Cold As Ice

Cold as ice

Genre: fluff, first love, suggestive smut

Cw: FigureSkater!Minho x FigureSkater!Reader, slow(ish) burn, first kiss, he's shy, grumpy x sunshine kinda, rivals to lovers if you really squint, making out, hickies, smutty thoughts

Wc: 11.7k

Summary: Minho finds the icy cage around his heart melting sooner than he thought, and you were the flame

A/N: This was so fun to write I genuinely loved this sm, the song vibe is sparks by coldplay if anyone wants to listen while they're reading like me lol

Minho stood at the entrance of the Olympic ice rink with a newfound excitement for his skating career- his heart racing with a blend of nerves and ecstasy. He felt the cool air hitting his face, the frostiness biting at the moisture on his lips, felt his limbs being pierced with the harsh cold of where he felt most at home, and he knew he belonged.

He had sacrificed the majority of his life to get to this rink, gave up countless hours, missed important life events, and trained vigorously to the point of exhaustion just to stand here and compete for his country. A part of him looks back and wished he could've formed better connections with the people around him, a small twinge pulled at his heart when his peers didn't send him off, but he knew he didn't regret it.

Not when he was the one that got to stand on this ice, when he was the one that was going to represent his country and stand on the podium with a gold medal when all was said and done.

Minho loved being alone on the ice like this, he loved when it was just him and the sound of his blades cutting through the frozen surface- no one watching, no one putting pressure on him to be better. He felt an unparalleled freedom when he was allowed to just skate, to not feel.

The rink was his canvas, each push of his legs painted a picture over the ice that transformed it into proof of his dedication and passion for the sport he had devoted his life to.

The man had graduated from rink to rink in his journey, upgrading with every step of progress- and as Minho flawlessly executed the junior championship routine that had gotten him into the most important rink in his skating world, he marveled in the feel of it all. How much smoother the ice felt under his feet, simply how much more room he had to practice each jump and glide that merged seamlessly with his movements.

In his mind, the arena echoed with applause and the sweet taste of validation that he would get for all the hard work that had led him to this refined moment on the glistening surface.

"First time?" He heard a soft voice call out to him, the sound of another pair of blades gently scratching the surface reaching his ears at the same time.

He looked up and didn't see another figure skater anywhere on the ice.

But he did see an angel.

You glided across the ice so gracefully that it looked like you were floating.

You effortlessly lifted your leg and caught it behind your head, pushing yourself into an upright spin. Minho couldn't help his eyes from scanning across your legs, captivated by the seamless fluidity of your movements. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Minho had a rule that he wouldn't let himself forget, and that was not to let anyone get in the way of his gold medal. He never bothered to become more than acquaintances with anyone he used to skate with- and the few friends he had outside of the ice eventually grew away from him, intimidated by his all consuming dedication to the sport.

He knew he couldn't break this rule now more than ever, so Minho stayed silent, just observing the mysterious skater from the corners of his eyes. As you continued to skate, each twirl and jump performed with an effortless grace, he came to the realisation that he hadn't found much joy in watching other people skate until right now. Minho remained in his solitary rhythm, maintaining the distance he had carefully cultivated to protect his focus.

As soon as he tore his eyes off of you, it was like you knew that you had lost his attention. Your soft voice, like a gentle breeze, began gliding through the air again, spurring his eyes to look up once more at your routine.

"I remember my first time on this ice too, amazing right?"

Still, he hesitated, torn between the familiar path of solitude and the intriguing possibility of.. no.

"What's your name?"

"Minho."

He may be opposed to making friends but he wasn't impolite, he'd answer if you asked him a direct question.

"Korea, right?"

He nodded.

"I watched your championships."

He hummed, staring down at the fluffy socks that were peeking out of your skates.

Minho already felt uneasy, knowing that you knew his style of skating, had seen his best performance to date, how he reacted to the crowds, yet he remained in the dark about anything to do with you.

The asymmetry of your knowledge of eachother made Minho weary, he felt like you had an advantage over him already.

"I'm Y/n." You announced, extending a hand to him but he didn't take it.

The air was heavy with the unspoken tension that had bubbled up in him from this small interaction.

"Making a friend isn't going to stop you from doing your best, you know?" You offered, your words cutting through the frosty air. Minho looked up, meeting your eyes with a conflicted expression. Despite your gentle encouragement, his  focus on the gold medal remained unwavering. He didn't want just to do his best; he wanted to bring home that prize.

His gaze shifted down to the patch of your country's flag sewn into your jacket, and he pursed his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the reality of the situation, you were here to try and beat him too at the end of the day.

It was ingrained in his mind from a very young age that he didn't need friends in this world. He needed to win. Minho chaneled all of his energy into surpassing his peers instead of conversing with them- he knew their names, and he knew their rankings. He didn't entertain any attempts at training together, lest they all steal his routines and steal his success.

"If I was going to make a friend it wouldn't be with someone I was competing against."

"Suit yourself, Minho," you grinned, "I'll be here if you want company."

He was sure he wouldn't want company, but he gave you a small nod nonetheless and watched as you slipped a pair of earphones in your ears and relocated to the far end of the rink so as not to collide with his space.

He appreciated that.

When he next came, during the more acceptable hours of the next day to be out skating, the ice was teeming with other competitors when he went back. He groaned under his breath, of course he couldn't police the rink, but he hated this.

Now he had to pay attention to his surroundings properly, he didn't get to just skate and lose himself in the silence, he had to watch everything, not just focus on himself.

Now he would feel uncomfortable in his own skin everytime a pair of eyes looked him up and down.

He felt uncomfortably exposed like this.

He felt like his every glide was being watched, examined, picked apart, stolen for other routines, magpied by other coaches.

No, he'd come back later.

He'd come back when he could focus.

There was no use being on the ice like this, not when he could barely keep his eyes straight in from of him; darting his eyes back and forth every two seconds to check for other skaters just in case someone got too close and he would collide-

Minho's fear materialized just then, right as he was thinking about avoiding it, he failed to see you right in front of him. The two of you tangled together in an unexpected embrace, his limbs flailing to keep himself upright amidst his moment of weakness- a stark contrast to the usual upmost precision and control that he prided himself on.

He cleared his throat, a habit that he used to shove the lump of embarrassment that made it hard for him to swallow out of his airway.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his ears tinting in a cherry blush that seemed much more bright on the ice.

"Are you okay?" You asked him, trying to surpress a smile at how his hands squeezed your arms, surprised by the unexpected shift of balance.

He noticed then. That he was still holding on to you tightly, and quickly removed himself, rubbing at his cheek subtly to try and force the blush back down his neck.

Cute.

"I'm okay."

"Be careful," you nodded towards him, skating backwards through the current of people. He watched as they all seemed to contort around you, fitting you into their paths and you didn't even need to look at where they were.

Minho wondered if that was a skill that came with skating around other people. If having friends on the ice allowed him to better suit himself for not skating alone.

When would he ever need that, though?

"Wouldn't want anything getting in the way of your gold medal?"

He heard your voice before he saw your face again, pirouetting around him like a ballerina.

You stopped in front of him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you stared up into his stoic expression. It seemed he was as emotionally resilient as the ice.

"Do you speak only when someone's asking you a question?" You quipped, teasingly.

His response was a curt, "no."

You giggled at the irony, and a crack appeared in Minho's rigidly crafted exterior as he pursed his lips into a small smile and let his head flop down to hide it.

You wished he didn't hide it, though, as that split second his face held something more than that blank expression you wanted to chase it- tilt his head back up to see the smile he didn't want to show you.

"Well, you wanna skate?"

He looked to the side and let the anxiety bubble back up through his veins at the sight of all the other people moving past his field of view.

"How can you skate with so many people?"

You shrugged, a casual nonchalance in your response, "habit, I didn't really get to use private rinks a lot."

The admission carried a hint of your own experiences, and you wondered for a brief moment if he was going to open up about his to continue the conversation.

He didn't continue.

Of course not.

"What about you?"

Minho's stoic exterior seemed to reassert itself, mending the cracks as soon as you asked him a question about himself that he deemed suspicious. The question lingered in his air and in his thoughts as he pushed himself along behind you.

You faced him, skating backwards carefully as it you were guiding him through the people, opening up a path for him to start a new journey on the ice.

He watched you smile and greet everyone you skated past like you had known them for years, and maybe you had, he truly couldn't tell. Maybe if he hadn't been so shut off you would've asked about his day so far like you were chatting to an old friend.

Your question was deemed forgotten, but he still mulled it over- thinking about how talented and truly passionate you must've been to get this far without the opportunity to skate in a private rink.

Thinking about how he probably wouldn't have gotten this far without it, most of his love for the sport came with the fact that he could be alone.

Thinking about asking you about your experiences, to dissect how different the two of you were in that regard.

He skated behind you, internally grateful for the path you were clearing for him, but he didn't vocalise his appreciation.

He glided in silence.

In the next week, the man had found himself exhausted with the fridge that came in his dorm and reluctantly reatreated to the canteen. With his tray in hand, he looked around at the semi-filled tables, observing the groups of people, most just competitors from neighbouring countries huddling together.

It felt foreign to him.

But Minho was no stranger to eating alone. With a quiet determination, he selected an empty table and sat down gently, placing his head on his palm as he started to pick at the offerings that had came with his tray. The clatter of cutlery and hum of distant conversations accompanied his solitude, he had done this many times before, but he didn't feel quite as alone until right now.

He thought the rest of these people would be the same as him, closed off and obsessed with success, he didn't think it would be like school all over again- with cliques and small exclusive groups of people that all looked so happy eating together.

Friends.

They were all friends.

Then, a burst of laughter resonated from a nearby table and something stirred in his chest. He glanced up, and as he had expected, it was your table- the pleasant sound of your laughter that disrupted his thoughts.

You met his eye and a quick, strange, panic seized over him- he felt his face heating up and he didn't know why. Minho swiftly averted his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in the intricacies of his half eaten meal, masking the way his pulse spiked when you noticed him looking.

God, that was wrong. That felt wrong.

That felt like something that would get in the way of his gold medal if he entertained it.

Minho's sudden focus was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a second tray landing on his table. Startled, like a lonely kitten, he looked up with wide eyes to find you standing there at the foot of the bench opposite him.

There was a moment of silence shared between the two of you as surprise flashed across his face, replaced with uncertainty, and then quickly painted back over with his usual plain expression.

"You looked like you could use some company," you shrugged with a casual smile.

Minho hesitated, this new turn of events throwing him for a bit of a loop. It was clear you were going to join him no matter what he did, so he might as well just accept it and try and finish his food as quick as he could.

"I didn't need it."

"Well, now you've got it," you replied with a gentle insistence.

He watched as you sunk down into the chair, resting your elbows on the table and your chin in your intertwined hands as you looked back at him.

The man cleared his throat, blinking rapidly and subtly chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked back down. His nervous tics betrayed the emotional conflict occurring deep in the back of his mind.

Why were you so insistent on getting him out of his shell?

He wanted to ask, but that would in turn be getting himself out of his shell, so he sat in silence to regain his control- no different to before you were sat across from him.

That lonely feeling from before dissapated though, and for that he was grateful.

From that moment onward, every time Minho would show himself in the canteen- a subtle shift in the dynamic between the two of you took place. No matter which table he chose, no matter how far away from your usual spot he placed himself, you made it a point to come and join him.

Even despite the fact that he ate in silence, you did it opposite him. A small smile etched on your lips spoke louder than any small talk you could've tried to bother him with. You were happy with this arrangement and he couldn't figure out why for the life of him.

He knew he was difficult, knew that his cold and judging exterior that he presented was challenging for everyone around him. He prided himself on his control, the fact that he could navigate the confusing social interactions around him with said coldness, but something about seeing you sat across from him despite it prompted a lump to stir in his throat.

Why were you putting up with his silence?

Did you really have any interest in the thoughts he didn't share with anyone, or was he just a dull challenge? Someone for you to open up and then spare nothing but a morning greeting on the ice when all was said and done?

What if, in the process of sharing himself, you regarded him a puzzle solved and just.. moved on?

Over the weeks, yours and his schedules seemed to blend together seamlessly. The two of you found yourselves on the ice together more often than not, despite Minho's initial attempts to shake you off. He sought the emptiness of the early mornings and the late nights and, so it seemed, did you.

The rink became a shared space for the two of you, and it had gotten so bad that he looked for you when he entered- he would stay far away sure, but he looked for you. He couldn't help but glance around to make sure you were there, sat on the bleachers adjusting your skates or already twirling on the ice, your presence had somehow already become a part of his new routine.

Today, however, you weren't there.

He had gotten so used to skating in tandem with you, seperate routines, and yet intertwined on the frozen canvas as the marks that your skates left threaded together by the time the both of you were finished.

For a moment, a subtle but undeniable pang snagged at Minho's heart.

It wasn't quite sadness, no, more like discomfort.

The ice felt emptier now.

He whipped his head around as he span, his eyes searching the room for your bag or something of yours to quell the weird feeling pooling heavy in the bottom of his legs.

The sound of his blades cutting the ice felt louder now, echoed stronger without the other half of the room being polluted with the sound of yours slicing through his beloved silence.

Did he like it? He didn't know anymore.

What he did know was that he didn't like not knowing where you were.

That need for control reared its head, and some sort of anxiety washed over him like a gentle yet unrelenting wave. This was his routine now, he skated with you, and now you were gone.

His thoughts weren't clear with you gone, and his thoughts weren't clear when you were here- the confusing emotions that stirred restlessly within him made him frown. He almost longed for your presence, longed for the knowledge of your whereabouts, and longed for everything to go back to how it was when he didn't have to worry about distracting things like you.

He wasn't used to confronting problems like this.

When had Minho ever needed to navigate his emotions in order to concentrate?

He could push those down, he usually could ignore it all and just skate. He was having trouble just skating recently and it was bothering him, you were bothering him.

