Ohntrack - Tumblr Blog

— [3:53am]

AUTHORS NOTE ; this is a repost from my old blog ( chrisbahng-old ). this is the only place this has been reposted and any other reposts are not me nor are they allowed. I am hoping to have new content soon and appreciate all the support so far <3

warnings ; chan is called alpha, breeding, petnames (puppy, angel, baby)

“Channie, it’s s’ big,” you wined as your boyfriend filled you only halfway full of his thick cock.

“I know, baby.” Chan cooed, bringing his hand to rest on your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. “But look,” he brought his eyes from yours to where you two connected. “Alpha’s already halfway in you.”

“Only half?” your gaze left Chan’s as you peered down to see if he was telling the truth. A moan escaped your lips at the sight of him slowly pushing the rest if himself into you.

“You’re taking me so well, pup.” Chan groaned as he nearly bottomed out in you. “Taking my cock like it was made for you, yeah?”

You whimpered in response; hearing him praise you was something you would never tire of hearing.

“That’s my good puppy,” Chan whispered as his hips met yours for the first time that night. Chan let out a blissful sigh and brought his attention back up to you, your puppy-dog eyes watering with tears again and Chan leans his forehead against yours.

“C’mon, I know you can take it, love. I haven’t even properly fucked you yet.” He said, closing his eyes as he starts to pull himself out of you.

“Hurts, alpha, it hurts,” you finally mumble out and Chan smiles down at you softly.

“Shh, angel, you’re gonna be alright. I’m here, alpha’s here.” Chan kissed your lips before pulling out to the tip and thrusting himself back into you. “Shit, puppy,” he cursed as his hips met yours. “How the fuck are still this fucking tight,”

His words made you tighten the grip you had on his shoulders, your nails digging into his soft skin and leaving little moons. “You think your little cunt would be sloppy and messy, but fuck,”

You clenched at his words and whimpered  when he pulled himself back out again. Chan repeated his motions, pulling out to the tip before slamming back into you, but progressively got more and more merciless.

Your mind went hazy, trying to think of any coherent thought or word to say was like reaching for something that wasn’t there. The only thing you knew is that you were reaching your end.

“Channie,” you croak, “‘m close,”

“Aww, is my puppy gonna cum? Hmm?”

You nodded, not knowing how much longer you could hold on. “Please,” you begged. “Please let me cum on your cock,”

Chan’s jaw clenched at your words. He hears you mutter them enough, but it still gets him every single time.

“Fuck, pup. Alpha’s gonna cum,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“Cum in me, please,” you whine, bringing your hips up to meet his.

Those four words was all it took for Chan to lose it, he thrust himself into you harder than he’s ever done and bit down on your supple flesh. You could feel his cock twitching as he let go inside you. You felt warm, not hot, but warm.

A soft smile spread to your lips when Chan pulled out of you for the final time that night.

Chan sat up on his knees, admiring his work. “You look so pretty, my love. All my cum spilling out of you like this. You’ll be even prettier when you’re all pregnant with my pups, yeah?”

Chan leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, then nose and forehead. “Thank you, alpha,”

“Of course, pup. Now why don’t we run a bath, get us cleaned up a bit.” He replied.

You nodded in return, stretching your arms out for Chan to pick you up, not trusting your legs at the current moment. Chan lifted you up and kissed the top of your head. “You did so well tonight, I’m so proud of you.”

© 🍠 | do not edit and/or crop logo

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ; 𝐬𝐜𝐛

this is part of my binnie month collab with @httpdwaekki ♡

ash's masterlist ; ash's fic ♡

my masterlist

🏷️: @giddyfatherchris ; @lurking-coconut ; @thatonexcgirl ; @bowsnbang ; @strawbini ; @nyang3racha ;

[afab!reader. an annoying guy at a club approaches the reader but nothing happens. size kink i guess? because reader is obsessed with changbin's big arms. strength kink i guess for the same reason. changbin fucks reader in a headlock. unprotected piv sex. clit play. choking if you squint but not really. creampie. not edited so bare with me if there are typos.]

—

Changbin saw you standing in front of a mirror with an unamused look on your face. He circled your waist with his arm and pressed a kiss on the back of your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?”

You snorted. “I don’t know, I’m not sure I like this outfit.” 

Changbin was confused, because that was a really good outfit. “Why not?” He recognised the skirt you were wearing, and remember how excited you were the day you’d bought it. “You were head over heels about this skirt. It looks so good on you, baby, there’s nothing wrong with this outfit.” 

He was being sincere, looking at you absolutely starstruck. The outfit you’d chosen literally made his mouth water — the skirt was hugging your body beautifully, and the same thing could be said about the top you were wearing — nobody loved your body more than Changbin, always touching you whenever he could. Now, Changbin was no fashion expert, but he seriously couldn’t tell what was wrong with the clothes you’d chosen — he thought you looked like a goddess in that skirt and top.

“Isn’t it a little too… short, though?” You hummed unamused, not fully convinced. 

The truth was — you loved the outfit and thought it looked really good, you were just scared it was too revealing and that Changbin would feel uncomfortable going out with you dressed like that, especially since you were going to a club with his friends and their girlfriends.  

