’t know how you’re going to, and I’m really not trying to have the most embarrassing sexual experience of my life with my best friend, who I live with, during a global pandemic.”

              “I highly doubt it would be the most embarrassing,” he grins at you.

              “Yunho,” you shake your head, “seriously.”

              “I’m sorry,” he says, softening a bit, “I just haven’t been with anyone since this whole thing started either, and with literally no end in sight I was just thinking maybe we could,”

              “Help each other?” You finish for him.

              “Yeah, basically,”

              “Listen,” you start to say, desperately ignoring the pooling heat in your stomach, “it’s not that I’m not interested, I just don’t want to disappoint either of us when we’re trapped together and make things awkward.”

              “So, you are interested?” He grins.

              “That was not the important part of that sentence,” you roll your eyes.

              “y/n,” he leans forwards, elbows on his knees, “I’ll drop it if you really want me to, but what if it’s good? We could try, just once and see.”

              “Yunho,” you manage, the indecision clear in your voice.

              “We’ll never talk about it again if it’s not good or not what you want,” he offers, “or you can tell me now to shut the fuck up and I will. I just haven’t been with anyone in months, and frankly you’re driving me fucking insane walking around the apartment in shorts that short.”

              “Oh my God,” you shake your head, laughing at his frankness.

              “Come on,” he urges gently, “I bet I can make you come.”

              A hot knife of need cuts through you, and you look down again, away from his gaze and focus for just a minute. This was likely the worst idea, and you can see forward into the future, his disappointment that he couldn’t get you there, and your continued frustration only now public and uncomfortable knowledge. His words ring in your brain. What if it’s good?

              It had been a while, but you can’t help the words that leave you, a challenge on your lips, “I bet you can’t.”

              “What?” it’s his turn to sound a little unsettled, and you look back up to lock eyes.

              “I bet you can’t make me come,” you say again.

              His eyes darken, and he drop his head a little, looking at you from hooded eyes, “Are you saying yes?”

              “I’m saying you can try,” he can’t help but smile at your words, “you can try, but it’s just this once. And you can’t complain afterwards or tease me about this.”

              The hot flirtation across his face fades instantly, “I would never do that to you,”

              “I,” you nod, “I know, it’s just embarrassing.”

              He reaches across the couch with an outstretched hand, “Come here,”

              You move without thinking, taking his hand, and letting him pull you over to stand between his knees. His fingers hook into the belt loops of your shorts, and he looks up at you, “I would never do that to you,” he repeats, “you’re my friend first, okay?”

              “Yeah,” you nod.

              “Just relax,” he says, and he squeezes your hips in his large hands. Your breath catches and he smiles at the reaction, squeezing you again to see if he can elicit the same response, “Do you have any hard no’s?”

              “Oh,” you blink, thinking for a minute and carding through your past sexual experiences, “Not really? I don’t love name calling, but I mean, it’s not a hard no I guess?”

              He smirks, “I wasn’t going to call you a whore on the first date,”

              “Yunho!” you smack his shoulder, and he smiles wide, laughing through the awkward tension and easing some of your nerves.

              “Alright,” he settles, “no name calling. Can I lead?”

              Your brow quirks up at his question, “As opposed to?”

              “You leading,” he smiles, “but I think that answers my question.”

              You blush, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, you can lead.”

              “Are we doing this now?” He checks.

              “If we’re not going to do it now, I’m going to think about it until we do.”

              “Fair enough,” his thumbs brush against the skin at the top of your shorts, soft and even.

              “Okay,” you drop your hands and rest them on his forearms, “um… where do you want to start?”

              He smiles up at you, “I want you to start by relaxing.”

              “Sorry,”

              “y/n?” He says.

              “Hmm?” You look down to meet his eyes, sucking in a tight breath of air when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

              “Shut up, okay?”

              “Got it,” you don’t know what you should do with your hands, with anything, so you settle for biting your lip and watching him.

              He looks down dragging his fingers across your skin until he hooks them further and uses his thumb to pop the button of your jean shorts open. You’re suddenly very grateful that you decided to shave your legs yesterday and you were wearing not completely unbecoming underwear, but your mind blanks out again when he drags down the zipper and pulls the shorts off over your hips. He taps your calf softly to prompt you to step up and out of them, and he kicks them back out of your way once they’re off you.

              The t-shirt you’re wearing is oversized, and it drops low over you, brushing the tops of your thighs. His gaze is hungry, and he gathers the fabric in his hands to push it up your body just enough, revealing the soft plane of your stomach.

              “Fuck, you’re pretty,” he sighs, looking you over.

              “You haven’t seen a girl in months,” you retort.

              He doesn’t look up, but you can see that he rolls his eyes and smiles, “Learn to take a compliment,” he says, “you’re hot.”

              You can’t even begin to formulate a response, he doesn’t give you a chance before he leans forward and presses his lips to your hip, softly working kisses across the top of your panties, hooking a thumb under one side and pulling them up a bit so he can move down the crease of your thigh before moving up and humming softly, a kiss against your stomach, your other hip, your other thigh. You’re trembling already, the sensation of another person’s skin on yours enough to make you dizzy, but his slow nuzzling kisses have you feeling weak and craving.

              “Come here,” he murmurs again, and leans back against the cushions. He directs you with his hands on your hips, stepping you back and sliding a knee between your open legs before pulling you forwards and prompting you to settle on him, straddling his thigh.

              When the tense muscle of his thigh connects with your clit, despite the layers of fabric between you, you let out a soft pant. He catches your arms in his large hands, sweeping down your skin and taking your hands. He pulls you forwards slightly, and settles your hands on his chest, before returning his hands to your hips.

              He tugs on your them gently, which rolls you forwards just a little on his thigh before sliding you back to your original position, the friction against your clit warm and firm. He tenses his muscles beneath you, watching your face carefully when you drop your mouth open a little and suck in a breath. It’s obvious to you now that he’s going to be good at this, and a nervous thrill runs up your spine.

              He rocks your hips again and you catch on quickly, planting your hands more firmly on his chest and rolling your hips yourself. You’re slow to start, maintaining a steady fluid pressure against your clit, and he keeps his hands on your hips as you move. His brows are knit together, his mouth open as he watches you, and you can’t help but pant a little laugh, “I thought you were going to make me come,”

              He smirks, “you haven’t come in six months and you’re in a rush?”

              “Fuck off,” you manage, and he tenses his leg again in response which has you gripping his shirt in your hands, warm pleasure coiling through you.

              He keeps one hand on your hip, but with the other he gathers the material of your shirt in his palm and pulls up, stopping just under your breasts. He watches you, his teeth catching his lower lip as he watches you grind yourself against him. His gaze is intense, and when he leans forwards just enough to move the hand on your hip up back and then back down to cup your ass, you sigh.

              “Yunho,” you mumble, swallowing the tense knot in your throat and he relaxes his hand, looking up at you immediately.

              “You good?” He murmurs.

              You nod, “Yeah,”

              He drops your shirt and sweeps your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear and keeping his hand cupping the side of your face, “Sure?”

              Your hips still, and you come back to center to meet his eyes, “I’m okay,” you assure him, “are you?”

              “Yeah, yeah,” he runs a thumb along your cheekbone, “I’m just checking,”

              “Can we move to the bedroom?” you ask, and he drops his hands to your hips to ease you up off his thigh. He lets out a pleased hum when he sees the dark wet patch of his sweatpants where you had worked yourself against him, and without thinking further he reaches out and catches his fingers against you, feeling your damp underwear.

              You stumble a step back, the sensation catching a moan in your throat, and he snaps a hand up to grab your forearm and steady you. “Fuck,” he laughs, “sorry,”

              “Let’s go,” you tug his arm.

              “Your room or mine?” He asks.

              “Yours,” you answer immediately, “your bed is bigger.”

              He takes your hand and leads you down the hall to the room at the back, and as he crosses the threshold, he remembers an image of you passed out on top of his bed covers the first month you lived here, a few too many drinks too early in the evening. He liked the look of you in his bed, he remembers. He turns and takes you in his capable hands, maneuvering your back to the face the bed and tipping you down onto the mattress.

              “Can I take these off you?” He pulls the side of your panties.

              “Yeah,”

              He pulls both sides down over your hips, and you lift them to make it a little easier for him. He groans softly when he sees how slowly they pull away from your core, slightly stuck to your wetness. He tosses them away, pushing your shirt up again, and dropping to his knees on the floor between your open legs. Immediately you’re anxious, something about this had always been so intimate, and he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

              You look up to the ceiling, your hands bunching in the sheets beneath you. Yunho’s hands coast up your thighs, dip up over your hips, smooth across your stomach, before he stops completely. One of his large hands covers yours, slipping his fingers into your fist to relax your hand, “Hey,” he says softly, “you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?”

              You look down at him, he’s still perched between your open legs, one hand on yours and the other warmly over your thigh. His eyes are warm, open. “I don’t know,” you say honestly.

              “Is it me? Or what we’re doing?” He asks.           

              “I think both,” you confess, “you’re my best friend, this is just… it’s a lot.”

              “Okay,” he slides away from you, his hand leaving yours.

              “Wait, I didn’t mean we shouldn’t,” you exclaim, sitting up and letting your shirt drop back over you.

              “We’re not done, y/n,” he shakes his head, “just trust me.”

              You nod and watch as he pulls back the coverlet and top sheet on his bed, nodding so that you can climb under the covers. He crosses the room and lowers the temperature on the air conditioning unit a few more degrees, making it whine as it kicks into gear and starts pushing cooler air into the room. Without preamble, he pulls off his blank tank top and tosses it to the side and shucks off his sweats and boxers.

              “Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and he smiles at you.

              “Yeah?”

              “I don’t know what I expected,” you say.

              “What?” He teases, “I work out, you see me work out all the time.”

              He’s right, you do. You’re not surprised by the lean tone of his body, broad shouldered and taut arms and abs, you’re stricken by the size of him and how you’ve never once considered that he might be bigger than your previous partners.

              “You know that’s not what I mean,” you clear your throat softly, “you’re just, uh,”

              “Perfect?” He jests, climbing into bed and pulling the covers back over him, “Well-endowed? A god among men?”

              “I was going to say big,” you laugh, and he crowds you a little, his fingers tickling your sides until you giggle, slapping his hands away, “god, you’re a menace.”

              “I aim to please,” he teases again, tugging the hem of your shirt up, silently asking you to take it off.

               You pull it over your head, tossing it over the edge of the bed and twisting to try and unhook your bra. Yunho slips a hand behind you, catching the clasp in between his thumb and first two fingers and slides it just right so that the hook and eye claps fall open.