The man huffed to himself, a frustrated acknowledgement of his sudden codependency on your companionship, it struck him as a little amusing despite everything.

He could almost be moved to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it.

Minho found himself walking straight to the canteen when his session was over, the need to ask you where you'd been lingering in his mind- an impulse to understand why you'd disrupted his routine.

However when he arrived, he didn't find you sat at your usual table either. A frown etched into his face as he stood amist the moving current of people, caught between leaving and maybe.. asking?

He sucked in a breath, hesitation pushing through him before he pursed his lips and headed toward your usual table.

"Hey," Minho greeted, masking his small amount of worry with a composed exterior. "Have you seen Y/n around?"

The other skaters looked up, sharing glances between themselves, no doubt they recognised him as the man you always joined, the one who always sat alone. Three men and one other woman sat at your table, he didn't have a faintest clue of any of their names, but he picked up an Australian accent as the one closest to him spoke first.

"Yeah, she took a spill this morning. Went to get checked out by the medical team."

Oh.

You were hurt.

That upset him.

"She'll be back soon though, she didn't want to go, it was just her coach making her check it out."

A wave of relief washed over Minho, his initial concern fading. "Thank you," he replied, nodding at the information.

Minho chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Maybe if he had made more of an effort with these people, with your friends, he wouldn't have been the only one in the dark about your situation. The walls he'd built to isolate himself had isolated you from him, and the realisation made him sigh.

He turned on his heel to leave, losing what little appetite he had in the first place.

Minho's knee bounced up and down with restless energy as he sat on the bleachers the next morning. He took small sips of his hot chocolate, watching the empty ice and the way it glistened in the light- the thought that it was similar to the twinkle in your eyes didn't escape him.

One cup sat untouched next to his thigh, waiting for your arrival.

His gaze flickered to the entrance, wondering when you would appear. When you did, he straightened his back and fixed his posture, clearing his throat of that lump again before he could realise what he was doing. It was a reflexive action, and it wasn't intended to alert you of his presence so abruptly, but you smiled as you fixed your view on him.

Minho watched you approach, climbing up two of the levels to sit beside him silently. The action melted a part of his icy walls, the fact that you were willing to just sit next to him- just share his company.

Your eyes fell to the cup he held in his hands, and then flickered to the one that sat besides him- in between the two of you. As your gaze met his, you grinned knowingly and the warmth from it caught him off guard.

He blinked rapidly, composed facade faltering as he looked at you like a deer caught in headlights- blush tinting his ears. He had to look away.

"It's for you," Minho mumbled, gently pushing the cup towards you slightly as his eyes locked on something far in the corner.

From then on, he brought you a hot chocolate every day just to see that smile again.

Most of the time, and if he would arrive later than you, he would leave it by your bag- opting to watch you from afar when you realised what he'd done. Sometimes he would be bold enough to wait for you and hand it to you himself on the rare occasion he was feeling that confident.

Today you happened to be stood right behind him in the line to the small sponsored cafe that he had buying the drinks from. He didn't know how to navigate this.

He fully intended not to break his routine today, but there was something about having you right there that made him nervous.

Minho kept glancing over his shoulder at you the further down the line he got, and this time you looked back. A coy smile tugged on your lips, as if you knew of his struggle, waiting to see what he would do now that he didn't have the option to drop the drink off from afar.

Control yourself, he thought, this is fine.

He paid for the two hot chocolates still, except only picking one off of the counter when they were done despite the barista calling out for him.

He heard your rushed footsteps from behind, the other drink in hand as you fell into step with him.

"Thank you," you hummed, looking up at his reddish brown hair.

The man spared you a passing nod, playing with the hem of his jacket to steal his focus away from wanting to observe your smile from so close.

"I'll pay you back."

That made him look.

He shook his head, "no need."

"But these are expensive."

He thought back on one of the very first pieces of information he knew about you- that you never got to skate in empty rinks growing up. He assumed that you didn't have the means to book one out or pay for private sessions like he did.

He didn't particularly think the drinks were expensive, but you did and you still wanted to pay him back.

"It's fine."

"Minho.."

His heart skipped when you said his name.

"I'm not going to accept your money no matter what you say, so, you might as well just keep it and stop complaining."

You smiled, and he cocked his head towards you inquisitively.

"I think that's the most you've ever said to me."

He blinked.

You were right.

He cleared his throat of embarrassment yet again, fixing his gaze forward on the journey back to the rink- the guards on his skates tapping gently against the linoleum flooring.

You laughed now, a joyous sound that spread infectiously to his face no matter how much he willed it not to- and he smiled with you.

When the two of you got back to the ice, it was then that Minho noticed you sitting on the bleachers, taking off a pair of trainers to slip on your skates instead and he wondered why you hadn't just worn them on your way like he usually did.

As if you knew why he was watching you, you smiled bashfully, pursing your lips into a pout that he couldn't help but think was cute.

"I lost my guards," you laughed. "I can't damage these blades either."

"You didn't bring back-ups?"

He skated away from the edge of the rink as you shook your head no, joining him on the ice. The distance between the two of you didn't loom so large now that he wanted to gauge in conversation with you.

He couldn't help but smile.

That was stupid.

"The sports shop is only a 15 minute drive away."

"I can't drive," you shrugged.

He could.

Minho kept the information of his driver's license to himself as the two of you began your normal routine of skating together yet apart, but the prospect of offering you help nagged at his brain every time he caught a glimpse of you.

As he glided across his side of the rink, strewing together twirls and spins and jumps into the same routine he'd been practicing since he got here, his mind wandered to you.

He contemplated the simplicity of it.

Would you like me to take you?

He could surely ask, there would be no harm done- the probability of you saying yes far outweighed you saying no, but he still chewed the inside of his cheek in nervousness.

No? Why would I want you to take me?

A shiver shuddered down his spine at the thought of it. If that happened he probably would never open his mouth to you again.

Minho's face almost pressed down against the ice as he skillfully executed a hydroplane, his leg extended straight out with precision. The seamless movement demonstrated his mastery of technique and control as he moved into a spin, hands pressing into the frozen surface, guiding him into a position that bordered on lying horizontally.

He could feel the chill seeping through his clothes- making his face pink as his cheek brushed the ground.

Minho felt a sense of pride as he lifted back up on his feet, his movements seamlessly transitioning from the spin to a standing position. As he glanced up, a small smile played on his lips when he noticed that you had stopped your routine.

Something stirred within him as he realized you were watching, an urge to push himself further, to impress you with his skill on the ice. Despite the logical part of his brain dismissing it as somewhat silly, he quite liked when you looked at him.

Each next move was executed with a precision that showed years of disciplined training, but there was an added flair- a desire to showcase his abilities in a way that went beyond the standard routine.

As he landed his triple lutz, Minho couldn't help but steal a glance in your direction. The sparkle in your eyes fueled a newfound motivation within him. The ice beneath him almost began to melt, just like how yours did when he watched you for the first time with all that awe.

Minho finished the routine, his eyes blinking up at you from across the rink. There was a brief pause, a moment of anticipation where he almost expected you to say something. But he had given you no reason to believe he ever  wanted you to interrupt the silence he loved on the ice so much.

So you stayed quiet, a bitten lip adding a touch of intrigue to your expression, a detail he wished he could've seen up close.

He wondered what thoughts hid behind your eyes as you watched him, what you wanted to say, if there was anything more behind the quiet gaze you directed his way.

The cold air seemed to linger with a different energy as he skated towards you when you headed to the exit.

He watched in silence as you slipped off your skates and started to tie the laces of your trainers instead.

This was his chance, surely.

Just ask.

He was quickly putting on his guards when he had stayed quiet for too long, prompting you to disregard his gaze with a content sigh and head out of the hall with your belongings.

Minho followed behind you, his fingers nervously pulling at the seems of his jacket as he took in a deep breath.

"Y/n," he called.

You looked over your shoulder at him with a curious expression.

"Would you like me to take you?"

The man waited for your response with subtle anticipation, shuffling from skate to skate with an antsy energy. His simple question held a whole lot of meaning that he hoped wasn't lost on you. He hoped you knew how much of a step for him this was.

Somehow, no immediate response was worse than you just rejecting him.

"I can drive," he looked down, watching how the tips of your trainers got closer as you closed the distance between the two of you. "It's no trouble."

The prospect of offering you a ride held a significance deeper than the practicalities. He was opening up to you, or trying, atleast.

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension in the air, and Minho flashed you a fleetingly nervous smile. He couldn't help but wonder what was so amusing.

"I'd like that," you finally responded, a playful glint in your eyes.

He let out a breath, the burden of rejection lifting off of his shoulders as he straightened his posture with a newfound confidence.

You were like a candle flame, gently melting the frozen enclosure he cased himself in. Minho followed behind you, your magnetism pulling him close while you browsed the aisles of the sports shop. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the crisp scent of new sports equipment surrounded the two of you.

"Which do you think?" You smiled, holding up one made of hard plastic and one that was so fluffy he didn't think he could make out where it started and ended.

"Do you need soakers or guards?"

"Guards," you sighed, placing the soaker back down into its pile of soft companions.

As you examined various different types, Minho couldn't help but find a certain comfort in the simplicity of the moment. He discovered a newfound appreciation for your flickering flame that had begun to melt the ice around his shielded heart.

His lips pulled into a downturned smile, picking it straight back up as soon as you moved on to the next miriad of brands and colours to look at.

"There's too many to choose from!"

"What were your old ones like?" He inquired, hiding the white fluffy fabric blade jacket behind his back.

"My old ones were boring."

He hummed with a nod, watching your fingers trace over the different shapes and sizes.

"They were grey, like yours."

"Mine are boring?" Minho raised his eyebrows, a teasing lilt to his tone that spurred you to look up.

"No, they suit you," you quickly added.

He laughed, actually laughed, and the genuine sound caught you off guard. It was pretty, and it made you blush.

You swiftly looked away, focusing so intently on the array of guards like they suddenly held the secrets of the universe. Swapping the white one you held for a baby blue pair, you held it up and pursed your lips.

"I'm gonna get these."

He gently took them from your hand.

"Go look at the skates, I'll pay."

You opened your mouth as if to argue, but he had already started the walk back to the tills before you could even say anything.

As you wandered over to the skates, a subtle warmth settled in your stomach. You could tell that Minho expressed his appreciation through acts of service, showed his feelings through actions instead of vocalising them.

You browsed through the different pairs, admiring the long blades and the pretty details engrained into the leather.

Your skates were white, and Minho's were black.

Binary opposites.

You heard his footsteps behind you quicker than you thought, and softly swivelled to find him holding the small bag with an equally small smile. Despite the differences, there was an undeniable charm to the fact that you were two seperate poles of a magnet.

Because opposites attract.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked, and you nodded, suddenly overcome with a strange sense of bashfulness as you fell into step with him.

He led you out back to where he had parked, placing the bag down in the backseat before sliding behind the steering wheel. Minho fastened his seatbelt, but didn't start the car, his eyes drifting over to where you twiddled your fingers in the passenger seat.

"What made you want to start skating?"

You looked up at the question that broke the silence.

"I like the cold."

The admission hung in the air, and he waited, his gaze unwavering, inviting you to share more if you felt inclined. A question danced in his mind.

He was cold when you first met, is that what drew you to him?

"What about you?"

Your eyes met and it was like the world outside of his car faded.

He was okay.

He was still going to be okay if he let you in.

So he did.

"My parents used to take me to a frozen lake near our house, and I just fell it love with it."

"How old were you?" You hummed.

"About 3, I didn't know a thing about skating, I just knew I wanted to be there."

As he reminisced, a nostalgic smile pulled at his lips.

"And then we moved to Gimpo."

"What happened in Gimpo?" You asked

"I got my first coach," he smiled, a sad sort of smile that made you want to reach over and take his hand. "She said I had so much potential."

The words lingered, carrying a weight that clearly meant a lot to him. You stayed quiet, a reassuring nod spurring him to continue, and sat peacefully.

"She told me not to bother making friends if I wanted to keep it."

So his coach's advice was what had pushed him into his pursuit of loneliness alongside the pursuit for his gold medal. Your heart ached painfully in your chest.

He thought of all the connections he could've had if he knew that it would be like this, like you.

"You've got one now," you smiled at him, and he nodded.

The journey back to the ice rink was a pleasant one, the gentle sound of soft guitar leaking from his speakers. He offered to turn it off when he realised it was in Korean, but you shook your head.

He told you about his 3 cats back home, his love for pudding and jokbal, despite never having tried either of them- you agreed with a smile when he asked you if you liked them.

You knew his favourite colour was mint, and his favourite flavour of ice cream was strawberry, despite the fact that he really did like mint choc chip and he almost couldn't choose. He didn't really have a favourite artist, but his favourite song was '10 out of 10' by a group called 2pm. He couldn't swim and he was afraid of heights.

You knew his birthday and his mbti and the fact that he kind of wanted to be a policeman when he was growing up, but he loved the ice too much. You knew that he had been recorded in the olympic qualifying lines and it was on an episode of nat geo, and no he wasn't going to show you and he really didn't want you to try and look it up because it was embarrassing.

It was like a switch had been pressed on his heart as soon as you made it out of the olympic halls that made him suddenly want to share things with you, and you quite enjoyed the change.

Minho looked at you, waiting at the entrance to the rink for him, his eyebrow subtly raised in a silent question about your intentions.

"You've never skated with a partner before, right?" you inquired, breaking the silence with a question that carried the promise of something new.

He paused for a moment, mulling over your words. Skating had always been just Minho, a realm where he could be free, on his own. The prospect of partnering on the ice was unfamiliar territory.

"No, never," he admitted, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty in his tone. He had never thought of navigating the ice in tandem with another.

"Do you want to?" you asked, your question hanging in the crisp air.

You were asking if he wanted to reshape his entire view on the sport.

Make a friend, skate with a friend, the whole thing didn't seem so daunting when he thought about it like that.

But some sort of truth lingered below the surface, that's not what this was.

Minho hesitated, his gaze flickering from you to the rink. The prospect of stepping into the realm of pairs skating was both alluring and challenging.

After a moment, he nodded, and you took his hand so casually that he wouldn't have even noticed if the touch alone didn't send warmth through his limbs.

Skating with a friend shouldn't make his heart beat this fast.

A simple friendship was not what had bloomed in the middle of all of this, and it was even worse than what he was afraid of in the very beginning when he first heard your voice.

"Do you trust me?" you asked, the question hanging in the air between you as you pulled him along, effortlessly falling into pace with eachother.

Minho looked down at his skates for a moment, contemplating the implications of your inquiry. He had never done this before. Any of it.

He had never changed his routine for anyone, never let anyone in as much as he let you in, and he had certainly never started spending double the amount of money on drinks in the morning just to see you smile.

When he met your eyes again, he didn't have to say a thing to confirm it, but he did anyway.

"I do."

As you both continued to glide together, you let go of his hand and a small pout fell upon his lips, making you giggle. His arm was still outstretched, as if he was chasing the connection from before. With a graceful ease, you gently raised your leg in the air and Minho's surprise was evident as he watched the fluidity of your movements.

When you told him to take your ankle, there was a moment of hesitation in his expression. He took it anyway, the warmth of your nude tights meeting his cold hand, and as he supported your body- he felt you moving back, closer to him.

The man panicked with a bated breath, no choice but to slide his palm further up your leg. He swallowed that lump down again as his hand rested underneath your thigh, holding you almost against him and yet you still glided closer.

The two of you were losing momentum now, and Minho didn't know what else to do, the natural current of the move you were trying to execute with him spurred his hands to grip your waist and pull you to his chest.

So that's what he did.

He swore you must've been able to feel his heart threatening to bang right out of his ribcage- aching to be close to yours.

With you both standing upright, you could continue skating, and yet his hand didn't leave the small of your back.

Minho observed the light wind catching your hair as you both pushed along, and in that moment, he couldn't help but be captivated. The ice held a certain magic when you were on it with him like this. The strands of your hair danced behind you, catching over your ear and shoulder.

His fingers gently moved up to free your hair, tucking it away behind you so it wasn't caught.

Beautiful.

You looked across at him, a spark of spontaneity prompting you to put your hands on his shoulders to ease the two of you into a slow spin, the crisp air around you crackling with tension.

Your eyes fell to Minho's lips, the magnetic pull between you both drawing you closer, slowly, gradually, almost touching. The world around you seemed to blur.

Just as a tender moment was about to unfold, someone pushed through the door to the rink, clanging and making noise, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy. The intrusion was abrupt, and the spell of the shared spin dissipated in an instant.

As the noise from the cleaner echoed in the rink, you both pulled away, a silent understanding between you that whatever that was had passed.

"You're not supposed to be in here this late," the man called out, "the rink shuts at midnight!"

Minho frowned, a quiet disdain for the man present on his features as he stepped off of the ice and collected his belongings.

He knew that.

He didn't know that so much time had passed already, he swore he only got here at 11pm.

"Sorry," you smiled to the cleaner, "we didn't realise it was that late."

Minho nodded, a quick bow to show his apologies before he was following you out of the same door that had interrupted everything.

Now he was just left with the feel of butterflies dancing around in his stomach with no way out.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" You cocked your head slightly to the left, avoiding his eyes with a bashful smile.

"Yeah."

He didn't see you the next morning, and Minho's first thought was that you had sustained another minor injury. An instant surge of concern propelled him to the canteen as soon as he could to confirm it with your friends. However, to his surprise, you were there, seemingly unharmed. An unexplored emotion rushed through his heart- why wouldn't you tell him you weren't going to be there?

The air around him felt heavy with a mixture of concern and an unexpected tinge of jealousy that he struggled to comprehend. Should he go over? Ask you?

Or just sit alone again, or go back to his dorm and deal with his unstocked fridge?

He didn't have to wonder for long, because you beckoned him over as soon as you noticed him stood amidst the moving people, frozen in uncertainty. Your smile was bright, and all the negativity that clouded his thoughts for a second was washed away in favour of those familiar fluttery butterflies again.

Your friends turned to look at him, and he swallowed down that lump, taking in a breath and heading over to where you were.

"Min, I'm sorry it was my coach, she-"

Min.

His thoughts blanked and he didn't even hear the rest of what you were saying, just settling into the space next to you that you tapped as that nickname you'd just given him fogged his brain.

"It's okay," he smiled politely and small, once he'd registered that everyone on the table was looking to him for his response.

"I am sorry, I should really get your number or something, huh?" You pursed your lips into a guilty grin.

His number, right, yes.

He nodded, his eyes struggling to stay on yours.

"Sorry, um.. these are my friends," you tossed your wrist out to the rest of the table.

He waved awkwardly to them as they introduced themselves, Felix and Joshua, two more figure skaters from Australia and America, Yuqi, a Chinese skater too, and Chris- an ice hockey player self dubbed Australia's best left winger.

Minho felt a wave of unease pour over him again, the second he'd gotten used to being in your company he was thrown into the deep end with 4 new people. He nodded and smiled as they spoke, quickly pulling eachother back into whatever they were talking about before he arrived. They did try to involve him, one of them occasionally would ask him a question or ask him to weigh in on the subject, but he only gave short answers.

He kept taking subtle glances at you beside him, searching for that connection to keep him grounded.

You squeezed his hand under the table, a reassuring gesture that instantly soothed his nerves. He quickly looked down at the unexpected contact before fixing his gaze back on you, a genuine smile graced his lips again, and you intertwined your fingers with his.

Mingling with your friends wasn't that daunting really, he just wasn't used to it.

He quite liked them, actually, and as he started to feel confident enough to say more than a few words every few minutes, he started to feel at ease on your table.

Minho's thumb brushed back and forth over the back of your palm, the teasing smile he sent your way after he started to see that blush on your cheeks added a touch of playfulness to the moment. If anyone else at the table noticed, they didn't say anything.

He started to sit with the 5 of you from then on. No longer did he seek out an empty table, he would come and sit next to you, seamlessly integrating with you all like he had been there from the beginning. Secretly holding your hand under the table became an added bonus that he very much looked forward to.

You exchanged numbers too, and oftentimes he found himself texting you as soon as he got back into his dorm, finding out more about your life, your tastes and favourite things just like you had done to him. The days until the competition dwindled down into the single digits, and the solitude that both you and him shared in the ice during early mornings and late at night became scarce.

Now everyone was on the ice, at all hours of the day, and it set him on edge.

In the middle of the warm down stretches that were part of his nightly routine, his phone buzzed with a notification for him to meet you by the doors of the rink in 5 minutes.

It was already 11 at night, he really should get some sleep- he'd be performing for his entire career in 30 hours, 58 minutes and 25 seconds.

24 seconds..

23 seconds..

Minho slipped on his shoes and a coat, and twisted the lock on his dorm door as he started the cold walk to the rink.

You were there before him, and shot him a small wave and a nervous smile when he stood in front of you.

"Sorry," you breathed in, the look of his fluffy just-showered bangs covering his eyes making him look double the amount of endearing to you as usual.

"Why?"

"Well I.. wanted to see you, properly, but you're clearly ready to sleep."

A smile pulled on Minho's cheeks at your bashful shrug, he had long since stopped trying to hide them around you.

"I don't mind," he spoke gently, the warm air materializing in front of him due to the cold. "I wanted to see you too."

"You did?"

"Of course," he almost scoffed.

You giggled, folding your arms around yourself as you stepped closer to the man.

"What?" He asked, blinking down at you.

"Nothing."

"What's funny?"

"You are, Min."

Min. There it was again.

He smiled, a bashful expression forming on his face as he cleared his throat, looking away momentarily. The redness of his ears almost seemed to shine through his messy hair. He took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, and led you towards the exit.

As you walked together, he pulled out his keys and unlocked his car. The invitation didn't hang in the air, because without a second thought you got into the passenger seat.

The quiet intimacy of the moment spoke volumes, but it always had, hadn't it? Just like every other time when you would accept his silence.

He took the driver's seat and the engine hummed to life, as the car pulled away, the world outside seemed to blur into a palette of city lights you could barely focus on.

Sharing silence with Minho had never felt uncomfortable; instead, it was peaceful and calm, as if this is how it was always meant to be. The gentle hum of the car and the soft sound of the tires against the empty roads accompanied the short journey. You took in the view ahead with a gasp as the car pulled up to the top of a hill, the lights twinkling back at you like a miriad of stars.

Minho's deep brown eyes met yours, and a shared appreciation for the beauty in front of you lingered. Though neither of you seemed too occupied with the view of the city.

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel nervously, his other hand leaning on the armrest between your seats.

"This will all be over in just 2 days," he whispered, his adams apple bobbing up and down and you just knew he was trying to get rid of a lump.

"You're not coming back?"

"I am.. are you?"

"Yeah, so don't say things like that."

He nodded with a guilty smile, looking back outside.

"I never thanked you."

Minho furrowed his brows at your words, a hint of confusion flashing across his face as he examined yours for a hint as to what you were going to say next. What could you possibly need to thank him for? In his eyes, you've done more for him than you could ever imagine.

"1 month and 2 days worth of hot chocolates, that's £108, I checked," you started, "and the guards and the soakers, that's atleast £130."

"You did thank me for all of those," he shrugged- like the notion that he had spent that much money on you wasn't anything to draw attention to.

"Min.."

"I think I like it when you call me that," he said, his eyes falling down to the shape that your lips made when they said the nickname you'd given him.

"Min?"

"Yeah, Min."

You laughed and turned in your seat to face him properly. "I think I like you."

He stared up, searching your eyes for any hint of insincerity in your words. The smile faded from his lips into more of a confusion riddled expression, like he couldn't believe you'd ever say those words to him- and you let your head fall with a laugh.

As you looked down at your hands in your lap, Minho's confusion only deepened.

"I like how quiet you are, and I like how much you love to be alone."

He wanted to comment on how that had changed, how you had changed that, but he didn't dare interrupt.

"I like how much you love your cats, and all the pictures you send me," you smiled to yourself, "and I like how you'd rather show instead of tell me how you feel."

You weren't just a small flame, you were his entire sun, and he couldn't believe that you felt like this over someone like him. His breathing stuttered when you looked up again, gradually pulling towards him as you spoke.

"I like skating with you, and I like the tingly feeling I get when I'm around you."

So you did feel it too, the butterflies.

"I like holding your hand under the table, and I like it when your ears go red every time."

He could barely keep his eyes open for more than a second, his face flushed as you grinned.

"And.. I think it's really adorable when you blink so fast," you whispered, just centimetres away from his lips.

He laughed nervously, the sound quietly vibrating between the two of you in the confined space of the car. He looked down, to the side, anywhere away from your eyes because he thought he'd overload with emotion if he did.

He wanted to vocalize how intense this all was, how intense his feelings for you were, but the words seemed to escape him. The weight of emotion didn't sit heavy in his chest like it always had before, ready for him to ignore and shove further down, it danced around his limbs and bloomed in his stomach, making it difficult for him to even sit still.

The uncharted territory of expressing his feelings so boldly, the fact that he even had these consuming feelings, left him momentarily speechless. He took a deep breath and attempted to steady the racing beat of his heart.

"I think.." he started, his voice a quiet whisper, anticipation hanging in the air. "I want to kiss you."

"Then kiss me."

He glanced up then, ironically, because the shared gaze was brief when the two of you finally drifted together, eyes fluttering down as he gently held your cheek- pressing his lips on yours.

It was small, and sweet, and he shyly looked down afterwards.

"That's it?" You asked teasingly, pressing one more peck on his lips to chase it down.

"No."

Show not tell.

That had always been how he navigated his emotions, and he planned to show you exactly how he felt, how much he felt- kissing you like you were his oxygen, like he couldn't live without it, without you.

He pushed forward, his other hand leaving the console in favour of leaning against the headrest of your chair- forcing you backwards. He couldn't be bold with his words, but he could definitely kiss you with the confidence of someone that could.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, threading your fingers through his fluffy hair and Minho felt all giddy inside.

He smiled when you let his tongue in, and a long groan resonated pulled through his throat when your hands fell to his neck, pulling his shoulders, feeling his chest.

You moved away to catch your breath, immediately burying your head in his hair.

"Better?" He laughed, almost out of air- leaning over your body.

The man felt you nod, and he hummed softly, the hand holding your head moving to the edge of the window to hold himself up.

He cleared his throat quietly after a minute or two, "are you okay?"

You giggled, moving away to hold his arm, "why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well, I just- this is an uncomfortable position and I didn't want to move if you weren't okay.."

"Sit down if you're uncomfortable," you furrowed your brows.

He did, with a pout, but he did.

"I wanted to keep kissing you, so I stayed."

With a click of a seatbelt, you shrugged it off your shoulders, moving over to slide into his lap. You hadn't accounted for the presence of the steering wheel that now dug into your back, disrupting the progression of the moment. A wince and a giggle escaped your lips, and Minho's expression was stuck between minor concern and trying not to smile.

Your looked up to meet his eyes again, and shared laughter echoed throughout the car.

He attempted to adjust the steering wheel first to provide more space, leaning forward and accidentally pushing you further against it. You let out a quiet yelp and he gave up immediately. After a few blank seconds, it was like a lightbulb sparked above his head and he leant sideways this time to pull the lever beside his chair.

Then, he attempted to kick the seat back, but it went too far, and he had to spend a second adjusting it properly, nervous giggles leaking from his throat as he chewed the inside of his cheek in concentration.

The awkwardness of what should've been something intimate and personal just made the moment more special. It may not have been the perfect scripted scene, but the journey to getting where you were right now hadn't been perfect either, and that was what made it uniquely yours.

You smiled and he smiled when the seat found it's rightful place, staring into eachothers eyes for a second before he gently ushered your head forward, his lips coming into contact with your neck.