              “You’re too good at that,” you comment, sliding the straps off your shoulders and pulling it away to toss it aside.

              “It’s really not difficult,” he chuckles, pulling you into his arms and further under the covers.

              You have the urge to cover yourself, very aware that you’re naked in front of him for the first time but tucked under the blanket and pressed against his chest leaves you fairly concealed still and you try your best to stay calm and let him lead.

              “Now,” he says, his voice low, “can you relax for me?”

              His words make you clench your muscles, and he feels you twitch beneath him. He studies your face for a moment and tries again, “Can you be good for me?”

              “Oh,” you breathe, gripping his back.

              He seems to have you figured out now, just enough, and he lowers himself half over you. He cups the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he finally presses his mouth to yours. His lips are soft, and he releases a contented sigh of warm air against your cheek. He holds you close, kissing you sweetly at first and then nuzzles you gently with his nose before dipping his tongue into your mouth and flicking it against yours.

              You moan into his mouth and his hands tighten on you as he intensifies the kiss, a little desperate, hot, and needy. It’s all the intimacy you need for things to start to slot into place in your brain. Yunho’s kissing you, and he’s frankly very good at it. You draw him closer, your arms around him and pulling him down against you, your bare breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the contact, and suddenly his hands feel everywhere. Yunho kisses you again, softly biting your bottom lip, moving down your throat to lick and suck at your pulse points, nipping at your collarbone, tongue dragging a line down your chest as he turns his attention to your breasts.

              “Fuck,” you choke, dropping your head back against his pillows when he takes a nipple in his mouth.

              When you wind a hand into the back of his hair and pull him in closer, he sucks harder, sparking a line of pleasure straight to your core. He lifts up, his mouth leaving you, so he can settle on his side next to you. He pulls you close into his chest, one arm around your back as he supports you against his shoulder.

              “Yunho,” you whine as his hand presses down across the length of your body, and he shudders at his name on your lips like that, finally no pretense or anxiety, just wanting.

              “Spread your legs,” he murmurs, pressing his fingers between your tightly locked thighs.

              You comply immediately, and he pushes one of your legs open wider, your leg bending the knee and up by your side to give him the most access. He wastes no time, his fingers sweeping up your wet slit until he finds your firm swollen clit at the apex of your thighs. He watches you as he rolls his fingers, testing which way has you the most breathy and pliant, what pressure makes your hand on his back tighten and dig your nails in.

              “Like this?” He asks when he finds a good rhythm.

              It is good, a hot rush of warmth radiating up from your core. It feels good to be taken care of finally after so long, safe with him pressed up against you, his lips against your forehead, soft kisses as he works your body. When you don’t respond he kisses you and murmurs again, “tell me what you like,”

              “Here,” you catch his hand in yours, and he stills his fingers. You slide his hand down further, pressing the tips of his fingers inside you and he nods against you. You let your hand fall away as he starts to press two fingers inside you, pumping them softly to ease them in until his knuckles rest against you. He shifts you in his arms to get a better angle, curling around you slightly as he thrusts them up, curling them and catching against your g-spot.

              “That,” you stutter, “like that,”

              He grins, “There you are,”

              “Fuck,” you stammer, dropping your head against his chest, one hand tight against his bare thigh.

              He pumps his fingers faster, spurned on every time you gasp and moan. You shudder against him, hiding your face in his neck, tense pleasure curling up inside you. You rock your hips against his hand and he lets you help set the pace, but you can’t reach it. He feels incredible, better than anything you’ve done in months, but just like before it feels like you’re standing on the edge looking over and can’t reach.

              He presses up against your g-spot, rocking his hand and spiking a line of pleasure up your chest but when it passes, it passes. “Yunho,” you pant, and he shushes you, mistaking your words for encouragement.

              “Yunho,” you reach down and catch his wrist, pushing his hand away and he pulls his fingers from you.

              “What?” He murmurs, pushing back your hair and shifting so he can see your face, “you ok?”

              “Yeah,”

              “I thought I had you close, why’d you stop me?” he smooths a hand up your side.

              “You did,” you assure him, “I just couldn’t get there,”

              He dips his head to kiss you, his thumb massaging soothing circles into your hip, “Let’s try something else,”

              “It’s okay,” you brush him off, “let me get you off and then we can,”

              “y/n,” he interrupts you, “I didn’t think it would be that easy. Come on, lay back,” he eases you into the sheets and you scramble up, leaning on your elbows as he shifts out of bed, “where’s your vibrator?”

              “What?” Your cheeks flame.

              “We’ve lived together for months,” he explains, his gaze direct, “I’ve heard it, so come on, where is it?”

              You throw an arm over your face and groan, “Bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

              “See? Not so hard,” He shrugs it off and and you hear him pad out into the hall and through the door to your bedroom.

              While he’s gone you recover your breath, he was right, he did have you close. You were so frustrated and desperate for it at this point you didn’t know what to do, but when you see him return with a serious smirk you blush harder.

              “You’ve got a little collection going,” he says, “but this one’s industrial.” He holds up the wand and gives you a cheeky grin.

              “Oh my God, I really hate you,”

              “You really, really don’t.” He shifts back onto the bed and pulls back the covers a bit, “Now, I have some clever ideas on what to do with this, but I’m in no rush.” He tosses it against the mattress and shifts back over top of you.

              “You’re really having fun with this, aren’t you?” You nudge his chest.

              “Yeah,” he replies, “I definitely am,”

              Wrapped up like this, you feel closer to him that you’ve felt with anyone in a long, long time. You smile, kissing his shoulder softly and looking back up to meet his eyes, “Thank you, by the way.”

              “For what?” He asks.

              “Making this fun,” you tell him honestly.

              “Sex is supposed to be fun,” he replies, “and I don’t know what has you so tense, but you’re okay with me. I’ve got you,”

              It’s things like that that make you worry this might have been a bad idea after all, dangerous words for someone so close to the edge of falling in love with their best friend.

              You nod, not trusting your words for a minute, so you pull him back down for a kiss. You’re lazy and slow together, the kisses alone helping reignite some of the heat in your core, his hands, and the way they caress you making you wetter again by the second. You slide a hand between your bodies, reaching for him now and find his hard length pressed along your inner thigh. When you shift, closing your hand around his cock, he hisses against your mouth and pulls his head back.

              “Holy shit,” he groans, watching as you stroke your hand up from the base of his cock upwards, your thumb sliding over the head and smearing the pearl of pre-cum across it. Your hand looks small wrapped around him, and your muscles clench up at the thought that at some point tonight, you’d be fitting him inside you.

              “Here,” your hand leaves him for a moment so you can push at his shoulder, urging him to lay back, “let me take care of you,”

              He complies but shakes his head, “I’m not done with you,”

              “I never said you were,” you brush his hands away from you and slide down his body now that he’s flat on his back. His cock stands up perfectly straight and straining, and you’re not quite sure just how many inches he is but you know you’re going to struggle to take him in your mouth.

              You lick a stripe up his length, from base to tip, and watch as his head rolls instantly back against the pillows. He groans when you do it again, and when you hold him again in your hand and slide your lips over the tip of him to take just the first bit of him in your mouth, his hips jerk slightly.

              “Sorry,” he says, “fuck, sorry, it’s been way too fucking long,”

              You hum, a little laugh, and the vibrations make him groan again and he fists the sheets beneath him by his hips. You bob your head experimentally, seeing how much of him you can take, your mouth stretched around him and the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but not unpleasant, so you flatten your tongue along the underside of him and drag your head up and down again. You ghost your nails softly along his thighs as you suck him, hollowing out your cheeks and pulling back up to flick your tongue firmly against his tip again.

              He moans softly when you dip your head low again, taking as much of him as possible, but still not reaching the base of him. Your gag reflex fires a little and you cough around him, easing back up to give your throat a chance to adjust and blink back the sudden sensation of tears. You’re doing your best to even out your breathing through your nose and slide back down his length again when his hand snakes into your hair and he pulls you up and off him.

              “What, what’s wrong?” You look up to him, blinking fast, but the look he’s giving you now isn’t like before.

              “I’m not going to last like that,” he says, pulling you forwards and rolling you underneath him, “and I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

              He pushes your legs open with his hand and runs his fingers up your wet slit, rocking your clit a few times and eliciting a shaky moan from your lips. You nod fast, “Please,”

              He lines himself up with your entrance, catching the head of his cock on your clit, “Wait, wait, are you safe, should I,”

              “I’m good,” you insist, “I have an IUD, just please come here,”

              He’s slow when he pushes into you, incredibly cognizant of his size and the experience he’s had with past partners, but at the feeling of your walls pressing tight around him he pauses, dropping his head to your shoulder, “Oh fuck,”

              “Yunho,” you wriggle your hips, the feeling of him stretching you better than anything, “don’t stop,”

              He bites down on your shoulder softly, groaning as he pushes further, and when he’s halfway in he pulls away to check you, “You okay?”

              “Please,” you pull at his hips, desperate for him to be closer, “I need you,”

              “Fuck, baby,” he breathes as he watches the rest of his cock disappear inside you.

              You’re impossibly full, warm in places you didn’t know could be warm, feeling tiny sparks of pleasure with every minute shift of his hips. This is exactly what you needed, the full feeling of his cock buried deep inside you and his whispered words in your ear.

              “You gotta move,” you beg him.

              He pulls out almost completely and dives his hips back in, sinking himself as far as he can go and knocking your hips together. “You’re fucking incredible,” he pants as he pistons his hips again, “you take me so fucking well,”

              You choke at his words, arching up against him as he starts to fuck you faster. He kisses you hard, one hand tightly on your cheek and the other locked on your hip as he thrusts, “like you were fucking made for me,” he says against your mouth.

              “Oh, God,” you grip his arms, holding him to you as you rock your hips back up in time to meet each move of his hips.

              “You need me to tell you?” He manages, his lips hot against your ear as he covers you, his sweat slick body hot and heavy over you, filling you, “Do you want me to tell you how good you’re being for me?”

              Your broken moan tells him everything he needs to know, and he pushes the damp hair back from your face to watch you, your eyes screwing shut at his words, shocks of pleasure running up from your core to your chest.   

              “So good for me,” he murmurs again, dipping his fingers between your lips.

              You close your lips around them immediately, running your tongue across them, tasting yourself on his skin. When you open your eyes he’s staring down at you in awe, his brows tight together, mouth open and tensed, his eyes rolling when you take the length of his fingers in your mouth and suck on them gently.