His fluffy hair tickled your face, but it wasn't nearly enough of a distraction for the feeling of his tongue and teeth gently sucking on your skin.

Everytime you let out a quiet noise of content when he would find a particularly sensitive spot he felt lighter, like he could soon float away and just live up in the clouds where his head seemed to be when he was thinking about you.

"You can't leave any marks or the judges might dock my points."

You pulled back, and he chased your skin slightly, his plush lips falling into a natural pout as he looked up at you like a neglected puppy. Anyone would've thought you'd taken away his favourite chew toy.

A giggle left your mouth and you just rested the side of your head under his chin, listening to the his heart jump into your ear- syncing with the rythm of your own.

The city lights that twinkled outside casted a soft glow inside the darkness of his car, the only sound being the shared breaths and the soft thump of heartbeats. The tranquility was grounding- it's gentle waves washed over the anxiety that had been surfacing within the past few days, the pressure of your coach and the competition and the judges and the audience almost spilling throughout your system.

But Minho took it all away.

Each of his breaths lifted you up and down soothingly, and you could've seen yourself drifting off cuddling with him like this. Your eyelids were getting heavy, and his hands playing with your hair wasn't helping.

"I'd stay like this forever," he whispered, pursing his lips when he pierced the quiet. "But I do have to drive us back."

The two of you didn't see eachother the next day, the last day, busy schedules overruling everything because of the proximity to the biggest performance of your shared careers. Dress rehearsals on the ice and final critics of routines consumed the entire day, but it didn't stop the texting whenever a second of freedom was granted.

You shared complaints and anxious thoughts with him, and he comforted you- carefully concealing the part where he was also feeling more nervous than he had in his entire life in the last few hours of practice he had.

As he took to the ice, Minho couldn't shake the feeling that he could've done more though he executed the spins and glides perfectly. They were perfect, like always, perfect, controlled, precise, but he didn't know what was wrong. It all left a nagging awareness that tugged at the edges of his composure.

Something wasn't perfect.

That gold medal was his, he was sure of it, he couldn't have been more sure of it. Confidence shone through every perfectly executed movement on the ice. He was skating better than he had ever skated in his life. His routine was a masterpiece, meticulously composed of his best moves and most impressive jumps. The improvement he had undergone in the span of a few months since first stepping into this rink was staggering.

Something clung to him, the thought that his anxiety might be because of you.

That's what you had admitted to him over text, you'd just thrown a passing comment out into the world that maybe you were only so nervous because he wasn't there. That you didn't get to hold his hand today, or hug or kiss him, or even see him before you'd be in front of a panel of stern judges.

He'd accepted that too, he definitely knew that he would feel uneasy.

So why was something still nagging at him?

Your coach had decided to put you in a blue dress that hugged your figure, adorned with tassels that swirled around you beautifully. The vibrant color and elegant design had Minho entranced even before you stepped onto the ice. The not so subtle distraction that it would feel nice under his palms lingered in his mind as he watched you.

If he could skate onto that ice right now just to kiss you, tell you how gorgeous you looked in that dress, how the sight took his breath away- and would not be leaving his mind at night, he would.

He'd tell you how good it made your legs look, how it highlighted all the parts of you that he longed to see without the costume.

Fuck that, he'd show you, with his hands and his mouth on yours.

But not right now.

Right now his eyes twinkled like the chipped ice on the metal of his skates as he watched you glide into the middle of the rink like you were floating. The crisp air carried the rhythmic cut of blades on ice to his ears, but his attention was fixed solely on you. Your movements were graceful, and captured every part of him, mind, body, and soul- you had it all. His heart skipped a beat as you spun and twirled and he swore that you were the vision of elegance and freedom.

Stuck at the edge of the rink, he was mesmerized by your skill and beauty. It was as if time stood still, and the world faded away, leaving only the enchanting spectacle before him. The rest of the rink looked colder than usual but the ice underneath your skates looked like it was melting from the warmth of your smile alone.

You finished your routine by heading into a triple axel, his triple axel, the climax of your performance. He held his breath with the audience as you launched into the intricate spin, the ice beneath you transforming into a stage for your artistry.

You landed it well, perfectly even, and he let out that breath he was holding, a smile of relief pulling at his lips.

His coach snapped his fingers for his attention, garnering the turn of his head to look. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, "I am."

"I've never seen you smile at someone else's performance."

Minho blinked rapidly, his ears tinting with a little blush. He was that obvious that even his coach could see.

"It's good to see you coming out of your shell."

"Yeah," he hummed, letting his coach quickly fix his collar. "It is."

He wasn't just coming out of his shell, he was falling in love.

But Minho put his thoughts aside and focused only on what his heart was telling him, stepping onto the ice with a newfound vigour, inspired by the success of your performance. Pride welled up in him as he dived straight into his carefully constructed routine perfectly, not just because of his technical ability but for the emotional resonance that now fueled it.

He had always valued control, but he couldn't control your routine, and he hypothsised that that had been the source of his anxiety. Now, as he glided on the ice, he felt a sense of liberation. The weight of everything filled him, making the experience cathartic. He was no longer a machine skating just for the sake of being alone, now, there was a new sense of artistry to his routine, a different passion thawing through his veins that he hadn't had before.

The ice beneath his skates became a canvas for a different kind of performance, one that was more than just how well he could stick the landing. Minho's movements carried the echoes of newfound connection, and as he embraced the artistic freedom, he realized that you had not threatened his control, you never had. Instead, you had brought his skating to a level where passion and precision coexisted together to create something as beautiful as what bloomed between the two of you.

Passion and precision; two sides of the same coin.

Black and white; binary opposites.

Call it what you wanted, he was truly falling more and more in love with you with every second.

He felt the very last drops of his icy shell melting away when he beamed up at the audience and the judges as he glided past, too fast to find your eyes from wherever you were- but he could feel them.

His performance, his masterpiece, was unfolding perfectly, the wind blew into his hair and the frost bit his cheeks- just how he liked it. Everything was falling into place, all of it, his whole life.

You'd told him that this had all accumulated about 490 hours of skating together from all those early mornings and late nights- you'd worked it out. 490 hours he spent here in this rink with just you, not even counting the rest of the hours where you weren't alone with him.

Hours and days and months of work, his whole life, really. It was all playing out perfectly.

He'd have a gold medal soon, and he'd get himself a girlfriend straight after.

He thought about it while he jumped and glided and twirled, extending his limps into a passionate dance. Thought about asking you out, you saying yes, kissing you again, finally, driving you back up to that spot- hitting that spot inside of you as he made love to you in his backseat, fogging up the windows until you couldn't even see the city lights anymore.

Show not tell, as always.

And he'd show you forever, make love to you forever, as long as you let him, show you how grateful he was that you pushed past that cold exterior and singlehandedly thawed it all away with just the warmth that you carried.

He'd hold your hand and flaunt it to all your friends instead of leaving your intertwined fingers under the table. He'd flaunt it to the whole world if he could, hold it up along with his medal, both equally important.

Minho from 3 months ago would scoff at the notion of anything coming close in significance to his medal, but things change, and change isn't always bad.

What didn't change was the quality of his performance like he'd thought it would.

Minho from 3 months ago knew that technicalities were going to win him his titles. How many turns, how many rotations could he do in the air, could he do it 6 times in one program? He'd be the best skater if he could.

He was almost stiff then.

He kept going, move after move, 3T, 1Eu, 3S, 1Eu, 3S, 1A, and then a hydroplane.

He liked the hydroplane, he put it in all his performances because he just liked the way it looked. It was like his signature, the full side of his head touching the ice as he glided along, it was more artistic than technical like the rest of his moves.

He'd accidentally cut his skin more times than he could imagine perfecting it, and it was ironic, because he didn't value the artistry in the sport before. He valued what the judges would like.

That's what his passion lied in, harbouring his potential, like he had been taught by his very first coach.

Don't make friends, you don't need friends.

If you needed friends it would be the judges.

To make friends with the judges you need to impress them.

Impress them by proving how much better you are, how many more turns you could do, how well you could stick it.

Don't feel it, that's nonsense.

Think it.

Calculate it.

Work it out.

But now as he finished the best routine of his life, he felt it, it was his heart that was guiding him, not his logic or his mind or any calculations.

It was you.

He found you in the audience then, you were beaming across at him- and he was beaming right back, holding that final position to cement the legacy that he was creating for himself.

It will always be you.

A/N: I HOPE IT ISNT TOO OBVIOUS THAT I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FIGURE SJATING

also I have literally never fully written a slow burn in my entire life cause I feel like I can never make it very slow so I'm sorry if this is too fast paced LMAO

Taglist: @linos-kitten @agi-ppangx @milf-ivy

If you'd like to be added to a taglist, just submit an ask and let me know what for!

stars above | han jisung

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, sentimental as fuck, slight angst because both of them are dumb in love your honor

warning(s): some swearing

word count: 1.3K

…

“I’m telling you Jisung. I can’t fucking sleep for shit.”

The young man you call your best friend giggles through the phone. “Hey hey hey. You were the one who wanted brown sugar milk tea boba with 100% sweetness.”

“Yet you were the one enabling me.”

“Aweee. It can’t be that bad. We can like go stargazing and contemplate our mortal existence.” You swear this man will be the death of you with all his teasing.

You respond, “Don’t you ever get tired of stargazing Sung?” You know of his little habit of staying up late on some nights to watch the twinkling constellations and the enigmatic moon. He has a telescope in his room that he would take when he would escape into the wonders of the night to admire the beauty of the dark, moon-lit, star-lit sky.

He smiles to himself. “Never.” Because the stars remind me of you. He held those words back, knowing they would scare you away and friendship over.

Unbeknownst to you, he secretly held feelings for you. He never gets tired of stargazing because all of the stars above remind him all of you. People say how the moon is in love with the sun although Jisung thinks the contrary. You were the stars. His stars. He was the moon. You were the stars surrounding the moon. The moon feels not just the Earth’s proximity but all of the stars in the galaxy whether they are close or millions of light years away. Your presence can always be felt wherever he goes which is why everything reminds him of you. From breezy summer winds to late night hot chocolates to dumb Valentine meme cards to unwise money spending on boba, it all goes back to you.

Though he has all these feelings inside of him, he would rather not spill a speck of what he feels about you.

“Jisung? You there? Are we still stargazing?” He snaps back to reality.

He clears his throat, trying to get his thoughts together. “Uhh yeah. I’ll pick you up in five.”

True to his word, he arrived punctually. You bundled yourself in one of your many blankets as you waddled to his car. He thought you looked cute doing so. Once you opened the door, you saw him dressed in his favorite black hoodie and quokka beanie. Heh, cute you thought. His hair has gotten longer and some of it was perfectly framing his pretty face.

“You good?” His voice brings you back from the very spell he has entranced you in.

“Huh? Yeah I’m good.” You try your best to mask the nervousness in your voice.

“You know. With the look you were giving to me, I would have thought you were in love with me,” he jokes.

This man is so aggravating. Your eyes roll and you playfully punch him on the shoulder, making him hiss in pain. “OW!!! You do know violence is not the answer.”

“Oh hush you. Now let’s go. Wouldn’t want Cassiopeia waiting.”

“Just an FYI, Orion is my favorite constellation,” he huffs and sticks out his tongue. Of course you knew Orion was his favorite. You just wanted to annoy him like he annoys you.

The ride to his favorite open field was quiet aside from the songs playing from his night drive playlist. God it was hard keeping your eyes away from him as he drives. Of course this was not the first time he drove you. It’s just that… he’s just… AUGH. Fuck. You can’t even say shit to him.

Unbeknownst to him, you secretly held feelings for him too. No matter how much you annoy him or “complain” about him dragging you to stargazing, you know damn well just how much you deeply love him inside and out. Every single time he would take you stargazing, your feelings would exponentially go deeper than it was before. You didn’t know how that was even possible. He shows a side to you where you get to intimately know him fully. Every single day is a gift being with someone like him. Which is why you would rather be selfish with your feelings than losing him forever when the cat is out of the bag. At least that was what you thought.

The open field with freshly cut grass fills your senses with the Earthy scent of grass and the cold, gentle breeze of the night. Jisung takes his telescope from the trunk and follows you to the middle of the field.

“Looks like it’s a great night tonight. No clouds can be seen so far,” he says as he sets up the telescope.

“It does feel like a great night,” you blurted while admiring the crescent moon.

Both of you silently observe the starry sky with the lone moon. No words can describe what you both feel at this very moment. It’s such an indescribable feeling. You both share the feeling of awe when appreciating the jewels of the galaxy. That shared sentiment alone makes the moment so intimate even without uttering a single word. Even without hands touching each other.

After minutes of silence between you two, you both observe something moving in the sky. More and more of them started to move too.

“Oh my god shooting stars! Make a wish Ji! Make a wish!” you squeal in delight.

And so both of you closed your eyes and wished under the shooting stars. Jisung opens one of his eyes to steal a little glance of you before continuing his wish.

Unsurprisingly, both of you wished for the same thing; the courage to confess to each other without ruining your friendship.

Moments later, you opened your eyes. “So what did you wish for Ji?”

“Nuh uh it’s a secret,” he asserts, trying his best not to appear worried.

“You can tell meee. I’m your best friend, remember.”

“No.” He sticks out his tongue.

You prepare your pleading eyes to make him more pliant. “Pleaseeee.”

“No.”

Jisung finally gives up and sighs, “Okay fine. Fine. But don’t freak out okay.”

“But why would I freak out?” Did he wish to be together with someone? Is he gonna confess that he likes another person?? Fuck.

“Remember when I told you about how the moon is in love with the stars rather than the sun?”

You nod and chuckle, “But isn’t the sun also a star?”

“I know I know but listen. Listen carefully because I don’t want to repeat my words again.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands. “I’m the moon Y/N and you’re the stars. My stars. I’m completely, deeply in love with you.”

And that’s when your eyes widen to a confession you would have never expected yet something you’ve been wishing for to the universe. Your eyes sparkle, resembling that of a shining star. “So how does your confession tie to your wish?”

“I-uh well I wished to have the courage to confess to you.” He was getting red like a tomato. “I guess it came true.”

“You know what’s funny Han Jisung?” He looks at you like he was a deer in the headlights. You usually only use his full name on a serious occasion. Is she mad? Did I upset her? Does this mean she will reject me? Will we stay—

“I wished for the same thing as you did. It’s just that you beat me to it.” He looks at you with complete shock.

“Are you bullshiting me?”

“No Ji I’m not. I’ve loved you for a while now.” You let out a mirthful laugh. Your thumb rubs on his skin to reassure him. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“May I kiss you?”

He smiles so endearingly at you that you could explode like a supernova. “Of course you can.”

And so you got on your tippy toes to capture his lips with yours. It was a kiss you have been anticipating for months now. It was a kiss under the stars. A kiss under the waning crescent. You wouldn’t mind getting lost in his kiss every night.

…

A/N: This has been in the drafts for just a bit. I got some time to finalize it. Hopefully you enjoy the read!

DΛЯK.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄʜᴀɴ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ/ᴄʀʏᴘᴛɪᴅꜱ ᴀᴜ, ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ (𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳), ᴀ ᴘɪɴᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ?? (𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴍɪɴᴅꜰᴜᴄᴋ (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘭), ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ… (𝘪 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘵𝘧𝘰 𝘪𝘨? 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘤. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯🎉 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤. 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟸𝟸𝟿𝟼

©wolfennracha (2023) — all rights reserved. I do not tolerate reposting/modification of any kind.

Chan walks in stride beside you, making a conscious effort not to outpace you. His hands rest deep in his pockets, and he casts occasional sidelong glances your way. You walk on in silence, with only the soft grinding crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

The edge of the forest comes into view, and beyond that, a meadow with tall, yellow flowers swaying in the breeze. Further ahead, a white house with black shutters sits nestled into a hilltop. It's so big that it could easily be used as a hotel, but as far as you can tell, it looks abandoned. Long cracks, like lightning streaks, run along its plastered façade; some several stories high.

A warm, gentle sensation, akin to sunlight breaking through the clouds, washes over you. It draws your attention away from your thoughts, enveloping you in the wonder of the surroundings. Soft clouds lazily float overhead, cicadas buzz, birds sing in beautiful melodies, and a breeze blows through the tall grasses. It all seems to move as one, like waves in an ocean. Everything whispers and hums in contentment as you pass by, all in serene harmony with each other.

Nimble fingers curl around yours, and piercing, dark eyes reel you back in. "Come on now, it's just ahead," he says with a soft smile that eases the tension from your journey.

“Slow down!” you shout and laugh, barely keeping your footing as he sets a quickened pace. A smile spreads across your face so wide that your nose crinkles. The entrance comes into view. Red paint covers the massive beveled wood door, more than twice your height. You can tell it's solid. The brass hinges are the size of storybooks. The thing must weigh a metaphorical ton.

"Well, shall we go in?" The warmth of his smile bleeds into his words. A lightness, a shimmer of youthful anticipation, flickers in his eyes, which you've yet to see. 

You stand there, stock-still, doing nothing but watching his eyes. They soften you so much that it's almost trance-like the way they captivate you. They carry a depth you've never known before, yet shine with delight and mystery. Not a shred of worry, no hint of deceit, no hesitation. 

"Y/n?" Chan's head tilts as he calls for your attention.

"Oh... um, yeah! Yes, let's go in."

You smooth out the fabric at your front, more a thing of habit than of nerves, and pass over the threshold of the weathered estate. You step through the doorframe you're sure could fit a grown adult elephant, and immediately, the interior takes your breath away.

You expected light passing through large window panes and scattered dusty vintage furnishings, creaky oak floors, and cobwebs. Anything really. But you blink and stare into darkness. Pure black with more nothingness. Less than nothing, actually. A chill descends over your being when the word "absence" comes to mind, like someone's rung a bell in your head, and suddenly you're fully awake.

The air, or lack thereof, is stagnant and suffocating, like your lungs can't grasp anything, can't pull anything in. You dig your fingers into your collar, working to loosen the fabric around your neck even a little bit, but it does nothing. Your breaths are shallow and quick; desperate.

The Absence begins to spin around you. In an instant, you notice nothing below your feet either, just more nothing that goes on endlessly. Your body begins to drift, and the room is gone in its entirety. No waypoint can be seen. You start thrashing and kicking, losing a shoe in the process. But you never hear it drop, never hear the point of impact; that's gone too. You panic, full-fledged panic. Your chest attempts to heave, to suck in a breath, but... more nothing. You attempt to scream for anyone, but nothing comes of it, just more pain and panic. Tears well above your quivering cheeks but never fall; they stick to your lashes and stay there like they’re in suspended animation.

Abruptly, your lungs fill with air. They ache like this is your first breath, each attempt to inhale a painful stuttering, as if the organs have never been used before this moment. Now up feels like down, and all the blood rushes to your head, making your stomach flip. 

You plummet.

Your body crashes onto the ground, landing on your side with a jolt. Your hip takes the brunt of the impact, and your shoulder bears the remainder of the fall. Your head bounces from the residual impact, and now you're sure your ear is bleeding. 

What is this? What the hell is this? The texture is thick and unsettlingly lukewarm, like soup left out uneaten for a day in the height of summer. You catch the scent of iron, and you touch your ear. It's not bleeding; you know this blood isn't yours. You scream. This time the sound finally carries, and you scramble to your feet, slipping and sliding, grasping and clawing at anything you can get leverage on, that is until you look up.

The sky is cast in a dark red haze. The day that was—has turned to night. Everything feels wrong. Off. Like you want to rip your skin off and be reborn somewhere else, anywhere else. You cry out in a long sob, pathetic and pleading like an abandoned puppy left to die.

“Chan?” You’re frozen in a state of dread as old curdling blood runs down your arms, your sides, your legs. Fuck, you got some in your mouth. You spit in between sobs. You’re in a damn puddle of this shit.

“Channie!?” you croak out. Throat quickly worse for wear. You call out again. Something cuts you off. Gets your attention. A deep, reverberant thud and the scrape of metal on… stone? Fuck, did it really matter what? Something was approaching rapidly. 

“I've had enough of this!” You catch your bearings, grabbing hold of a branch to gain stability. The sound moves faster. Swifter. It’s picking up speed. “What the fuck!”

You dash into the tree line because honestly it’s all you can see. It’s like you’re in a stupor. Like you’ve been drugged. Fear turns into pure adrenaline as you hurdle your way over bushes and thick tree roots. Your breaths are already ragged. You wipe blood from your face and eyes. From your mouth and neck. You trip, hitting hard on the forest floor. It's coming. It's faster still. The jingle of metal and the grind and grit of stone and metal makes you feel sick. 

“Channie, where are you?!” you call out, looking around frantically. You pick yourself up. 

What the hell is that thing? 

Where the hell am I?!

Fear gets the better of you and you glance back. You gasp like all the oxygen is ripped from your lungs. There’s so much. So much that’s so unnatural. So wrong with what you see before you. You can’t process much—but the eyes. Oh, the blood red, pulsing of its eyes… 

You hit a wall. It must be solid brick because you swear you see God when your head bounces off something once again. You try to scramble upward, but you’re out of time. You turn and your eyes meet that dreadful, gut-twisting gaze as it charges at a sickening speed. You shut your eyes and call out to scream as it goes for your throat. 

You’re pulled in through the wall behind you. You thrash and slam your fists against your captor's body. 

“Y/n, It's okay! I've got you! You’re safe now!”

You open your eyes. Body shaking like you’re freezing, arms wrapping around you tightly. You shake your head in a double take. It's Chan. 

You look around. You're in a room with polished tiles and walls adorned with floral patterns. The soft light from a dozen or so candles flickers all around, illuminating Chan's face. He's remarkably handsome... Your stomach knots and you realize you're fixating on his perfectly formed lips. Your eyes lock with his and he arches an eyebrow in silent question, radiating an almost tangible sense of awareness.

You look away hastily. The smirk is barely distinguishable on his features, but it’s definitely there. He places you on the floor, ever so gently, like you're made of glass or something. You look at the newly created space between you, stomach still in a frenzy, but you’re pulled away from silly thoughts by the sheer lack of blood that’s no longer covering you from head to toe. The memory comes screaming back and punches you straight in the gut. Wtf. 

You crumble to the floor, fingers digging into your hair as you shrink down into yourself, utterly confounded. “Channie... I... What?”

You look up, and Chan's expression has you instantly captivated. 

Terrified. His expression is pained, then you recognize the look—remorse. 

You feel a shift in your demeanor. “Chan?” 

"Listen, Y/n," he swallows the lump in his throat, and it doesn't go unnoticed. "You're safe now." His eyes are pleading, voice steady, like he’s at odds with the emotions he’s trying to convey and what he actually feels.

"What the hell was that?!" You shriek. You want to break down and cry.

"I can–" His posture stiffens up. He sighs, shuts his eyes and reopens them to the same calm, near serene look you've come to know so well. "Listen. It's over now. There's nothing to worry about. As I said, you're safe." 

He lays a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as if that’s going to shake you out of your distraught rage. It doesn't work. He breathes out, loosening the tension he’s holding, and drops down to meet you at eye level. 

Chan softly lifts your chin with a tender touch, encouraging you to meet his gaze. "So long as you stay with me, you're safe."

You're unimpressed to put it simply, and fucking hell you want answers, but apparently you need to rest first because your body drops toward the tiled floor, far past the point of exhaustion. Chan catches you before you hit the cold stone below. He hauls you up into his arms bridal style. Your eyes flicker open to meet his once again, and you recall the throbbing, pained sensation from just a few minutes ago. Your muscles still sting from falling, running, hitting a fucking wall, but how could that have happened? Are you insane? Like in one of those asylums where you make up your own reality and fall desperately in love with the orderly? Your head is pounding. Trying to analyze everything just leaves you even more confused as to what actually transpired.

He readjusts you, your head laying on his chest as a result. It brings you back to your current reality. 

"What are you doing?" you groaned against him weakly.

"I'm putting you to bed."

Your brows knit deeply in displeasure, "I don't want to sleep, I want answers!" you insist gruffly. "I also wish to stand on my own two fucking legs," you grumble, voice beginning to fail from exhaustion.

He doesn't respond but continues to carry you, bracing you against him snuggly as he takes you up a curved marble staircase. He doesn't give in to your requests so you melt into him. The need for rest makes your eyes heavy and overrides your need to be ruthlessly stubborn. His bitter, smoky scent seems oddly familiar, but you can't place it, and your eyes get heavier still. Your arms and legs begin to go slack, and you sink down further in his grasp. The soft fabric of his shirt feels so wonderful against your cheek, so comforting, like everything is lulling you to sleep in such a way that it feels enchanting.

"This isn't over, you know." The words sound slurred as they leave your lips.

He hums in answer. 

"I mean it."

"I know you do." A large, warm hand smooths over your back and you think it must be another way to further coax you into sleep, or at least to shut you up.

Feeling like you’ve essentially been carried like an infant, he places you down carefully. The bed is soft, like you're being laid on fresh whipped meringue, and you sink into the mattress, eyes finally fluttering closed.

Chan pulls a thick comforter over your body. He can't help but notice the way your body shivers, and it troubles him. While he's confident you'll be alright, he’s still kicking himself for not pulling you out of that hellscape sooner. A soft snore emanating from the bed takes him out of his burdened mind. He would really rather not think about what could have happened. His eyes are tired, lids heavy, his features drop like he hasn't slept in days. He overexerted himself, but you're asleep, you're okay. He doesn't have to hide his exhaustion for now.

Another hushed snore makes the corners of his lips curve ever so slightly upward. He chews his lip through his tired smile. He dreads tomorrow, how the hell is he going to explain? He wants to tell the truth, but he doesn't think he can. You're probably safer that way, anyway. He brushes back the hair that's stuck to your face, and with that, he turns to leave. 

"Channie?"

He stops in his tracks. Your voice calling to him from his bed shouldn't make him feel this horrid crushing weight in his chest, but I guess that's what it's come to. 

"Yes?"

"Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone."

He takes a deep breath and settles into the plush armchair by the bedside.

"Thank you,” you whisper, a faint smile lingering on your lips before sleep reclaims you.

Authors note:

actually posted this miracle child on halloween holy shit im so rusty i haven't posted since cov.19... jokes on yall everyone lollll

comments and general screaming;hollering;howling about my rusty ass writing is always welcome. ty for reading >:)))

Yours for the Night | HHJ

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, frenemies to lovers, Model!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: so. much. cockiness from Hyunjin, arguing as a form of foreplay, a bit of dumbification, what's a little fucking between frenemies?, dick pics, exhibitionism, nipple play, mentions of slut shaming, grinding, fingerfucking, pinching, just a tiny bit of spit, unexpected use of pet names, oral sex (f receiving), wet and messy, biting, dirty talk, maybe a little degradation (talking about reader being cock stupid), unprotected sex (bc used), riding/cowgirl style, praise/use of "good girl," soft dom!hyunjin vibes, rough/hard sex, multiple positions, creampie, multiple orgasms Word Count: 8.8k Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me Summary: “Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” Or, Hyunjin makes you an offer you simply can't refuse.

A/N: I finished this earlier than expected, thanks to the inspiration that is Hyunjin at Milan Fashion Week. Have you seen him?? 🥵 Anyway, it's all because of his stunning beauty that this filthy lil pwp exists. Enjoy! 😘

Unbeta'd as usual. I would *love* to hear your thoughts - my inbox is always open (anon is on, but hateful comments will be blocked. Be kind, writers do this for free and with love!) 💕

SKZ Masterlist

 It’s Friday night, you’re out for drinks with your friends, and you are frustrated.