              “Fuck,” he pants, and his pace falters, he pulls his fingers free and repositions, and when he drives into you with a well angled thrust that drags perfectly along your walls you rock back with a cry. Yunho catches your bottom teeth with his thumb and drags your head back down to keep your eyes on him. He’s close, you can feel it, but so are you. He draws your gaze, “say my name, baby,”

              “Oh,” you pant, “fuck, oh, fuck,”

              “My name,” he repeats, “say it,”

              You try, but it gets caught in your throat when he slams back into you and you whimper, your nails digging into his back.

              “Tell me,” he pumps his hips again, “you can do it,”

              With a gasp he pulls down on your hair, tugging your scalp with just the right pressure, “Yunho, Yunho, Yunho,” you chant, the knot of pleasure so tight in your belly you’re sure you’re going to burst, “please, please, baby, please,”

              When he pulls away from you, out of you, the cry that leaves your lips is desperate. He’s quick though, folding a pillow in half and lifting you like you weigh nothing, propping your hips up high at an angle you know is going to ruin you. He reaches across you and from the tangled sheets he pulls your vibrator out and clicks it on.

              “Yunho, I don’t,” you start and watch as he gets the setting right.

              “Shh,” he interrupts, stifling your soft whines, “you wanted to come,”

              You cry out when he sinks back into you, this new angle putting pressure in new places and stirring a sensation deep in your core. He rocks his hips, holding your thigh with one hand to grip you steady and gets his positioning right so that he can stay comfortable on his knees and thrust up into you just right. When he eases the vibrator down onto your clit you’re brain whites out, the sensations blending together in a haze.      

              “Oh fuck,” he manages, “tell me you’re close,”

              You whine an incoherent response, looking up at him through hazy eyes.

              “Yeah, you are,” he smiles, never slowing his hips, “just a little more, I want you to come for me, can you be good for me?”

              It slams into without warning, wrenching your body up and arched against him, your thighs a shaking mess. Distantly you hear his low voice, “Let go, that’s my pretty girl.” You can feel the flush of blush run up your chest to your cheeks, and when you’ve ridden it through and he doesn’t lift the vibrator you jerk your hands down, writhing and pushing it away.

              “One more,” he says, but you shake your head, “No?”

              “Yunho,” you shake your head desperately, pushing the vibrator away, the sensation far too much for the level of overstimulation, “please, I can’t,”

              “Okay, okay,” he clicks it off and tosses it aside, his hips still rolling into you just more slowly now, “I’ve got you,”

              “Come here,” you drag him towards you desperately, and he comes back down to lay across you, “please I want you,”

              “Fuck,” he chants again, “I won’t last,”

              “Come,” you urge him, holding him close and rolling your hips with his, “please, I need it,”

              He speeds up, desperate and panting, his forehead pressed against yours. When he rocks downwards, collapsing his weight a little further onto you, the angle of your bodies still propped up by the folded pillow has his cock drag perfectly over your g-spot again and you shake against him, gripping him tight and whining as another orgasm washes over you.

              When you clench down around him for the second time he jerks into you twice more, coming hard and hot inside you, your name on his lips on a loop. Your ears are ringing, your body boneless and you can barely catch your breath. When he moves to slide out of you, you whimper, and he looks down at you.

              “Oh my God,” he pants, rolling onto his side and gathering you up in his arms to lock you against his chest, “come here,”

              You shift as close to him as you can, feeling like you need every inch of his skin on yours. You’re already lolling in and out of a dazed sleep when his voice brings you back. “Hey,” his fingers stroke your cheek, “you’re okay?”

              “Okay?” You crack open your eyes, “I’m fucking fantastic,”

              “I didn’t hurt you?” He brushes a hand down your hip.   

              You shake your head and cup his cheek, “Perfect, you were perfect,”

              He grins, “I’ll remember you said that.”

              “Don’t you dare be smug right now,” you slap his chest softly, letting your eyes slip closed again.

              “I won’t,” he says, his voice shifting softer, and he nuzzles the side of your face, pressing kisses to your cheek, “That was… we should do that again,”

              “I don’t think we should ever stop doing that,” you agree, glancing up at him.

              He squeezes you tight, “Give me like twenty minutes,”

              “Yun, I’m kidding,” you hide your face in his chest, shaking your head as he laughs above you.

              “I’m not,”

              You smooth a hand down his arm, snuggling against him and closing your eyes again, “Let’s sleep first. Sleep and then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me forever,”

              He chuckles, the vibration of his low laugh against your cheek where you’re pressed against his chest, “Deal,” he says, “I’ll remember that too.”

~end~

a/n: i'm working on a companion piece to this since i'm just so soft for boyfy college yunho, so keep an eye out for that. for those of you looking for into the aurora chapters, i'm working on it too! new content will be posted soon, i'm just in a bit of a yunho mood.

update: sequel is now posted here!

EXTRA CREDIT

PAIRING — hongjoong x reader x san

GENRE — smut, threesome, fem!reader, dom!hongjoong, dom!san, sub!reader, college au, professor!hongsan

WARNINGS — smut, threesome, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), dirty talk/degradation, fingering, overstimulation, public sex

WORD COUNT — 1.5k

SUMMARY — oh the things you’ll do to avoid flunking your classes. but to be honest, being at the mercy of your two professors has more benefits than just a passing grade.

Keep reading

CHAPTER ONE — DEATH WISH

lavender blood || park seonghwa

pairing: gn!reader x god of death!seonghwa

word count: 1,144

a/n: i appreciate all the love even before this fic had officially started! nothing goes unappreciated and it all means the world to me! i hope i can reach your expectations even just slightly! feedback is welcomed and appreciated, even thoughts/conspiracies on what you think is going to happen! everything i write is there for a reason and everything is chosen carefully! every scene holds a lot more meaning even its later on — with that being said, enjoy reading!! x

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taglist ( ask to be + or - )

@vemarkciraptor @storminacloud @etrnalhwa @mingiholic @sugarrimajins @gemjimin @alanniys @teezers99 @bobrouxsky @miriamxsworld @girlsbyaespa

i am in no way claiming this to be an accurate representation of ateez/seonghwa or any of the other people i mention in my works—everything is strictly fictional and made to be read and enjoyed. they are merely reference characters. i am also in no way glamorizing or romanticizing anything i mention in my works such as toxic behavior and bodily harm, i won’t tolerate seeing such either. with such said, please don’t hesitate to leave your thoughts!

Keep reading

Your fan, Mingi (part 2)

🎤 pairing: mingi x rapper!reader 🎤 genre: slice of life, mix of fluff and angst, music and the industry, slow burn 🎤 summary: a bulletpoint-style wordstream of what it would be like if mingi was stanning you 🎤 wordcount: 3.3k 🎤 warnings/tags: language, reader is a rapper, reader is a tattooed queen, mingi and reader collaboration, album of the year, big concert, toxic fandom (but it is overcome:)), mingi support, reader is a shining star, comfort, celebrity, hongjoong is proud dad, studio energy, write angsty rap, power couple, new future, new home 🎤 a/n: Hi <3 this is part 2 for Your fan, Mingi!! Part 1 can be found here. From the bottom of my heart thank you so much for your support and care, and as always, I greatly appreciate any asks, reblogs and likes!

You trusted Hongjoong. He was one of the only idol artists who you clicked with and remained connected to, and you had no regrets. He never pushed any subject you were not comfortable with, nor did he really mention idol life outside of music, composition, production and lyric writing.

Through him you had gotten to know more about the idol life, and just what it took for such a talented and prominent fourth generation group to do world tours, to do fansign events, to always be there for fans and create fantastic music.

There had been a couple of times previously that Hongjoong had implied that it would be interesting to collaborate with you, but you had brushed it off.

You had no idea whether you, having the standing that you did in the music industry, would benefit or suffer from such a collaboration. For you the thought of potentially having to have official big-scale promotions and delving into the political side of the industry was more than unpleasant.

It was clear that had you signed any contract for officially making a track with Hongjoong, you likely would have had to play by his company's rules, maybe even have had to fit a particular concept.

This time, however, Hongjoong had unknowingly hit you in your weak spot. He mentioned Song Mingi.

When Hongjoong and you had a listening session together, with him and yourself sharing some tracks, both released and in the works, you had fixated on the other rapper's voice and flow.

He had a unique tone, and a way of incorporating off-beats and delays that made you inadvertently shake your head and make the classic 'damn this shit is good' face. The highest level of approval.

You had not hesitated in informing your friend that Mingi was a gem in his team, and that you were grateful to have had the chance to listen to him.

And of course Hongjoong was going to remember that until the end of time and employ that information against you.

The text was simple, but did not leave much room for negotiation. Not that you would have refused anyways.

<MC MINION> hey Mingi loves you and wants to record a cover of your track Dum Spiro Spero. You cool with that + got instrumental?

You had to admit, you had been hopeful that a day would come when you could meet Mingi, especially after you had spotted him in the audience at your recent concert.

You were too cool to let your glee show, instead launching into one of your more challenging openers. Did you want to impress him? Yes. Did you want to spell out that you liked him? No.

It was lucky that your fans did not recognise him, or were polite and respectful enough to pay no mind, nor alert anyone on social media. So, in peace you could enjoy giving him the occasional glance throughout the show and let your inner fangirl perform a victory dance as you noticed he was completely enchanted.

So without any further thought, you sit send on an offer for them to come over to your studio and to make something completely new together. Bureaucratic shit could wait for a second, you had some self-wingwoman-ing to do.

They had arrived at record speed, much to your delight. And to say that your heart skipped a beat when you locked eyes with Mingi would be an understatement. You were envious of the unbelievable boom-bap that it had produced, barely being able to contain yourself.

Mingi was the same. Shining like a thousand suns, he stretched his hand out to you and once you did the same, could not help but admire the tattoos that were peeking out from under the sleeve of your oversized hoodie.

In a spur of emotion he blurted out a series of compliments, his hand still holding onto yours, him melting as you chuckled and sent warm words right back.

While deciding what the track was going to be, Hongjoong had suddenly decided to volunteer himself into an exclusively producer role, saying something along the lines of "the track will just sound better that way trust me"... which could be taken two ways.

Mingi swooned a little at the thought that Hongjoong was literally waving a green flag for him to make a RAP DUET with you.

While you, interpreting it as a subtle jab at your productions skills, clasped your hands together, uttering a low, "1v1 me dude I dare you"

Never before did Mingi see Hongjoong so unsettled, his hands flittering over your equipment as he laughed nervously. But in a matter of seconds a sweet smile returned to your face as you leaned back in the chair and said "you know that we are both control freaks right? Wait- Mingi? You a control freak or just freaky?"