It’s not the club that’s bothering you. You’re here tonight at Felix’s request. He’d told you all it had been too long since you’d gone out as a group, so all nine of you and your friends crammed yourselves into a couple of rides and headed for downtown. 

Nor is it the incredibly tight, short, and backless dress you’ve poured yourself into that’s annoying you, though it’s certainly not helping. Your fingers anxiously grasp at the hem, tugging it down your thighs as you take a seat at the table where Felix and Seungmin are currently talking.

No, it’s something personal that has you wound tighter than a corset tonight. Work has been kicking your ass lately, and it’s put a huge damper on your sex life. You haven’t been out with anyone new in the last few months. Haven’t had any time to reach out to any of your small group of casual hookups who would typically lend a hand. Most nights you’ve even been too tired to masturbate. 

Put simply, you’re ready to fucking pop. 

Which is why you’re wearing this bodybinding dress and staring at the dance floor like a wildcat stalking its prey, searching to find someone to help you with your problem. Unfortunately, you’ve been here for hours, and no one’s caught your eye so far. 

Your clutch rattles on the table, drawing your attention. Everyone who would usually text you is here, so out of curiosity, you take out your phone. The notification tells you that Hyunjin sent you a photo. 

You glance across the room at where Hyunjin is sitting in a booth with Changbin, deep in conversation. Why would he send you a photo right now?

Your confusion only grows when you look at the photo. It’s a selfie, Hyunjin raising his champagne glass in a toast to the camera, perfectly tousled dark hair spilling over his brow as he fixes you with his signature smirk. It’s a gorgeous shot, of course, because he’s a gorgeous man, but again, why is he sending you selfies in the middle of tonight’s celebration? Or at all? Hyunjin’s never been the type to send you photos before, of himself or the group or anything. 

He’s never really been the type to text you, period, outside of the group chat. Probably because the two of you aren’t really friends. Frenemies would be more accurate. You share the same group of friends, but have nothing else in common. Which is fine, you don’t have to be close to hang out, but he’s… well… he’s an acquired taste, and you’ve never developed an appreciation. Hyunjin’s snooty and cocky - overly so, in your opinion, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Most of your conversations consist of nothing but arguing. He’s very stubborn and loves to get the last word in on everything. Which drives you crazy because you prefer to have the final say. 

So to say this sudden selfie has you perplexed is an understatement.

Ignoring whatever Felix and Seungmin are talking about, you fire off a question. 

You: What is this? Hyunjin: Are you that drunk? It’s me

Reflexively, you scowl at your screen.

You: I know it’s you You: But WHY are you sending me a photo of yourself? Hyunjin: You’ve been staring at me all night Hyunjin: I thought maybe you’d like something to take home, to keep

Again, you look over, only to find him looking at you, lips curled to match his photo. Heat flames through you. Could he be more conceited? 

Maybe the vanity isn’t totally unearned, considering that he’s an actual model, making a living using his ethereal beauty to sell products. His own lifestyle is just as luxurious as the images he appears in. Like right now, he’s wearing the finest black suit, obviously couture, with a few silver necklaces draped over his tie that you’ve no doubt cost more than your entire outfit alone. 

And sure, he has a jawline carved by the gods, thick eyebrows that frame expressive, cat-like eyes, and ridiculously pouty lips that you’ve found yourself staring at once… an hour on average. Maybe in your weakest moments you’ve even dreamt about what it would be like to kiss those lips. 

But does that mean he has to be a dick all the time?

You: You’re such an ass Hyunjin: Deny it all you want, but we both know you can’t keep your eyes off me Hyunjin: Not that I blame you You: It’s amazing your head still fits through doors Hyunjin: You’d be the first to notice if it didn’t

Your nostrils flare. No matter what you say, he always flips it back on you. Admittedly, you are a little tipsy, so you’re not fully on your game, but it’s still annoying as fuck. And right now, you really don’t need another reason to be frustrated.

You: Whatever, Hyunjinnie

You cast another glance at Hyunjin, delighting in the way he frowns at your response. He hates it when you call him that.

You take a moment to locate the rest of your friends. Changbin’s still sitting with Hyunjin. Jeongin and Chan are doing shots at the bar. Minho and Jisung are in their own little world on the dance floor, arms draped around one another. Neither Felix nor Seungmin seemed to have noticed that you have dropped out of their discussion. Part of you feels guilty for ignoring them, but, well, you’re a little fired up now, and the only thing that would make you feel better would be getting the last word in with Hyunjin for once.

You take a sip of your cocktail, floating the cold liquid on your tongue as you devise your next line of attack, when your phone buzzes again. 

Hyunjin: I have another photo for you You: Why? Hyunjin: Because I think you’d like it You: Oh really? Like you know what I like Hyunjin: Always so argumentative Hyunjin: You’re pretty easy to figure out Hyunjin: The staring makes it incredibly obvious

Such an ass.

You: Fuck off Hyunjin: I will not You: What’s your game, man? Hyunjin: No game Hyunjin: Can’t I just do something nice for you?

The man is a riddle. An enigma draped in Versace. 

You type out “I guess there’s a first time for everything” and press send, putting your phone down long enough to watch him get the text. Hyunjin laughs to himself, smiling down at his screen, and there’s this weird feeling of satisfaction in your stomach at the sight. Whatever, you like making people laugh, even assholes like him. So what.

You tell yourself that you’re not going to wait at his beck and call, jumping to read his texts as they come in, if in fact he keeps sending them, but then your phone vibrates again and you snap it up immediately, because you’re a liar.

Hyunjin: Just trust me Hyunjin: You want this Hyunjin: But I want something first You: Oh here we go You: There’s the catch A hand waves over your phone. “Hi, hello, are we boring you?” 

Quickly, you turn it over before Seungmin can see your text thread. “No, sorry, I was just, uh - “

“Hey, leave her be,” your savior Felix says, pushing Seungmin lightly. “She’s had a rough couple of weeks. She shouldn’t have to suffer through your boring work stories, too.”

“Hey!” 

Seungmin and Felix dissolve into arguing as you covertly flip your phone back over. 

Hyunjin: I’m not asking much Hyunjin: Just a photo of you. A photo for a photo

He can’t be serious.

You: I’m not sending you a nude Hyunjin: Did I say nude? No, I did not Hyunjin: A normal selfie, that’s all

Again your suspicion rises. What is he playing at? Where is this going? 

You: But WHY? Hyunjin: Maybe I can’t stop staring, either

Your breath catches in your throat. When you look up, he’s gazing at you again, but his expression is less smug than usual and more… ravenous. 

You turn away so fast, your neck cracks. 

Hyunjin: So? Send me a pic.

There’s no reason for you to agree to this. Absolutely no reason at all. Beyond, of course, your burning curiosity. 

It’s really going to get you in trouble one day.

Grabbing your clutch, you slip off your chair. “Ladies room,” you announce, glancing at Felix and Seungmin, who aren’t listening anyway, still squabbling. You wander just far enough out of sight of your friends, find a spot with good lighting back near the bar (because even if it’s just for Hyunjin, your vanity will not let you take an unflattering photo), and snap a quick picture, firing it off right away. 

As you’re sliding back into your seat, your phone vibrates. Hyunjin sent another photo. 

You swallow reflexively. Holy shit. It’s a shot of his crotch, dress pants straining to contain what is clearly a massive cock, gripped through the fabric by long fingers.

Hwang Hyunjin sent you a dick pic. 

So it’s not big dick energy, it’s just big dick, is the first coherent thought you have once the screeching inside your head stops. It occurs to you that you’ve been gawking unblinkingly at your phone for at least several minutes, so you raise your head to make sure your friends aren’t watching you, and thankfully they’re not. Really, you should know better than to underestimate just how much Felix and Seungmin love to bicker.

But what are you supposed to say to Hyunjin now? Your thumbs hover, waiting for inspiration, but you’re stuck. 

Hyunjin: Wow, are you speechless? Hyunjin: Guess there really is a first time for everything

Even without looking, you know he’s smirking at you from across the room. Suddenly, you need another drink, so you mumble “bar” in Felix’s direction and stumble away. As the bartender mixes you another cocktail, you grip your phone tightly, waging an inner war with yourself. 

You should look at the photo again. You shouldn’t look at the photo again. You should delete it, and Hyunjin’s number, and maybe throw the phone in the nearest trash bin too, just for extra comfort. But holy fuck, do you want to look at the photo again!

What you really don’t want is to think about the effect that photo has had on your pussy, because it’s humiliating how much she’s throbbing right now. 

“I’ll take one of those as well, thanks.” A hand waves towards the bartender, and your treacherous brain immediately recognizes those fingers as the fingers from Hyunjin’s photo, and starts picturing what those lithe digits would look like wrapped around your throat. Great. Now your brain has joined your pussy. Traitors. 

You say nothing as Hyunjin takes the seat next to you. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under your skin again, albeit in a very different way, but also partly because you’re still not sure what to say. 

“You know,” Hyunjin bends towards you, close enough for his warm breath to tickle your ear, “if I’d known that all it would take to get you to stop arguing with me was showing you my cock, I would’ve introduced you much sooner.” 

“God, you are just - just the worst,” you snarl, teeth clenched hard enough to give you a headache. 

“Now really, is that any way to speak to someone who just gave you a gift?” Hyunjin sips his drink calmly. 

Well, there’s the Hyunjin you recognize. What you don’t understand is how he’s still making your cunt drip with need. All you can think about right now is what he’s hiding under those suit pants. Are you really this dumbstruck by cock? 

(Yes. Yes, you are.)

“Me and every other woman in this club, I bet. You probably air dropped it to the whole room.” You wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe that was his plan the whole time - work you up then leave you begging while he hooked up with someone else. As if you’d beg. 

“Oh no, that was just for you.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “Come on. You know how selective I am when it comes to my clothes or my liquor. Why would I be any less selective about who I fuck?” 

“Who you fuck?” Whoa, who said anything about fucking? Besides your duplicitous brain and pussy. “Who - who said - that’s not - I mean -” You’ve suddenly become the Big Bad Wolf, huffing and puffing, unable to form a complete sentence. 

Hyunjin rises, leaning over you as you gaze up at him from your barstool. He places his hands on the bar, one arm on either side of you, bracketing you in, wild eyes trailing down your figure slowly before he smiles, hungry and sharp, and you realize, no, here’s the wolf. 

“Listen, there’s no reason we can’t fuck. Friends fuck all the time.” His hand glides over your shoulder, light as a feather, and you watch dazedly as goosebumps ripple along your skin. His touch is electric. 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” 

Hyunjin shrugs, lips twisted in a droll smile. “Close enough. This doesn’t have to be complicated. You said it yourself - you’re in need.”

“What? When did - I never said that!” Again you struggle to speak coherently, sputtering in your confusion.

Hyunjin frowns. “Ah, you’re right, I misspoke. That was Felix who said that, wasn’t it? On the ride here?” 

You curse inwardly, remembering the private discussion you and Felix had had on the way to the club, when you were discussing your dry spell. Or at least, it was supposed to be private, but obviously someone had been listening in. Felix had offered to play wingman for you, saying he wouldn’t let anything keep him from helping you “in your time of need” - a bit dramatic, but that was Felix for you. 

You’d waved him off, insisting that you could snag someone without any help. But here you are, drowning your sorrows at the bar with no possibilities in sight. Maybe you should’ve accepted Felix’s help after all. 

“That’s not…” Sighing, you shrug. There was no point in trying to deny what he’d heard. “Fine, yeah, I came here tonight hoping to leave with someone, but I didn’t mean you!” 

“That’s because you didn’t know I was an option.” Again his gaze travels down your body, lingering like a slow caress. “But after seeing the way you look tonight, I had to offer myself up.” 

Always. So. Cocky. You want to deny that his words have an effect on you. Want to. But can’t.

And like that, your resolve starts to slip. 

“You really want to help me out?” you ask. He nods, irises blown as his eyes flicker to yours, and it puts fire in your belly, has you biting your lip in contemplation. “What makes you think you have what I need?”  

Hyunjin doesn’t bother to check if any of your friends are watching as he steps closer, like he doesn’t care if anyone sees the way he cups your cheek. Or how he slides his thumb over your lips, dragging the bottom one down before lowering his mouth towards yours. He hangs there, just for a second - just long enough for you to tip your face up in a wordless answer.

His touch has nothing on his kiss. Your whole body thrums from head to toe, fizzing like the champagne on your tongue earlier, sweet and effervescent. His hand falls to your hip, squeezes there suddenly, and you feel a rush of heat between your thighs. 

Hyunjin’s plush lips part, letting the tip of his tongue briefly nudge against yours before he pulls away, leaving you blinking dumbly. He lets out a low chuckle, gently wiping a drop of spit from your chin. 

“I just know.”

You’re too busy licking the inside of your lips, hunting for any lingering trace of him, to respond.  

“Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” His eyes dip to your mouth and back, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to make a move again. Needing him to. “Just think about it.” 

And then he walks away, leaving you nearly toppling off your seat, floundering in his wake. 

The ice cubes in your cocktail have all but melted by the time you remember you ordered another drink. Sipping it slowly, you replay the last several minutes in your head. Did all of that just happen? Did Hyunjin really just offer himself to you? And then kiss you like that?

You feel like you’re going out of your mind. 

“Just think about it.” 

Hyunjin’s last words echo in your head as you wander on wobbly legs back towards the table where Felix and Seungmin are still standing. 

And oh, god, do you think about it. 

For the rest of the night, no matter how many conversations you have with your other friends, no matter how hard you dance, no matter what you do - the sole thought occupying your brain is what it would be like to fuck Hyunjin. Again and again, you picture him above you, beneath you, behind you, big cock stretching you out, making you scream his name. 

But it’s not worth it to give in to him. It can’t be. Good dick - if it’s good - can’t be enough to undo all the annoying shit he does, can it?

You cut yourself off early in the night, explaining that someone needs to stay sober enough to call for rides, but really you’re afraid that if you get completely blitzed, you’ll end up admitting something you don’t want to admit and going home with Hyunjin. Your friends honor your noble sacrifice by achieving impressive levels of drunk, ranging from delightful (Felix repeatedly booping you on the nose, calling you his “widdle buddy”) to disastrous (Chan, who gets upset when the guy he hits on in the bathroom doesn’t respond - turns out he was hitting on his own reflection - before falling asleep in a stall). 

Since the club is in the middle of downtown, you arrange for two cars to pick you and your friends up - one heading east, one heading west. Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin, and you pile into the ride heading west. Changbin hops into the passenger’s seat before you can slip in, leaving you smushed in the back between Hyunjin and Chan’s gigantic thighs. 

Said thighs are splayed a bit as Chan’s head lolls back, a loud snore erupting out of him as the car makes its first stop outside Changbin’s apartment. 

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Changbin grunts, snapping a rather unflattering photo of Chan sleeping with his mouth wide open, obviously saving it to drop in the group chat at the most opportune time. “Can you two make sure he gets home okay? I know it’s a bit out of the way, but, well, look at him.” 

Chan continues to rumble like a fighter jet, unaware of everything going on around him. 

“Yeah, don’t worry, we got him,” Hyunjin replies, and you just nod. “Night, ‘Bin.” 

Changbin gives the driver Chan’s address and then he ducks out of the cab. Your place is technically the next closest, but getting Chan back to his place safe and sound is the priority. 

With Chan sleeping next to you, it’s basically just you and Hyunjin alone now. A fact that has also occurred to Hyunjin, whose hand has been drifting further and further around your waist the entire ride. Now it slides around openly, tucking you against his side. You could fight it if you so desired - he’s not holding you tightly. He’s giving you the chance to escape. 

You’re not sure you want to.

“Have you thought about it?” he murmurs, nose against your ear. 

Your body reacts to the tone of his voice, thighs rubbing together, as you nod. 

“And what did you decide?” 

“I - I don’t know.” 

A puff of air tickles your skin as he laughs derisively. “Do you really need some convincing?” 

Chan snuffles loudly, reminding you that there’s another person right next to you, since your entire focus is on Hyunjin, and the way his hand is now creeping beneath the open back of your dress, and slowly moving up your rib cage. 

When he cups your left breast, you stifle a gasp. But you can’t stop the tiny “ah!” that escapes when he gently pinches your nipple. You attempt to cover it with a cough, hoping the driver’s lack of visible response means he didn’t hear you. Meanwhile, next to you, Chan doesn’t stir. 

“Feel good?” Hyunjin coos quietly. “Must’ve felt good, given the way you’re squirming right now.” 

Your hips have started to rock of their own volition. Brain, hips, pussy, all on your shit list. 

“But just think how much better it’ll feel when it’s my mouth.” His tongue flicks the shell of your ear before he sucks your earlobe into his warm mouth. A preview of what’s to come. It makes you squirm even harder, dying for any sort of relief for the aching between your legs. 

Remarkably, you manage to speak, hissing, “You’re a demon.” 

Hyunjin laughs. “You’ve no idea.” 

His hand stays where it is until the car pulls up at the curb outside Chan’s house. It takes a minute for the two of you to wake Chan, then another minute for him to realize where he is, then yet another minute for him to slide out of the car. Hyunjin sighs and also climbs out of the cab to make sure Chan gets into his house safely. 

When Hyunjin returns, the driver glances in the rearview mirror. “So, one more stop, or two?” 

You blink at the question. The air in the cab feels heavy with implication. Hyunjin says nothing, but looks at you expectantly, and you understand - the choice is yours.

You glance at your hands, as if they’ll help you choose. Your watch informs you that it’s 2:12 in the morning. Don’t they always say not to trust any decisions you make after two am?

When the driver clears his throat a little too loudly, Hyunjin’s fingers grip your chin. 

“Well? You heard him - one stop or two?” 

You meet his gaze, surprised to find a fire burning in his eyes. 

Maybe you’d be a fool to run towards it, seeking warmth where there might only be danger. 

Fine, then. You’re a fool. 

“One.” 

With a satisfied grin, Hyunjin gives the driver his address.

You’re a little tense during the elevator ride up to Hyunjin’s apartment. Hyunjin, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed, quietly leaning against the wall with his normal blasé expression on his face. Like you’re not about to cross a boundary here that you never expected to cross. Like this was inevitable. 

As soon as you’re both inside and his door is locked, he turns to face you, and you suck in a deep breath, waiting impatiently for him to touch you again. 

Instead, he asks, “Do you want some water?” 

“Um, yeah, sure.” 

He must read confusion on your face - at least, you hope it looks like confusion and not disappointment - because the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. 

“A few questions first,” he says, walking into his kitchen, sliding his suit jacket off as he goes. “Are you in good health?”

“Am I - am I in good health?”

Hyunjin tuts. “I’d ask if you need me to repeat myself but clearly you heard the question.” 

You stare at his back, brows furrowing as you decipher his meaning. “Are you asking if I’ve been tested recently? Yes, I have been. Nothing to report.” 

“Good, me too,” he replies, yanking his tie off and tossing it onto the counter before opening the fridge and grabbing you both a bottle of water. He eyes you as he opens his. “Are you on birth control?”

“Is this what you’re like on a date? Does your foreplay always involve interrogating your partner with clinical questions?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He tilts his head back as he drinks, so he doesn’t catch the glare you shoot his way. “Answer the question.” 

“Yes, dick, I’m on birth control.” You take a swig of your water. The memory of his touch in the taxi is fading more and more with every second that passes. With a clearer head, you’re starting to question if you’ve made the right choice. 

“Good,” he repeats, wiping his mouth. “I prefer to fuck raw.” 

You clench around nothing at the thought, but scowl anyway. “What about what I prefer?” 

Hyunjin just hums, fingers brushing your cheek before they tap under your chin. “Do you want me to use a condom?” There’s no drollness or sarcasm to his tone. He’s genuinely asking. 

“No.” Your pride takes a tiny hit at the way you answer him immediately, without hesitation.

Just as quickly as his gentle tone came, it disappears again, vanishing as Hyunjin flashes a smug smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s what - oh fuck off.” There he is again, that cocky asshole. Reflexively, you curse at him, ready to fight. “Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that I do? You’re so easy to read.” 

“Really?” Okay then. You’ll call his bluff. “Go ahead, Hyunjinnie. Tell me what I like.” 

He rolls his eyes. His fingers make quick work of his cufflinks, setting them on the granite top beside him, and he slides his sleeves up, revealing toned forearms beneath. 

“Well, for starters, you love getting under my skin with that infantile nickname.” 

“No shit. Everyone knows that.” 

“You live for arguing, especially with me. Can’t let a single sentence go by without snapping back.” 

“Maybe that’s because you’re always wrong.”

Hyunjin doesn’t take the bait, merely leans back against the counter, examining you so openly that you feel exposed, so you cross your arms, as if that will help you block his penetrating gaze. He takes a few seconds before speaking again. 

“No, it’s not that. Though I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself. If it were, you wouldn’t be here right now.” 

He speaks so calmly, so self-assuredly. It’s maddening, even though you’re burning with curiosity. Makes you want to know more, so you press him again. “Okay, then - what is it? Why am I here?” 

“Because you wanted someone to take control.” He spreads his arms wide. “And here I am.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know. You want someone else to be in charge. Make the decisions. Do the work for you. Then fuck you so hard that all those thoughts just fly right out of that pretty little head of yours.” He says it all so matter-of-factly, like it’s completely evident, your deepest desires laid bare for all to witness.

You want to dismiss his words, act like he’s so far off the mark that he’s on another planet, but you’re too surprised by his answer to respond with anything other than stunned silence. His arrogant smile returns. Clearly he was expecting you to fight, so your lack of a snappy comeback only confirms to him that he’s right. 

“Just look at what you’re wearing,” he continues. “That tight dress screams ‘please fuck me stupid!’ Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

You find your voice. “Oh, now you’re judging my clothing? And - and slut shaming me?” 

“Please. I’m always judging your clothing. But it’s a taste thing, not some sort of moral judgment.” He smirks. “And I’m very supportive of sluts, thank you.” 

As he sips his water, you replay the entire evening in your mind. Sending you the photos. Kissing you. Making the offer. Fuck. He really did do the work for you tonight. Was there ever a chance you were going to say no? Judging by Hyunjin’s attitude, this moment was never in doubt. He knew you’d end up here with him.  

The other realization that dawns on you is - you’re not mad about any of that. The only thing you’re mad about is that, once again, he’s right about something. And he knows it. 

Okay. Fine. You want to be fucked stupid. But does he have to be so fucking rude about it??

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He suddenly steps towards you. His expression is so intense that you move without thinking, backing all the way into the fridge. Your heart feels like it might burst through your ribcage at the slightest provocation, breath leaving your lungs in tiny exhalations as his thumb ghosts your cheek. 

Not because you’re scared. Because you’re excited.

“Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”

Hyunjin says the words softly, but there’s a firmness to his gaze that makes you swallow hard.

Your lips don’t move. 

He kisses you. Wraps his hands around your waist, pulls you to his demanding mouth, head turning this way and that as his lips crash onto yours.

You kiss him back. Just as greedily, just as deeply. 

His hand strokes your thigh. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

You make no noise.

His fingers crawl beneath your skirt, dancing over the silk of your underwear. Your gasp warms his tongue. A throaty growl chokes him.

“So wet for me.” He brings his hand up to show you the evidence, skin glistening. As if you didn’t already know.

He surges forward, pinning you to the fridge, mouth blazing a trail from your ear to your neck as his fingers press into your soaking slit.

“Ah, Hyunjin!” you whimper, clutching wildly at his bicep. The swell of his arm bulges as his fingers slowly search your inner walls, like they’re mapping every inch of you. When they trace over your g-spot, they linger, brushing again and again. “Oh my god!”

“Tell me,” he implores, husky voice breaking, like he’s barely in control, “tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this - don’t want me - and I’ll call you a ride and we’ll never talk about this again.” 

His forehead bumps yours, eyes smoldering with bright intensity, hand still plunging.

This time, you speak, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Don’t - don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

A smile spreads across Hyunjin’s face. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other hand still working between your thighs. You moan, feeling his erection digging into your hip as he presses himself against you, holding you firmly in place while he adds a third finger to the two already fucking you open. 

“Say it,” he commands, mouth wet and hot on your cheek. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want, oh, fuck, I, I want you to fuck me, Hyunjin.”

In an instant, he’s disentangled himself from you, and you can’t help but whine very loudly at the sudden loss of his fingers. Hyunjin just smirks at your naked desperation, spinning you around so you’re in front of him. 

“Come on,” he says, lightly pinching your ass to make you move. You yelp, smacking him on the arm, but he just laughs. “I’m not fucking you in here. Let’s go.” 

“Asshole,” you curse, but you go anyway, because all you want is for him to touch you again, and if he’s refusing to do it in here, then why would you want to stay? You’re going wherever his hands go. 

Maybe you should feel ashamed, for giving in so easily. But you don’t. All you feel is desire. This is what you want. What you need. 

Hyunjin’s fingers press lightly on the small of your back as he guides you down the hallway to his bedroom. It’s just as ostentatious as the rest of his place - expensive-looking light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, dark leather headboard and frame for his gigantic bed, which is covered in piles of plush-looking blankets and pillows. There’s a gorgeous painting taking up most of the wall above his bed. 

He doesn’t give you much time to admire the room, because as soon as you’re in front of the bed, he spins you again, hands reaching for the zipper of your dress, sliding it to the ground, leaving you standing there in nothing but your panties. Before you can tell him to stop pushing you around, he’s kissing you fervently, like he’s been dying the entire time his mouth has been away from yours these last few minutes, and suddenly you forget that you’re irritated. 

Hyunjin backs you onto the bed, breaking away from your lips long enough to urge you to move towards the headboard, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the side as he follows. When his fingers grab for his belt, they find yours already there, making short work of the buckle. He groans in delight, deciding to use his hands to grope your bare breasts while you unzip his pants. 

“Can’t wait to see it in real life, huh?” he asks, dragging his thumbs over your nipples. He chuckles when you just whimper, back arching slightly to encourage him to keep touching you.

The truth is, yes, you can’t wait to see Hyunjin’s massive dick, but more importantly, you can’t wait to feel it inside you, so you continue with your task, pushing his pants and boxers down together. And god, what a cock it is, long and thick and positively darkened with need. Smeared drops of excitement coat the head, and the sight makes your mouth water. 

He rises up to kneel between your legs, grabbing his cock with one hand and giving it a few lazy pumps. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re speechless again.” 

“Goddamn it,” you huff in exasperation, “you’re the fucking worst.” But you can’t stop staring as he gently squeezes the head, making a pleased noise, relieving himself a little while he watches you writhe in impatience. 

“You’ll be singing a different tune in a moment, sweetheart.” 

Your nose wrinkles at how easily ‘sweetheart’ drips off his tongue. “Just put it in me already,” you demand, leaning back on your elbows, licking your lips as you peer up at him, trying to send a blatant “fuck me!” signal with every inch of your body. 

Hyunjin tuts, lifting one of his gorgeously thick eyebrows. “Right to it? Is that what you really want?” In one swift motion, he hooks a finger under your panties and drags them down and off. It’d be a more impressive move if anyone but him were doing it. 

“I just… I thought we were gonna fuck?” Isn’t that what you’re here for?

“Of course we are. But is that how you typically do it? No foreplay, no build up?” His fingers rake down your stomach, trail over your thighs, causing your body to twitch with shivers. “That doesn’t sound like any fun at all.”

It’s not how you’d prefer to do this, no. You’re just surprised that he agrees. So you say nothing in reply, visibly closing your mouth while he maneuvers you into position, pushing your legs up so your knees bend, your thighs meeting your stomach, completely exposing your cunt to him. 