His face slowly started turning beet red as he looked to his captain for reassurance. It did not help that you addressed him informally, catching him off-guard completely. But he did not mind. In fact, he liked it. A lot.

And with that buzz motivating you, you Hongjoong and Mingi began to write lines, lay down beats, nearly crash Ableton a couple of times, hold a mini-concert on some Launchpads, and made sure to include a catchy hook, credit to Hongthoven being in the house.

It was totally different seeing you work. Just as you were sweet and mellow when chatting away to him or Hongjoong, you were the world's energy personified both in the booth and while guiding Hongjoong if there was something he could not find, since the set up was slightly different.

Mingi could not take his eyes off you as you were recording your parts. The way in which you were fully immersed in the story spoke volumes about your professionalism, and how well you added vocals to his parts made his heart flutter. He could not help but imagine how this could sound live.

He wanted to take this out of the booth and into the world. To be that rap duo that everyone wanted to hear. So once it was his turn, he gave it all.

You were in awe. He was even better than before, and matched you impressively well. He had even used some of your beloved techniques, and took a rhythmic pattern from your part to emphasise its importance. You could not help but lean over to Hongjoong, who was looking awfully similar to a Cheshire cat, and whisper:

"I need an album with this guy."

"He's all yours. Trust me, he'll break KQ down if you tell him."

Now it was your turn to blush. Who were you? A school girl? Maybe. Maybe on the inside there was a little school girl. You didn't mind though. Not one bit. You liked it. And though you were still one to want to keep that tough girl persona, you admitted you had a soft spot for the gentle giant.

After the first day of working on the track had gone incredibly well, Hongjoong and Mingi had taken straight to management to convince them that this was going to be a hit. Later that same night, on an hour-long zoom call with you, your agent, Hongjoong, Mingi and their management present, you had all agreed on terms and were ready to make the track official for future release.

You knew that this was likely going to involve a lot more publicity, and was going to be something new, but Mingi had highlighted, when the topic of promotions came up, that he did not want to follow a hardcore route, instead opting more for the few but highly sought after appearances. Hongjoong simply agreed.

It was obvious to you that Mingi was doing this out of consideration for you, and it did make you think that maybe he saw you as weak, but that evaporated once the call was done and he messaged you privately.

<MC Mango> Hey Y/N! Just wanted to say that I am so excited to be able to actually make this track with you! Feels like a dream haha

<you> Hi Mingi, likewise :) super cool stuff, you coming to the studio @ 10am tomorrow right?

<MC Mango> You know it! Also, what's your favourite food?

Well that was random, but you decided to answer anyways

<you> Nachos are life.

<MC Mango> RESPECT! Okay thank you :D

<you> You mysterious man... O_O

<MC Mango> See you tomorrow Y/N :) <3

<you> haha see you :) <3

His addition of the heart made your heart do flip flops. You really were getting too soft. So you put on your noise cancelling headphones, and in your best nature, turned up an aggressive hiphop and trap playlist.

And yet, thoughts of him did not want to leave, so instead, you returned to tweaking what you had recorded today, listening to his wonderful voice many times over.

After a few more days of the two ATEEZ members basically living in your studio (and Mingi bringing nachos for you because of that one text you sent), you were officially finished with the preparation of the track, having mastered it to the highest quality attainable, and after that, it was a big time rush to tie up all the loose ends for the set release.

The way that this one song scaled in terms of production was unprecedented, and compared to your lonely nights in the studio or at most, five people working on an album, you could not help but feel like you did not deserve this.

You felt like everything was being taken out of your control, and there were moments when you, quite literally, had no idea what was happening, neither with your song nor with what the bureaucrats had lined up for you. It was all simply too much. Too loud, too much like a hive.

So walked right into your studio, and got to writing.

The words came naturally to you, and it was your fingers that were struggling to keep up as you let loose on the pages in front of you. The message was simple enough, but it resonated. The feeling of realising that you will never really quite know a person, or the wide network of people who are connected to you.

Just as you were finishing up, you noticed that the second verse seemed to have a slightly different voice. One that was too similar to a certain tall rapper. Oh you were in deep.

You were alerted by a soft knock on the door, and looked up to see none other than Mingi, poking his head in, evidently worried. You could not be happier to see him.

"Hey, you weren't at KQ so I figured I could find you here. What's up? Can I come in?"

He asked, ever so gentle. As he ambled across the room upon shutting the door behind him, you noticed he had a plastic bag in his hands. After seeing your line of vision stop at the object, he raised it a little, explaining:

"I brought some fuel. There were these cool new fusion kimbap rolls launched, and I wanted to try them with you."

With you. The words repeated in your head. You thanked him, and patted the seat beside you. There was no need for you to explain why you were taking some time out, Mingi understood in a heartbeat.

The only thing that mattered to him was that you were still here, smiling, and more than happy to see him. Be with him.

You slid over the lyrics you had written for a still untitled rough idea, asking him for his opinion. Brows furrowed, he leaned over, closer to you.

"Oh this flows... nice... oh I really like that line. Wait why did you write 'Fix On'?"

"Guess."

"Wait, no way. Is this us?"

"Well... it could be?" you left the question hanging in the air. Silence fell upon the room as he looked deep into your eyes.

"This... is going to be THE BEST ALBUM EVER LET'S DO THIS!" he almost deafened you with his scream for joy as he jumped up from the chair, taking you with him and wrapping you up in a tight hug.

At first you were frozen, unsure of what in the world you were supposed to be doing, but as seconds passed and he was not planning on letting go, you chuckled and returned the embrace, rocking just a little.

Another spark passed between you as both of you felt that this was definitely going to be much more than just an album.

As days turned into weeks, and one song turned into a mini album, your interactions with Mingi also changed. Instead of just staying in the studio to work, you now spent hours on end in the space just staying together to chat. Initially sat opposite one another, but recently, intertwined in a cuddle on the couch, both of you looking at either your phone or his.

When Hongjoong was in the studio too, he was constantly eyeing both of you with a cheeky smirk.

It had already been five times that the rest of the members, led by Yunho, crashed the studio 'to see how things were going' and to 'see Mingi because they have not seen him in so long'. Soon enough that had also changed to 'you know what just take him forever he doesn't stop talking about you anyways'.

Though you had not made it official yet, everything was progressing in that direction. Both him and you were evolving thanks to your collaboration, and had only one wish: for this to never end.

Mingi had helped you familiarise yourself with official photoshoots, and you had given him freestyling tricks for 'the future'.

Once the mini album dropped, it seemed that everything you knew combusted.

Initially, your fans, those fans who you held so dear and worked tirelessly for, were pouring in with nothing but disappointment and hatred. You were appalled. It was also obvious that they had not listened to any of the tracks, and they were just displeased that now you were 'searching for the mainstream, sucking up to popular culture and losing yourself'.

It would be a lie to say you did not spend nights after the release in tears, instead of celebrating. Hiding in your beloved studio, you could not stop yourself from composing sad track after sad track, trying to find an outlet for your anguish. You knew you should not have done this. You knew you should not have loved.

You did not answer Mingi's calls, nor his messages, but when he bust through the door, misty-eyed and crying out your name, you collapsed into his arms as he comforted you, promising you that he would always be there. No matter how hard things seemed.

Once you had calmed down, he took out his phone and started showing you some screenshots. Then went on Twitter, and then even searched up articles related to your collaboration. He wanted to show you that there was a different side to the story.

And oh how bright it was.

ATINY were overwhelmingly positive about this surprise release, praising both Mingi's and your talents, and diving into searching for more of your content.

You read the critics raving about each track, especially the first one, which you had made into the title track.

The public was calling for this to be in concert. On a show. Anywhere where they could feel this live. You took Mingi's hand and slipped your fingers through his, and he responded by bringing you closer, kissing your cheek.

"And finally, take a look," and he showed you one more page. Your social media page. With the follower count unlike anything you have ever seen before, even though you had experienced a crash just a few days ago. And a flood of comments of appreciation and gratitude. In that moment, you returned to Mingi, and pulled him into a hope-filled kiss.

It was interesting doing promotions as a new couple. Though you had not revealed the relationship, multiple public figures had commented on your 'unique chemistry' and 'what seemed to be musical telepathy'.

On a couple of shows onto which you had agreed to go, (given the condition that Mingi would be there too) you shined. Initially you were irked by their requests that you covered up your tattoos, but as it turned out, long-sleeved, form fitting turtlenecks and modern cyber and industrial wear quickly became your signature.

Your agent was ecstatic at your rise in popularity, and was now almost always on new phone calls, even negotiating with some brands who wished to do advertising with you.

And Mingi, well, he was falling in love with you more and more, as you shined brighter and brighter. During a small break in your promotions to accommodate ATEEZ's pre-filming, he continuously messaged you and even invited you onto the film set, where you had the chance to mingle more with the staff.

You had gotten to know a lot of them closely, even recognising some from the time of initial preparations for your album with Mingi, and took no time to present them with small thank you gifts, and helping them out when you could.

Their attitude towards you also softened, with one of the younger interns admitting that initially, she had perceived you as a much scarier and stricter figure, and after hearing some rumours. To this, you responded with a light-hearted laugh, and thanked her for the honestly.

How glad you were that Mingi had snuck out to see you that day, and that serendipity had brought you a friend in the form of Hongjoong.

Fast-forward a couple of months, and you were having the largest-scale concert of your career. Before, it used to be within the hundreds at most, the highest profile one having approached one thousand.

But now, there were a few thousand voices, all chanting your name. The venue was sold out in record time, and the first batch of merch that you had designed, with Mingi cheering you on in the background, was nearly sold out. The concert merch too, had been swept off the stalls.

It was exhilarating. You were alive. Before, it was you breathing life into the audience, sharing your energy with them, connecting to them and lighting up the room. But now, the exchange was mutual, and in some moments, you were flabbergasted at the pulsating force of the crowd. They were there for you. They were cheering for you. They knew your words by heart and were overjoyed to be in this time and space with you.

You were on the extended platform connected to the main stage that went further into the audience. A peninsula, surrounded by a sea of shimmering glow and the wonderful people attending. It was time for you to perform the title track of your and Mingi's album. You were seated on one of the two stools that were right in the centre of the 'peninsula'. One single spotlight on you.

The crowd roared, signaling Mingi's approach in the darkness. You felt his back press against yours, his heartbeat steady, giving you rhythm, giving you reassurance. While your microphones were still off, but he moved his away just in case, you heard him whisper to you quick words of adoration, and a cheerful 'let's do this'.

In this wide world, you had always thought that keeping your circle small, your fanbase small, and your music inaccessible was the only way to preserve identity. But you had grown. You had now understood that you had been selfish, denying those who wanted to dream the opportunity to do so.

Now on the stage, together with the love of your life and with the universe surrounding you, you were truly alive, and truly an artist.

happy new year🍸✨ || park seonghwa (m)

🍸 pairing ⇢ art major! (fem) reader x med-school student! Seonghwa x San (kind of)

🍸 summary ⇢ after a hell of a night of drinking god knows what, you wake up in the arms of your sworn enemy. Clothes? Gone. Sanity? Also gone. That is, until he wakes up before you get the chance to leave.

🍸 genre/ au⇢ enemies to lovers, one night stand au, smut, slight angst, some fluff

🍸 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors dni, one night stand, heavy drinking, party, sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), rough sex, cream pie, seonghwa is super smart, seonghwa wears glasses, licking, biting, bruising, slight dirty talk, name calling, I am not a science professional please forgive me if things are not correct, language, a touch of after care, y/n is a freak but we love her, once again if I forgot something feel free to let me know so I can add it.

🍸 word count ⇢ 9.2k

🍸 taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @meowmeowminnie @jjhmk @yesv01 @roe-sinning @yeritheloml @yukine-smx @y00nzin0 @8tinytings @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @hwaightme

New year's. A new beginning. A flush of new opportunities to change habits and fall in love. 

Some people will do anything to find the love of their life. You, well, the new year wasn't for praying for love or longing for that New Year's Eve kiss. You had no expectations for falling into the scheme of chemicals disguised as love.

So, on the very night, as others held hands, kissed, and enjoyed another year together, you partied the night away like it had no meaning.

This new year, however, your typical party-hard behavior ended with you in someone else's bed, glitter in your eyes, and your legs tangled with your enemy.

What the fuck happened?

—

11:25 am

New Year’s Day.

Your head was spinning. 

Flashbacks of the night before flooded your vision even before you opened your eyes. Your toes were peeking out of the fluffy duvet that one hundred percent didn't belong to you, your hands grasping onto someone else's.

You were afraid to open your eyes, to be honest.

Flashes of glitter, champagne, kisses, touches, dancing. It was all too much, and the minute you felt someone’s warm breath run down your neck, you became aware of the strong arm that held you to his body.

And that's when it hit you. 

Last night, after way too much alcohol and mixtures of shots and god knows what else, you shared your midnight kiss with someone you dreaded.

Well, at least used to dread.

You opened your eyes quickly, staying as still as ever to not wake him. You didn't trust your drunk mind—you wanted to make sure it was….him.

You looked down at the hand that was wrapped around you. His fingers cupped your breast, holding you to him like you were made for him. Your heart began to beat faster as you noticed how he was holding you, and you slowly moved your head to face your enemy.

Park Fucking Seonghwa.

There he was, in all his glory. His black hair still looked flawless,his lips parted as he breathed. They were swollen, painted red from your lipstick. You held your breath and swallowed hard, unable to look away from him from the shock.

Or maybe, just maybe, you thought he was absolutely gorgeous and couldn't believe he just fucked you after staying he hated you the day before.

You blinked, and finally tore your gaze from him.

It wasn't unusual for you to wake up in a foreign bed tangled in a mess of limbs. It was a part of your party lifestyle, and never wanting to settle. The man that you slept with, though, was someone you never imagined would have a one night stand.

He was too good to be true, which is why you couldn't believe it. He was fine-cut, clean, and someone who was a lover of all things traditional. He wears suits freshly pressed from the dry cleaners, round rimmed glasses, and a permanent smirk as if he was better than everyone else.

To be honest, he was. Which is why you hated him.

He was too perfect. And now, here you were, with said perfect man, your naked bodies pressed against each other. 

You let out a groan, unsure about how to get out of this situation. Ever so slowly, you wrapped your fingers around the hand that gripped your breast, prying his godly fingers off your skin. You breathed slowly as you set his hand down, and then you slipped out of the covers.

Your bare feet landed on the cold hardwood, and you let out a sigh of relief. You looked over at him before finding your dress that you vividly remember him ripping off of you, and of course, it was torn right down the middle. 

“Fuck.” you whispered, although it wasn't quiet enough.

He gasped awake, pushing himself back against the headboard. His eyes were frantic, searching all over the room until his eyes met yours. And then they trailed down, and down, and down, as he soaked up your nakedness. “Holy fuck,” he breathed, not even pulling up the covers to hide his bare chest. “y/n? Where are your clothes?”

You stood like a deer in headlights, scared enough to not even bother to hide yourself. He saw it all, anyway.

“I, uh,” you sniffed, holding up the destroyed dress in your hands. “You tore it off my body…”

He squinted his eyes, unable to see without those glasses of his. He reached over onto the nightstand, and quickly tossed on those sexy ass round-rimmed glasses. And that's when another flashback hit you.

 “What the hell happened last night?”

—

New Years Eve,

9:05 pm.

“Make sure you bring some painkillers, y/n,” your best friend San said as you stuffed the necessities into your purse. “I know how you get.”

You chuckled and tossed a whole bottle into your purse. “I got you, Sannie.”

You and san were besties. Not just you two, but you had a whole friend group. Wooyoung, hongjoong, San, A mixture of personalities, but you liked to consider your group a bunch of party-hards. All except one of them. 

Seonghwa, who was hongjoong’s roommate, joined the friend group last new years. He was the stick up the ass friend that wouldn't like to come to parties, and his priorities lied with passing his boards. A smarty pants, of course, and you couldn't blame him for his efforts to do well. You just didn't care the same way he did.

Which is why he didn't like you.

He also studied the brain while you studied art, which he thought was tedious. He knew everything about your brain while you couldn't even pick apart his expressions, which pissed you off all the time.

“Oh, one more thing,” San poked his head into your room, a sinister smile on his face. A face you've kissed one too many times. “Seonghwa is coming.”

You went still as he stood in your doorway, your lips only half covered with bright red lipstick. “What?”

San shrugged. “Don't know why. Said he was sick of studying for once. I couldn't believe it either,” he looked you up and down then, and gave you a wink. “Anyway. You look hot. I wanna kiss away that lipstick, baby.”

You smirked, loving that you and San could do anything to each other and it meant nothing. He was the male version of you, that's for sure.

“Come here then.” you chuckled, and not surprisingly, he entered the room like he owned it, pulling you to him sexily. Everyone thought you were dating, but the truth was that you just like to kiss each other. And fuck, but theres absolutely no strings attached.

Reason number a million for why seonghwa hated you.

His lips met yours sloppily, tugging you closer as his lips parted yours. He pulled back, licking the lipstick off his lips. 

“So, who’s gonna be the lucky man tonight?” he huskily groaned, leaning back onto your vanity.

You carried on like nothing happened, and fixed up your lipstick. “Not sure. Whoever is down for some fun I guess.”

He nodded. “Of course, of course. Anyway, as much as I like to chit-chat and makeout with you, it's time to head out. I want to get there before the good alc is gone.”

You smirked, finishing your lipstick only for it to be ruined later on. 

“Alright, lets go get fucked up.”

—

10:20 pm

You entered the party an hour later, already buzzed on your pre-game chug. San gripped onto you as you entered the house, having no idea who’s it was.

“The party is here, motherfuckers.” San hollered, and everyone who was in the room turned to see you.

You were sober enough to look around, looking for the man you couldn't believe was showing up. You didn't see him anywhere, and you felt a bit let down at the thought of him not showing up.

San’s fingertips were pressed into your side as your friends came up to see you. “Ah, there you guys are. We figured you were fucking as per usual.” Wooyoung cockily spoke, a smile on those pretty drunk lips of his.

Hongjoong snorted, holding a can of beer tightly in his hands. “You're so right.”

You shook your head this time, looking at San, who was staring at you hungrily. “Nah, just a quick makeout sesh. Didn't want to zip this dress back up.”

“Nah, I could've just lifted it up.” San smirked.

You were too busy staring at San to notice the man of the hour coming up behind your friends.

Seonghwa looked pained, his pretty eyes hidden behind his glasses. He held a beer in his hand, looking out of place from his stuffy persona. His long legs were covered with tight black dress pants, and his chest was covered in a matching suit coat and a turtleneck.

You couldn't lie, it pissed you off that he was hot.

“Hwa, there you are,” San giggled, already drunk off an unknown amount of vodka shots. “You're looking fine as hell tonight.”

You moved your gaze to the tall man, his expensive aura rubbing off on you. His eyes were sending daggers at San’s grip on your waist, and then he brought his gaze up to yours. “Thanks.” is all he said, his smooth voice enveloping your senses.

You looked him up and down with an arch of the brow. “Seonghwa.”

He did the same to you, although his piercing eyes were judging your every move. “Y/n.”

You scoffed at the disdain of his tone, knowing that this party was going to be the death of you if you stayed this sober. You looked up to San, who was already looking at you. “San, could you get me a drink?”

He went off like he was your servant, leaving you alone with your friends. That is, until hongjoong gave wooyoung a knowing look. “We're going to get drinks too. Bye-bye.” hongjoong chuckled, knowing he was leaving you with the enemy.

You rolled your eyes, unable to meet your gaze to Seonghwa’s fierce one. It was quiet between you two, desperately needing him to either leave or speak. 

To your surprise, he did the latter.

“I see you're enjoying winter break, clearly,” he hummed, bringing the beer can up to his lips. You couldn't help but watch as they got wet, and how he licked them clean while looking at you. “Maybe too much.”

Stupid stupid stupid. He shouldn't be hot. It's not fair.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “What do you mean by that?” you inquired, to which he scoffed before responding.

He shrugged. “Well, you're having fun with San and going to parties left and right. Do you ever rest?” he took a step closer to you, but you didn't back down. Even though his voice was so smooth, buttering you up even when he insulted you, you loved to play his game right back.

“Why are you here? Shouldn't you be dissecting a brain or something?” you growled, looking around for San—who wasn't back with your drink yet. “Listen, we all can't be neurosurgeons, baby. Leave the partying and sex and drugs to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, and took another step towards you. “So you are fucking him.”

You furrowed your brows at his harsh and unusual word choices. 

Two can play it this way, seonghwa.

“Who? I can name a few people in this room alone,” you reached out, using your flirtatious ways to make him uncomfortable as you always do. You ran a hand down his arm, his gaze hardening on you. “Are you interested? You know I like it rough. I’m sure San tells you all about it—”

“Slut.” he hissed, his eyes black as night as your hand wrapped around his forearm. It's not a word you should take lightly, but hearing him call you that actually did the opposite you expected. You felt warm, your stomach tingling lower and lower and lower.