“That’s better. Just let me play with you a little first, sweetheart. I promise you’ll like it.” 

Your instinct is to argue with him, tell him he has no idea what you’d like, but you’ve already done that tonight. And you were wrong. So again, you bite your tongue. 

Until he extends his own, letting a string of spit fall onto your pussy.

“Ew, Hyunjin!” You’re disgusted, but not with him. Why do you find that so hot?

“Too much?” he inquires, letting go of your legs as he glances at you. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a real expression of concern on his face before. It rattles you slightly. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No - keep going.” 

He nods, hands reaching for your thighs again. “If I hit any hard no’s for you, say something, and I promise I’ll stop, okay?” 

“I will.” 

He bows over you again, licking a straight line up your slit. With a moan, you let your head drop back against the pillows. His mouth feels absolutely divine.

Where others in the past just dove in, Hyunjin takes his time. He drags his tongue around slowly, licking through your soaking folds, tasting you. It reminds you of the way you’d seen him drink a really fine whisky, holding it in his mouth, quietly identifying every note, every flavor. Relishing, instead of rushing. 

When his lips brush over your clit, leaving teasing kisses, you moan. Hyunjin hums, a self-satisfied little rumble, and lifts his head. “See? Told you you’d like this.” 

“Please, shut up and suck my clit.” It’s meant to be an order but definitely sounds like a pathetic whine. Whatever, as long as he listens. 

He listens. Those plush lips that you can’t stop yourself from staring at roll over your already throbbing little nub and warm pleasure runs down your spine before pooling in your belly. His dark hair keeps falling in his face, obscuring him from your view, and for some reason you can’t have that. Tentatively, you reach out, hand shaking a little. 

Hyunjin hums when your fingers slide through his soft locks, pushing the strands back, holding them in place so you can see his eyes, the way they squeeze shut when he sucks noisily on your clit. The sounds he makes are so loud, completely uninhibited, moaning and grunting as his lips smack and his tongue laps. 

He uses said tongue to fuck you expertly, his movements so confident, so sure. He reads every quiver, listens to every moan, figures out how to work you up with quick, teasing shallow plunges, before slowing it down, going deeper, tongue brushing your walls like he’s speaking a language only your body understands. 

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

His mouth parts from you long enough for him to speak. “There it is. There’s the tone I was looking for. Enjoy this, sweetheart. I know I am.” 

You’re enjoying it so much that you unexpectedly whimper when he stops again a moment later, feeling a little embarrassed as he exhales a quiet laugh into your warmth. “Just hold on,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up your slit to pass over your clit again and again, before sliding a finger into your clenching hole.

“Ohhhh.” 

The combination is so good, his finger filling you while his mouth suctions to you, that your eyes flutter shut. He pulls out and glides back in, all the way to his knuckles in one smooth motion, your wet folds parting so easily for him. He’s done an amazing job of spreading your slickness around, coating your inner thighs, messing his bed beneath you. 

“Gonna make you come,” Hyunjin says, spreading you open with two fingers now. “Need you to come before I can fuck you just like you want. Can you do that for me?”

The tension in your gut tells you that that shouldn’t be a problem. Both fingers have curled inside you, stroking over your soft spot, making you pant, clutching Hyunjin’s satin sheets for dear life. 

“Hy-Hyun-”

Before you can even finish saying his name, the tension snaps, nerves firing from your cunt to your toes, causing your legs to lock up. Hyunjin groans, moving his hands to grasp at your thighs, trying to loosen their squeeze. 

“Easy, sweetheart, don’t take me out just yet.” When your body finally starts to relax, he grins. “There we go. Good girl.”

If this were any other time, you’d snap at him for dropping that pet phrase on you. But you’re too blissed out at the moment, practically purring as he starts to kiss his way up your torso. 

When he reaches your breasts, he joins you, a low rumble sounding from the back of his throat. His nose nuzzles between them, as he leaves loud kisses on their swelling curves. 

Another thing Hyunjin isn’t wrong about - his mouth feels much better than his fingers do on your nipples, tongue gliding like warm velvet against the pert nubs. You continuously moan, until you’re nearly panting, fingers once again finding his dark locks and threading themselves between. 

“How am I doing, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Good.” It doesn’t even occur to you to tell him anything but the truth. “So good, Hyunjinnie. Ah!” You flinch as he suddenly nips the other nipple, teeth clamping gently. “Why?!” 

“You and that damn nickname. I must not be doing enough if you’re still calling me that.” He rises onto his knees, shaking his head. “Guess I just gotta fuck it out of you.” 

And just like that, you feel that spark again. 

“Sure you will, Hyunjinnie,” you simper, voice dripping with honey, so sickeningly-sweet as you coo his name. It has the desired effect, making Hyunjin’s eyes flash. 

He reaches for you, pulling you up into his lap, before you can so much as breathe. “You doubting me, sweetheart?” His hands press into your hips, urging you down on him. Both of you groan as his cock slides along your cunt, and the sparks inside you ignite. 

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you spit back, feeling that familiar sense of agitation, but it’s not annoyance now, it’s anticipation. 

“And I’m not really yours, but let’s play pretend for the night,” he drawls, and you look at him with wide eyes, but he kisses away the wonder on your face, working you up with teeth and tongue, until you’re frenzied with need. Your fingers clutch at his biceps, nails sinking in to tether him closer. 

His hands on your waist guide you down again. As his cockhead breaches your lips, you keen, head falling forward onto his shoulder. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp. The stretch is delicious, cunt already throbbing around his thickness.  

Both of you freeze when you’re fully seated on him, no sounds in the room but the rhythmic cadence of your panting intertwining with his. 

“You know,” Hyunjin speaks through grit teeth, focused on the spot where your bodies join, “we could’ve been doing this a long, long time ago.”

You don’t know what to say to that. How long has he wanted this? You’re not sure the exact answer for yourself, except that it’s longer than you’d ever truly want to confess.

“Maybe - maybe if you weren’t such a - oh, oh, oh!” Your lame attempt at a retort is lost to the rapid snapping of Hyunjin’s hips when he starts to thrust up into you. There’s nothing you can do but bounce in his lap, clinging to his shoulders as he finally fucks you just as hard as he’d promised. “Hyunjin, please!” 

Hyunjin grunts, perspiration trickling down his forehead as he concentrates on giving you what you wanted. His jaw flexes, brows drawn together in a frown, and even with this fierce expression on his face, he’s so beautiful that you can’t help yourself, diving forward to kiss that gorgeous mouth of his like you’ve always imagined, as if you weren’t just kissing him a few minutes ago, but like it’s the first time, tracing his lips with yours, imprinting the feeling of them against your own to store away in your memory for later.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His words are the oxygen you inhale, tongues pressed together like the pages of a book. “I think I prefer you this way. So needy for my cock.” He smirks. “Kinda want to keep you like this.” 

He digs his fingers into the plump roundness of your ass as he grinds into you, sliding you back and forth. Your hips undulate, rolling you down on his big cock, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your walls. 

“Hyu-hyu-hyun!” 

It’s impossible to get an entire word out, given the pace at which Hyunjin’s strokes are jostling you. Your staccato cries get louder when he switches it up, laying you on your back and shoving a pillow under your hips. His thighs smack into your ass with every plunge of his thick length, and again you can do nothing but try to breathe, drowning in euphoria as you are.

“Yeah, you’re best just like this. Stuffed full of cock, no room for thoughts. Or arguments.” 

“F-fuck!” You were trying to say ‘fuck off’ but Hyunjin chose that moment to thumb at your clit, giving the aching nub the friction it so badly needed. Your hips buck up, making Hyunjin groan.

“Just like that, so good for me.” 

You whine involuntarily at his praise, hips lifting again, trying to take him deeper. Every stroke of his cock lights you up, your body tingling from head to toe. The strong thrumming in your gut is going to overtake you soon and you’re finally going to get what you’ve been needing for weeks now. And it’s Hyunjin of all people who is going to give it to you. 

You’re pulled out of your reverie as Hyunjin suddenly pulls out, falling onto his side next to you. 

“What are y- oh!” You gasp as he turns you on your side, facing away from him. One hand lifts  your leg, sliding it back until your calf loops over his. Then he enters you again, and again, thrusting in deep, powerful movements. “Oh, fuck, goddamn.” 

“That’s right,” he growls, arm beneath you bending, hand coming to a rest around your throat. Not squeezing, but holding you in place, back pressed to his front. You’re both covered in sweat, bodies gliding over one another, making it hard for him to keep his pace. So his fingers spread on your chest, locking you in place, giving him leverage to pound into you. “Take it, sweetheart. Take what I give you like a good girl.” 

“Ahhh,” you moan, “don’t - don’t call me that.” 

“No? You don’t like being praised?” Hyunjin releases his hold on your thigh, running his others fingers around where his cock keeps sliding between your lips. “Your pussy tells me another story. You’re soaking my sheets.”

“Nah - ah - not that, ’s not that.” With this slightly slower rhythm, you’re able to speak, but full sentences still seem hard. “Like praise. Hate - hate good girl.” 

“Ohhh, I see.” Hyunjin laughs breathily. “I should’ve known. You’re too proud. Think it makes you look weak if I call you that? Hmm?” 

Even in your desperate state, you know he’s not far off from the truth. You don’t want him calling you that, because it feels like giving in to him. Letting him take control completely. Possessing you. His good girl. 

The real, honest to god truth is - you can’t let him call you that, because you do want it. And you hate how much you want it. 

So you deny it. Or at least, you try to. But all you can stutter is a weak “You’re s-such a d-dick,” as he continues snapping his hips into your ass, making your entire body jiggle in his strong grip. 

Hyunjin drops an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, wet and sloppy. You curl your fingers into his arm as you sense that you’re approaching the precipice of your orgasm. You can tell that it’s going to be an intense one, one of those climaxes that clears your mind of all thought and leaves you literally shaking in ecstasy. Just as he’d promised.

You do appreciate a man who follows through on his promises. 

Hyunjin must feel the way you’re starting to clench around him, groaning into your shoulder. “Ahh, I think this little cunt’s trying to tell me something again, sweetheart. You gonna come for me? Hmmm?” His fingers rub over your clit, the sudden touch making you jolt. “Come on, be a good girl and c-”

Twisting your head, you smash your nose into his cheek, clumsily seeking his mouth. Cutting him off with heated kisses, hoping he’ll interpret it as annoyance fueling your actions and not see it for what it truly is - untamed desire. 

A strangled cry passes from Hyunjin’s lips into yours, and with one more tweak to your clit, you come undone. Your body locks up, thighs going rigid, cunt clamping around his cock so fiercely that Hyunjin hisses loudly, forehead resting on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he whispers in your ear. Sweat drips from his skin onto yours. “You’re gonna make me come. Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer. You’re gone, completely gone, beyond words, capable of making only the most broken, pathetic sounds, wantonly mewling as slowly grinds into you, cock rubbing against your clenching walls. When your legs start to go slack, he resumes his thrusting, but at a languorous pace, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to go easy on you now that you’re approaching overstimulation, or if he’s trying to slow himself down.

“I think it is what you want. I think you want me to fill this little pussy up with my cum, don’t you? Hmm?” His nose prods at your cheek. “A sweet creampie for my good girl?”

The whine that you let you out is pitifully loud. White hot shame spikes through you, but only for a second, the emotion quickly burnt away by your fervent need. 

“Come on, tell me. Tell me you want it.” 

“Ahhh!” You gasp as his cock sinks in deeper, hitting your g-spot. It’s almost too much, the delicious drag, and your fingers dig into his arm, nails sinking into his skin. “Fuck!”

“Tell me,” he says again, but this time there’s a plea laced into the command, a desperate edge in his tone that strikes a chord somewhere deep inside you, and suddenly you want to give him anything he needs. 

“Hyunjin, I want it, p-please!” 

Those are the magic words. Hyunjin groans, his hips falling out of their slow rhythm, jerking erratically as he does exactly what he said, shooting his load deep inside you, moaning your name the entire time. You grip the sheets so hard, you’re afraid you’ll tear them, shoving your hips back against his, riding out his climax with him. 

“Pussy’s sucking me dry, sweetheart. So greedy,” he pants, trailing kisses along your neck. “Think it wants more.” 

“Hyunjin!” You sob his name again, voice breaking. All it takes is his fingers pinching at your clit and you’re coming again, stomach twitching, breath leaving your body in one big rush. 

When your body stops trembling, Hyunjin finally slips out of you, his hand falling away from your cunt. He lets out a tired laugh.

“You can take your nails out of my arm. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Oh.” Your neck burns a little in embarrassment. You hadn’t realized you were still holding on to him so tightly, unconsciously keeping him in place. Keeping him close to you. You relax your grip, and he slides his arms around you further, locking you into his embrace. 

It’s… nice, being in Hyunjin’s arms. Really nice. Lying there, in your messy, tired state, you feel rather content. 

But the longer you lie there, just breathing together, not speaking, your head starts to fill with thoughts again. Questions. The most pressing being, at what point is he going to kick you out? Because despite everything that just happened, he’s still Hyunjin, and you’re still you, and - 

“It’s already started.” Hyunjin hums, lightly shaking you. “I can hear you thinking again.” 

Your reflexes kick back in. “It’s just what I do. You should try it some time.” 

To your surprise, Hyunjin starts to laugh. You roll over, nose bumping his as you give him a curious look. 

“What?” 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “You’ve got a fighter’s instinct. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight me all the time?” 

You stare at him as you try to make sense of the rather casual confession of admiration he just dropped. Nope. Can’t. Not right now.

“I…” You pause. “Sorry. It’s just a habit.” 

He smiles, something genuine that slowly shifts into his familiar smirk, and even as spent as you are, you feel a stirring inside you. “Guess we need to work on that.”

In the morning, you might regret what you say next. But the night’s not over yet. “Maybe you just didn’t fuck me stupid enough yet.” 

Hyunjin accepts your challenge with a kiss. 

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