Your eyes lit up as they met his. “Oh? We’re name calling now, huh?” you pulled him to you, and he stumbled into you. You reached up and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Sucks for you, four eyes, I like being degraded.”

He didn't make a face. He just stared down at you, his lips flat without emotion. His eyes, however, danced with lust from the look you were giving him. After a moment of tearing each other apart, you pushed him away, leaving him standing alone as you went to go find San. Before you left his sight, you turned around and gave him a flirty wave, catching him scoffing one last time before leaving the room.

—

11:30 pm

It was a blur. You were already on your seventh, maybe tenth drink, feeling your body warm from the toxin you call alcohol. You had a habit of dancing when you were drunk, and that left you in the middle of the room, grinding on San and some other random dudes.

In your hand was a red cup of something that tastes like peach whiskey, and it nearly spilled as San’s hands were all over you. The edge of his fingertips danced at the curve of your hip, your arms reaching the sky as his lips were on your neck. Little did you know that more than one set of eyes were on you.

Seonghwa sat on the leather couch, his legs spread wide and his arms crossed. He was drunk off a whole bottle of orange vodka, which scared him a bit. He was unsure of what he would do—or say—to you. You had no idea why he hated you, but oh, some choice words might spill out of his mouth tonight as he watched San touch you like that.

He narrowed his eyes when San’s lips met yours, staring at you with so much anger he might have exploded. He kept watching, unable to break his stare from you. His eyes trailed down to the way San’s hand slid down your hips, and watched as he kissed you and smiled with cockiness.

Seonghwa didn't like how he looked at you.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Hwa stood up and made his way over to you. Within that little time, San was already dancing with another girl, leaving you dancing all alone in the midst of sweaty bodies and men that would take advantage of you.

The minute you spotted him in front of you, you stopped dancing and plastered a goofy smile on your face. “Hello there, smarty pants. Out of your element?” you asked him and began to dance again. He looked at you deeply, noticing the smudge of your lipstick.

“You seem to let anyone touch you.” He said, pushing his glasses up on his face.

You shrugged as you danced, but you were sick of him killing the mood. You reached out to him and pulled him close, and to your surprise, he didn't move away as you danced against him.

“Yeah, even you.” you smirked, grinding your ass against his dick. You were certain he was drunk enough to ignore it. “Touch me.”

He hesitated, but the alcohol took over as his hands moved on their own. He was too drunk to hide his true feelings, but at least you both wouldn't remember this in the morning. His hands slid down to your hips, and never have you ever craved someone’s touch this much.

You reached back to run a hand down his face, feeling the cold rim of his glasses. You felt how sharp his jawline was as his hands touched you like he never did before.

“I’m touching you because you want me to, not because I want to.” he huffed, but his fingers said otherwise as they curled around your dress. His head rested against yours, but then you turned around in his hold, your face inches away from his.

You tilted your face up as you saw the longing look he was giving you. God, you hated him.

“Are you sure about that?” your lips were inches away from his, his hands still gripping at your waist. You held onto his shirt, fisting it tight. You smelled his breath, his shampoo, his everything. Your vision was hazy, but you knew damn well he was the hottest man you've ever laid eyes on. “Your hands seem to like my waist.”

“I don't like anything about you,” he whispered in your ear, lips pressing against your skin. “Not even your sexy little ass. God, I hate your lips, too.”

You shivered under his touch, his hand now squeezing your ass as he breathed into your ear. 

“Oh? What’s wrong with my lips?” 

He let out a sigh, his breathing getting shallower by the minute. 

His dark eyes met yours.

“Because they don't belong to me.”

You stopped dead at his words, feeling like the whole world stopped. He stopped too, but his hands still found their home on your ass and waist.

Your heart began to beat out of your chest. No man has ever made you feel the way he made you feel. You couldn't stand it.

Ignoring his half-confession, you laughed it off. “Your breath smells like oranges.”

He smiled down at you, hair in his eyes. “That's because of the orange vodka. You smell like peaches.”

You licked your lips, really wanting to taste the oranges on his lips; in his mouth. Something was wrong with you.

“I really don't like you.” you said, looking at his lips.

“I hate you even more.”

“Well I hate you a million times more.”

He scoffed, his hands meeting your waist once again. “I hate your dress.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why? Is it too slutty for you? Is that all you see in me?”

He shook his head. “No,” he hummed. “I just think you're too pretty to be someone’s play-thing.”

You blinked. Was that a compliment?

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I don't do it as often as you think.” you said to him, that seductive smile on your face he knew all too well.

“Well you sleep with San.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but we only fuck because we don't know how to love. We've only done it once.”

He frowned. “What? Really? Only once?”

You nodded, your hand running through his soft hair without knowing. This was the most you've ever spoken civilly. “Yeah. We make out and like other stuff, but I don't like him like that. He doesn't like me like that either. We just do it for fun. Anything to feel something.”

He scoffed, looking as pretty as ever. “God, you're insane.”

“Maybe.”

He smiled. Really smiled. You thought he was so gorgeous, your drunk self didn't know what to do with him.

San came up to you two, a smirk on his lips as he watched you. “Dancing with the enemy, huh?” he chuckled, a girl on one arm and wooyoung on the other. “Have fun, looks like Seonghwa isn't a buzzkill after all.”

San left then, which kind of proved your relationship to Hwa. Sure, you liked to party. You liked having sex. You liked to feel things. It was just your way of having fun. Feeling alive. Even though Seonghwa hated that you were like that, you now just figured out that he thought you deserved better than being someone’s object.

“It's almost midnight.” you whispered, leaning your head against his chest. You felt his heartbeat race under that expensive turtleneck of his.

“Mhm.” he hummed into your hair. 

“Who are you going to kiss?” you ran your hands down his back sensually. “Did you even ever kiss someone?”

He laughed, and you felt his chest vibrate. “Do you think I’m a virgin, y/n?”

You giggled, his hands feeling you up. “Maybe. Either that or you're like extremely experienced and you know everything.”

He chuckled at that, but didn't deny it.

“So which is it?” you looked up at him as people began to chant the countdown in the background. “Virgin or sexpertise?” 

Ten. 

“Do you want to find out?” he asked, his hands living on your hips. “Or do you hate me too much?”

Nine.

“I do hate you quite a bit.” you looked up at his lips.

Eight.

He tilted his head, licking his lips.

Seven.

“Well I don't want you kissing someone else.”

Six.

You looked up at him through your lashes. “So does that mean you don't hate me?”

Five. 

He tugged you closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest. “Oh, I do hate you. I hate everything about you.”

Four.

“Oh, I know you do.” you licked your lips as he pressed his forehead against yours. “You never let me hear otherwise.”

Three. 

“Do you…want to hear otherwise?”

Two. 

His hand met your jaw, tilting it up to face him. You swallowed hard.

You nodded. 

“I never wanted someone so bad the way I want you.” he breathed.

One.

“Kiss me.” you groaned, and this time, he touched you because he wanted to.

“I won't be able to stop.” he hummed against your lips, enveloping you with the sweet taste of oranges and vodka despite the warning.

Happy new year!

He pushed open your lips, tongue in your mouth and hands in your hair. You fisted his hair with one hand, his glasses crashing against your face. He pulled back for a moment only long enough to tear them off his face, only to further the kiss. His hands gripped your face, his tongue licking the roof of your mouth.

He breathed hard as you kissed and kissed and kissed. Your hands were still in his hair, tugging him down to you as he leaned down. You've never kissed someone the way you kissed him at this moment, sharing breaths and sweet-tasting saliva.

Seonghwa scrunched his eyebrows tight as he kissed you, so powerfully, that you didn't know where to put your hands on him anymore. 

You forgot that you were in the middle of a room full of people, but one kiss wasn't enough for both of you. You loved the softness of his lips. The taste of them. The smell of his hair. You loved the way he was looking at you, the way he was touching you. You loved everything about him at this moment.

He pulled away, slowly, tenderly, as if he didn't almost break your face from that powerful kiss. It was as if the world was ending—he couldn't let go of you.

And to make matters worse, the pad of his thumb met the corner of your lips, wiping them gently.

“Happy new year, y/n.”

You stared at him, trying to decipher your true feelings. Did you only hate him because he never showed you the time of day? Was it because he was perfect, like a literal god?

—

12:45 am.

The New Year

Somehow, someway, you and seonghwa got separated in all the craziness of the midnight frenzy. You were now in the kitchen, guzzling down your second shot of champagne. You were way too drunk to search for seonghwa, but the minute you saw a flash of black and silver rimmed glasses, you pushed yourself off the counter and followed him.

The cold January breeze hit you, but your body was too warmed up from your intoxication. You stepped down the stairs of the deck, pushing through the swarm of people to see a group lighting off sparklers. Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea, as everyone here had to be at least tipsy, but you saw him then, smiling, and holding onto a sparkler.

The brightness of the sparks reflected in his eyes, leaving specks of gold and white dance around his lenses. He didn't see you yet, so you stepped closer and closer. He had to see you now, but he didn't look over.

“You know that our reactions to the world around us originate from our brains?” he smiled, waving the sparkler around to make the fire move. “Our movements. Like me moving this right now. Because my brain told my muscles to do it, I moved. Isn't it amazing?”

You stared at him as he turned to you.

“Same way with you,” he sniffed, possibly because of the cold. He looked down at the sparkler in his hands. “My brain reacts to you. More than absolutely anything.”

You reached out and held the sparkler with him, knowing there was no way you were going to remember this in the morning. “So, what makes my body react to you, then?”

He let out a sigh, putting his thinking face on even while he was obliterated. “That depends on what way you react. There are many different chemicals.”

You tilted your head. “Chemicals?”

He nodded, looking down at how your hands were touching each other. His free hand gripped your chin, tilting it up to meet his lustful gaze.

“If you're thinking about kissing me,” he paused, the reflection of the star of the sparkler in his lenses. “Or touching me. Or fucking me, your levels of dopamine and norepinephrine are high.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as his fingertips brushed against your lips. 

“High?” 

“Mhm. Your brain is currently sending signals through your neurotransmitters. If you're attracted to me right now,” the sparks of the sparkler died out right then. “Your body will react because of the chemical reactions.”

“So,” you breathed, looking up at him innocently. “How is your body reacting to me? What’s your brain telling you?”

Seonghwa paused, taking a quick look at your lips before biting them slightly. He tossed the dead sparkler away. “Well my brain isn't fully functional right now, so I’m not sure how reliable my words are.”

You scoffed, slapping him on the arm. “I thought we were having a moment.”

“We are.”

You laughed. “Seonghwa, I feel like you have no common sense.”

He blinked. “Well, not right now. Like I said when you drink your brain doesn't work as well—”

You groaned, interrupting him with a hand to his mouth. This made his eyes go wide, and you felt his hot breath hit your palm.

“I literally hate you so much,” you kept your hand to his mouth to keep him from speaking. “I’d rather have you call me a slut like earlier. Although you look cute talking all nerdy.”

He blinked at you, confused at what you really felt about him. He was so far gone that he was starting to spill brain facts—a usual scenario that happens when he gets drunk. It's not what he wants to get across now, even though he was confused about his own thoughts.

He reached up to grab your hand, and wiped his face after. Now his lips were free—you kept thinking back to your kiss you shared earlier.

“I won't be able to stop.” you said.

He tilted his head in confusion. “What?”

You sighed, grabbing his cheeks in your hands, making him let out a little noise of surprise. You could tell he barely had any idea where he was. His eyes were dilated, dark, and somehow so lovely you couldn't imagine looking into anyone else's.

“You said you wouldn't be able to stop. When you were kissing me.” you hummed, feeling the warmth of his body that was inches away from yours. “But you did.”

He stared at you deeply, and you were able to see your reflection in his round eyes. “Yes.”

You rubbed your thumb against his cheekbone. “And you said before that if you wanted to kiss someone, that was because of a chemical reaction?”

He nodded slowly, looking at your lips in a haze. “Also yes.”

“Are you….having any reaction…to me?” you slid your hand back, running it up his neck, watching him shut his eyes tight in response. “To my touch? Do you want to kiss my lips again? Or fuck me?”

“God, y/n.” he hissed quietly, his eyes opening slowly to meet your intense gaze. His hands were back on your hips, seeming like a happy place for him. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

You smirked, leaning in to kiss the sharpness of his jaw, hearing him breathe in sharply. “We can go back to being hateful in the morning. I want you inside me more than I want to be hated, tonight,” you kissed the lobe of his ear, nibbling on it slightly as his hands tightened at your waist. “So your answer? Is there a chemical reaction going off in your body right now?”

He laughed deeply, sending chills down your spine. His arms wrapped around your body, his palm at the small of your back, pulling you into him. “If there wasn't, then I would have something wrong with me.”

You sensually giggled, gripping the back of his neck so he would look you in the eyes. “Then I’m all yours for the night.”

“I can…I can do anything to you?” he murmured into your ear, both of you unaware of the people around you. 

His forehead pressed against yours.

“Anything.” 

—

1:20 am.

The New Year

He slammed you against the door of god knows who’s bedroom, his lips on yours the minute he caught his breath. His hand searched for the door knob, and after aggressively running his hand up and down the door, he found it, and you both tumbled into the bedroom.

He moaned as you bit his lip with full force, feeling euphoric from the sounds he made. He pushed you back into the door, slamming it shut with your body. Lifting you up quickly, he held you to the door, feeling his hard-on through his pants.

“You said you liked it rough,” he whispered onto your lips like it was a confession, kissing them in between words. “I’ll make it so rough you won't think about San ever again.”

You cried out as he stuck his tongue into your mouth, now knowing that this booksmart boy was most certainly not a virgin. “I knew it.” you breathed, smirking while his teeth bit into your neck. You grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling it so hard that he set you down. You watched his face contort in pain and pleasure as you backed him up to the edge of the bed.

“What?” he groaned, looking up at you from his seated position. His eyes pleaded for your touch, and you did, gripping onto his shoulder as you stepped between his legs.

“I knew you weren't a virgin, you asshole.” you gave him a sinister smile, and with the deadliest look, you ripped the hair tie off your wrist to tie your hair up.

You watched him swallow hard, his black hair covering his eyes and sticking to him from his sweat. His legs were spread wide, his dick begging to tear through his expensive pants. He breathed heavily as he watched you kneel, causing him to moan without you having to touch him.

“I…” he huffed as your hands met the waistband of his pants. “Ugh.” he couldn't finish what he had to say when you unbuttoned them, pulling down the zipper to reveal black underwear. You tugged at his pants, pulling them down along with the underwear. There he was, ready for you. You were going to make him feel so good that he would never forget this, despite your shared “hatred.”

He tossed his head back the minute he felt your breath against his tip, veins popping through the skin of his forehead as he bit his lip. You licked his cock, dragging your tongue down from the tip to the base. You looked up at him while you did it, meeting his breathless expression.

“I…I…Fuck.” he cried out, his hand fisting your ponytail with force. 

You moaned as you sucked his dick, your throat contracting from his size. You gagged slightly as he shoved you deeper, your hands behind your back like the master you were. You used your tongue as you moved up and down, going faster as you heard him moan louder and louder.

“I’m gonna fucking come if you don't stop,” he hissed after god knows how long you spent sucking him off, and he pulled you up off your knees. 

You nearly blushed at his lost expression, his lips bright red from your lipstick and his cheeks flushed. His eyes were slanted with lust, dazed and lost within your touch. He was leaning back on his arms, which were still covered by the turtleneck you couldn't wait to take off of him.

You licked your lips as you looked down on him, and your fingertips met the hem of his shirt. You tugged it slowly, watching his eyes widen slightly as you pulled it over his head. The smooth ripple of muscle danced down his stomach like he was some sort of art piece.

You then stood back to admire for a moment, which was too long for seonghwa to wait. He stood up from the bed, his arms coming around to hold the back of your head. He was completely naked now, all that was left was the slutty glasses that dawned his face. You didn't want to take them off just yet.

He looked at you for a second before pressing his red lips to yours, his hand gripping the back of your head to hold you to him. His other hand twirled around the end of your little dress, unable to take a second to pull the zipper down. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue collided into yours, your hands finding their home in his hair. The coldness of his glasses burned into your skin, sending more shivers down your spine as he kissed you like no one ever has.

“I’ll tear this thing apart,” he growled into your mouth, impatient as ever. Before you could tell him there was a zipper, he ripped the fabric right off your body, tossing it across the room like it was nothing. You didn't even care if it was your favorite dress. The only thing that mattered right now was having him inside you.

You shivered as his hands slid down the waistband of your lace underwear.

“I bet you didn't think I would be the one taking these off of you,” he licked your lips, his cold fingertips meeting your other lips. He pushed his middle finger between them, his eyes dancing with desire as he watched your eyes shut tight. “Lace? So slutty.”

“Your glasses are sluttier.” You held in a whimper.

He smirked, and took his hand away slowly. Before you could complain, he sucked on the fingers that were just near your entrance, and then slid his hand up your matching bra, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the sensitive skin of your nipple. Without warning, he pulled it over your head, and you rested your head in the crook of his neck while his hands caressed your breasts. You kissed his collarbone as his arms snaked around your waist, pushing you backwards until you both fell onto the bed.

He caged you from above, his dick pressing up against your center. You felt the dribble of precum hit your skin, unable to shake the feeling that he was probably the best you ever had—even without entering you. His one arm reached down to pull your underwear off, so quickly you barely knew he did it.

You arched your back into him, begging him with your eyes for him to enter you, but he just looked down at you with a smirk. He ran a hand down your face, almost lovingly, but you knew better.

The minute his dick lined up to enter, and with a sharp inhale, he pushed himself deep inside you, causing you to let out a cry.

You rocked your hips against his as he held himself over you, his eyes locked on yours drunkenly. You couldn't remember when–or if—he ever looked straight into your eyes before tonight. It was fitting that he would only look at you when he fucked you.

His hips clashed into yours, his arms looping around your legs to shove himself further, if possible. You moaned so loud you swore everyone could hear you, but what made you even more turned on was that he was just as loud.

“Say my name.” he said, his glasses still on, making you even more feral. “I want to hear you scream it.”

You looked into his galaxy-like eyes, watching them sparkle with emotion.

You'll never recover from this.

“Seonghwa.” you whined, completely vulnerable under his body.

“Oh my god,” he purred, his eyes darkening. “Say it again.”

You moaned, causing him to move faster. “Hwa…”

You gripped his ass as he moved powerfully, his fingernails piercing your skin while his lips made love to your neck. You could hardly breathe between his god-like movements and the way his touch felt like fire, but when his lips met yours once again, you slid your hands up to hold the hair out of his face.

You smirked.

“Let me ride you.” you said, your voice hoarse from all your moans. He didn't stop moving as you asked, but you saw that gorgeous smirk immediately.

You traded positions, feeling empty as he pulled out of you. The minute you saw him under you, his hair sticking to his face and his eyes full of wonder, you let out a sigh, feeling his pulse from under you. You caressed his stomach with your fingertips, watching those bright eyes shut tight. Bringing your fingers down, you slid them down the V of his muscle, smiling to yourself as he bucked his hips forward. 

You leaned down, your lips meeting his stomach and you moved them further and further up, kissing his chest, his collarbone, his neck. You got to his chin, then his nose, until you softly gripped his glasses. Once they were off, you set them down onto the nightstand, letting out a chuckle as you looked at him.

He blinked up at you, never seeing him with such emotion.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, feeling his hot breath coat them while his hands caressed your back. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, sliding your finger down his neck to grip his throat. “You make me so mad.” you breathed, a devilish, almost insane look on your face. 

You tightened your grip.

He looked at you, sexy as ever. “Why?”

“Because,” you lined yourself up, hearing him grunt as you pushed yourself onto him. 

“When you call me beautiful, I actually believe you.”

You didn't give him a chance to answer you as you bounced up and down, smirking as you watched him squirm under your hold. You released your grip on his neck, pushing yourself up to ride him better. His hands were on your hips, his mouth agape and his eyes shut tight.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, leaning up from his sprawled position to wrap his arms around your body, holding him to you as you bounced up and down. Up and down, his lips on your lips. His hands in your hair. His tongue in your mouth. You never wanted this to end.

Who knows how long you've been going. He threw you around, pushing you up against the headboard and tossing your legs over his shoulders. He moaned in your ear, biting the lobe and then kissing it. “I still hate you,” he hissed, his sweat rubbing off onto you as he pressed his head into yours. “I hate how good your pussy feels.”

You tried catching your breath, holding onto him as he crashed. You already came twice, and you felt the third high coming after those words.

“You…” he huffed as you sucked on his thumb, unable to control himself. “You're such a whore.”

You smiled, your legs losing their feeling by how hard he was pumping into you. “Mhm.”

He groaned, tossing his head back. “It's so hot. You're so hot.” his breaths began to quicken, along with his movements. You most definitely will have bruises on your thighs from his grip and marks from the headboard on your back in the morning. “My little slut.”

“Ah,” you cried out, feeling yourself tighten around his pulsing cock. He pushed you up against the headboard even harder, and you felt the sharpness of his fingernails as he bucked his hips a few more times.

He came into you, without warning, and you felt the warmness fill you up completely. His breath was just as hot, hitting your sweaty face rhythmically. You let out a comfortable sigh as he moved your legs off his shoulders.

As you laid out, your back against the wooden headboard and him between your legs, he looked at you, gently, romantically, as if he didn't just fuck you for hours. He reached out, brushing your soaked hair behind your ear with a slight boyish smile.

He looked down at you in awe, unsure of what to do now. He was now a completely different person than he was a few minutes ago. His hands felt the inside of your thighs, his eyes wide. “Do you…do I..” he scratched his head. “Should I…help you? Like, wash up?” he met eyes with you, still drunk, but not nearly as much as he was a few hours ago.

You paused. You never had someone offer you that. Or any after care, in general. It's always been a hello, goodbye. 

He looked like he wanted to take care of you.

You blinked, trying to hide your appreciation. “You…don't have to,” you said, barely audible. He was the smartest man you knew, there was no way he didn't know what that meant.

He looked at you one more time before getting off the bed. You watched as he searched the room, admiring his physique. He found a box of tissues, and he gave you a look. “It's not the best thing, but—”

“It's okay, seonghwa.” you smiled, your hatred for him completely gone. Poof! Nothing was there other than infatuation and some other feeling you couldn't put your finger on. He came over to you then, and gently wiped the inside of your thighs, cleaning you up slowly. You blinked slowly as the tiredness took over you, but you didn't fall asleep just yet.

He looked you up and down from his standing position, his eyes sparkling under the moonlight that peeked through the windows.

He laid on the bed next to you, pulling up the covers and tossing them over both of you. Without thinking, you cuddled up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your head in his neck.

“You should believe it.” he said softly, rubbing circles into your arm.

“Hm?” you mumbled, drifting into sleep.

He smiled and kissed your forehead. 

“That you are beautiful.”

—

11:30 am

New Year’s Day.

Back to the current time, Seonghwa sat up against the headboard, looking as shocked as ever, not even pulling up the covers to hide his bare chest. 

“y/n?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Where are your clothes?”

You stood like a deer in headlights, scared enough to not even bother to hide yourself. He saw it all, anyway. You remembered everything as soon as your fingers touched your dress.

“I, uh,” you sniffed, holding up the destroyed dress in your hands. “You tore it off my body…”

He squinted his eyes, unable to see without those glasses of his. He reached over onto the nightstand, and quickly tossed on those sexy ass round-rimmed glasses. The same glasses he had on when he fucked you so hard you saw stars.

 “What the hell happened last night?” He asked, fixing his glasses to rest right on that pretty nose of his.

Your heart slowed. “You… don't remember?” you asked him, looking down at your aching body. He stared at you, lost, dazed, looking even more fuckable than he was when you were drunk.

This is bad.

He sighed, looking over the bruises on your thighs. “No, I do. I do,” he paused, scratching his head. “I’m sorry about the bruises. And…your dress.”

You wanted to escape. This was the first time you wanted to stay in someone's arms. The first time you wanted to sleep with someone more than once. It was unlike you.

You frantically searched for his shirt on the floor. You grabbed it and tossed it on, and thank god it fit like a dress. Your mind wandered to how he touched you, how he kissed you, how he cleaned you up.

You slid on your underwear, forgetting about the bra and quickly looked for your shoes. He watched you from the bed, a frown on his face. 

“You and your stupid chemical talk,” you mumbled, fixing your hair in the mirror. You looked over at him one last time, feeling your chest tingle from the look he was giving you. “I uh…it was nice. Thanks.” was all you came up with before leaving the room, and leaving him all alone with no shirt and your lace bra.

How were you supposed to fix this?

—

January 30th

End of Winter Break

You sat with your head in your textbook, alone in the library at your college campus. It's been thirty days since your unforgettable night with seonghwa, and here you were, still thinking about it every chance you got.

However, he was back to hating you again. He wouldn't even look at you, or speak to you. It felt like nothing happened, and in all reality, it was all your fault.

San came up to you then, a frown on his face as you made no reaction to his presence. Seonghwa was right—you couldn't even think of san the same way. Not after that night with hwa. 

“y/n,” San sat across from you at the library table, his expression solemn. “You haven't been yourself. Since when do you study?”

You blinked down at your textbook, reading about the anatomical drawings of Leonardo Divinci. It reminded you of seonghwa—not because of the way it looks, but knowing that the chemical reactions of the body lie under the exterior.

“Did you know that we have a whole bunch of neurotransmitters?” you furrowed your brow, your finger dancing along the drawing’s body. “They react to touch. Like this.” you said, circling the figure. San didn't speak, and he knew what happened between you and Seonghwa.

“Hey,” he reached out to shut your textbook, shutting your thoughts up. “What's going on?”

You shrugged, wrapping yourself up tightly in your fluffy coat. “I don't know. I don't know why I’m feeling this way or what it means.”

“It's Seonghwa,” he said kindly, picking at the edge of the textbook. “He’s been the same way, too.”

You sighed. “He won't even look at me, but who can blame him? After all he tore off my dress and called me a slut and bruised my thighs so bad I still have—”

“Alright, alright,” San hissed, making a disgusted face. “I don't need the details. But I can tell you what he said about you…”

Your eyes lit up, meeting his own irises with wonder. “What did he say?”

San bit his lip, and squirmed in the chair he was sitting in. “He said…he said he didn't want you to leave. When he was drunk the other day, he wouldn't stop talking about you.”

“San I,” you sighed, picking at your fingers in your lap. “I had to. That's all I know.”

He shook his head. “It doesn't have to be. Not with him, at least.”

You stared at him for a moment, unable to grasp the emotions you were feeling. “I don't want a relationship.”

He nodded. “He knows that.”

You bit your lip. “I don't know how to love someone.”

“He knows that, too.”

“Then what do I do?” you laughed, a usual occurrence when you were confused. “I want to be with him, but I don't know why.”

He smiled at you, his eyes kind rather than their usual flirtiness. “It doesn't hurt to try, y/n.”

Something blew up in your mind—some sort of chemical reaction you weren't used to. You knew of the feeling of attraction, lust, everything in between. But you didn't know what this one was.

You stood up abruptly. “I gotta go.” the chair nearly tumbled back as you zoomed out of the library, forgetting your backpack and your textbook like they were the least of your worries.

You ran through the cold, having no idea where your destination was. You knew who he was, but not where to find him. You checked his apartment, called hongjoong, and checked the science lecture halls. With him nowhere to be found, you thought your heart was going to give out—that is, until one more place came to mind.

You raced to the campus bus stop, pacing until the bus finally arrived. Your leg bounced up and down rapidly until you reached your stop. You moved so fast you were certain people thought you were insane, and when you finally pushed through the doors of the hospital, you trudged up the stairs to the neuro floor, right up to the main desk.

You took a deep breath to slow your breathing. “Is Seonghwa here?” you asked in a hurry, your heart beating so fast you thought you were dying. 

The lady frowned, giving you the weirdest look. “Who? Is he a patient?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No, no. he’s a med student. He should be doing an internship here or something? He’s in neuroscience. Neurosurgery? One of the two, I don't—”

“y/n?”

You heard his smooth voice from the right, and you slowly turned toward him in relief. “Ah, thank god. I need to see you, I think I’m dying.” you inhaled sharply, watching his neutral expression change to worry. 

He hesitated to get closer to you, his lips opening and closing as his mind wondered about what to say. He decided against words and walked over to you, gripping onto your arm before dragging you away and into the on-call room he came out of.

He let go of you, and you stood in the middle of the room with your hands at your sides. He locked the door behind him, and then turned to you with a scowl. “Why are you here?”

You gasped for air. “Listen, I have to be dying. My heart is beating so fast.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s probably because you ran here.”

You shook your head, and he kept his distance to you. “No, it's not just that,” you took a step closer to him. He didn't move back. “I can't stop thinking about you. And when I think about you, my heart races and I feel like I need to see you. Some kind of chemical reaction is going on and it's not the one you told me about when we were drunk.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. You stepped closer to him. “It’s probably just your body being confused. It has nothing to do with me—”

“But it has everything to do with you!” you groaned, sweating through the furry coat you had on. You ran a hand through your hair aggressively. “Because you're the one who I see even when I’m staring at anatomy paintings I can't stand it anymore.”

He let his guard down, setting down his arms at his sides. You took a step closer to him, calming down in his presence. 

He looked at you through those glasses of his. “What are your symptoms?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “I uh, I cant stop thinking about you. About that night. I also cant breathe sometimes, and my heart beats super fast whenever I think about you, or if you're with someone else,” you took a breath as he watched you intently. “I don't know if its because you hate me and I cant shake it, or that I still want to sleep with you, or the fact that I want more than that but I’m no good for you but I want to be—”

“Oxytocin.” he smiled, his eyes sparkling.

You stopped, realizing you were so close to him that your shoes were almost bumping together. “What?”

“Your chemical reaction,” he said, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face. The minute his skin met yours, you felt your heart beat even faster. “It’s especially prominent with…skin to skin contact.” the pads of his fingers caressed your cheek.

You felt calm as he touched you. Like you needed it. Only him.

“What does that mean?” you asked him, a whisper.

He smiled, grabbing your face in his hands. “It means attachment. You're attached to me.”

You met eyes with him, looking at how they searched your face for any answer. 

“...Yes. you're right,” you bit your lip as he looked down at you with amusement. “All I know is that I feel so much better now that you're in front of me.”

He smiled. “Good. because I do too,” he looked at your lips, ready to lean down and kiss them. “But just so you know, I plan on ripping your clothes off again. Right here, right now, so you better tell me it won't be the last time. I don't want to hear you say bye to me ever again.”

You nodded in his grip, your face inching towards his. “Mhm. Yeah. I’ll always say hello to you. No bye’s.”

He pressed his forehead into yours. “None.” 

His lips met yours like it was the first time, and you smiled into the kiss like a schoolgirl. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, kissing him and kissing him like you were made for him.

He made love to you on the couch of the on-call room, making new marks on your thighs and your neck. You never wanted it to end, and this time, it didn't have to.

“I’ll be the only one who gets to rip  your dresses, alright?” he growled in your ear, professing his attraction and attachment to you through actions. 

“Okay, four eyes.”