“It looks stunning. You look stunning. Wear whatever you want, baby,” Changbin kissed your temple, “I can fight.” 

He meant it as a joke, flexing his muscles right after to brighten your mood. He was probably unaware of the effect his big, strong, buff arms had on you. Changbin’s muscles turned you on like crazy and you never missed an occasion to touch them, squeeze them, bite them. He found it cute that you were so obsessed with his arms, but you found it incredibly hot. 

You went out in that outfit, feeling safe with Changbin by your side. 

—

Changbin could see you were uncomfortable, and that’s why he started to walk in your direction slowly, so that he could witness with his eyes and ears what was going on with that guy who decided it was okay to approach you while you’d gone to get a drink for you and Changbin. He couldn’t hear much with the music blasted through the speakers, but he knew you, and he knew you’d only toy with your fingernails when you were uncomfortable. 

“Is everything alright?” Changbin cleared his throat. 

The guy turned around and gave Changbin an annoyed look. “Yup. We’re just talking.” 

Changbin didn’t like the way the stranger looked at you from head to toe, his stare lingering a bit too long on your exposed thighs. 

“Can’t you see that she’s uncomfortable?” Changbin asked him. “I think you should go.” 

The guy clenched his jaw annoyed. “And I think you should mind your business.” 

Changbin was starting to lose it. As soon the guy turned around, Changbin grabbed him by the collar, grip not too tight as to hurt him, only working as a warning. 

“Listen to me,” Changbin muttered through gritted teeth, “leave her alone or we’re gonna have problems.” 

The boy fully turned to face Changbin, acting all tough and brave. “Problems? What are you gonna do, huh?” He insisted, insulting Changbin once more.

“How about I’ll fly you out the window?”

The guy was well aware that Changbin was much stronger than he was, and that’s probably why he eventually gave up, muttering something you could not comprehend as he walked away from you. Changbin didn’t expect you to latch your arms around his neck and pull him in for a heated kiss. 

“You’re so— you’re so hot. My saviour. My big boy,” you bit his lower lip. “Look at these,” you squeezed his biceps, “I love these arms. My favourite arms in the world.” 

Changbin chuckled because what you just said didn’t make sense, how could someone have favourite arms? It made sense to you, however, and Changbin’s were hands down your favourite. They made you feel safe and protected always, and they looked so irresistibly hot on him and you were weak for him. 

“Let’s go back to the guys.” But you pulled him by the wrist, shaking your head. “You don’t wanna go back?”

You shook your head once more. Then, you whispered in his ear, “you’re so hot, Binnie. My Binnie. ‘M so desperate for you, baby. Need you.” And again, “Wan’ you to put these big arms in use. Wan’ you to put me in a headlock and fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow.” 

Changbin choked on his own spit. “Wha—? What? Baby, princess, are you drunk?”

You shook your head and he remembered that, in fact, the two of you hadn’t had a single drink ever since you stepped inside the club. 

“Nope. Not drunk. Just really desperate for my strong boyfriend,” you pouted at him.

Changbin didn’t give in when you tried to pull him into the club’s restrooms. He didn’t want to fuck you in a dirty, public bathroom with the risk of strangers coming in and catching you right in the act, let alone seeing you naked. He didn’t give in when you tried to convince him to fuck in the backseats of his car — too uncomfortable. He chuckled and pecked your lips, whispering something that sounded like “patience, baby. Let’s get home first and then I’ll fuck you all night long.”

—

It was a miracle Changbin even got the passcode to his house right since he typed it without looking, too busy making out with you against the door to care. You stumbled inside his place clumsily, struggling to take your shoes off without pulling away from the kiss, but you had no time to waste right now. You craved each other. 

Changbin started kissing your neck, leaving openmouthed kisses all over your skin, kisses that felt a bit sticky due to your lipgloss that he was now smearing all over your body. “Changbin— Binnie, bedroom, please,” you sighed with desperation. 

Changbin lifted your body effortlessly, and you bit your lip at the sight of his flexed muscles, not missing the opportunity to squeeze them under your fingers, leaving a few red marks with your fingernails all over his arms, marks that you were going to leave kisses all over. 

“You’re so hot, do you know that?” You mumbled on his lips, clenching your legs around his waist as he kicked the bedroom door open. “So fucking… big and buff and… and mine. My big boy.” 

Changbin responded with a low grunt. 

“You were so hot… back in the club…” you gasped in between hot kisses and licks. “So fucking hot… the way you talked to that guy… ugh, the way you flexed your muscles…”

“Hmm, you really like when I do that, don’t you?” He smirked.

Changbin figuratively threw you onto his bed, kneeling right between your legs and flexing his muscles to tease you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to witness the sight better, then bit your lip so hard you could almost taste blood in your mouth. Changbin was rock hard inside his boxers the same way your panties were entirely wet. 

“I wasn’t kidding back at the club,” you looked at him through your eyelashes, “I really want you to put me in a headlock and fuck me dumb.” 

A timid blush appeared on Changbin’s cheeks. What you just told him was so different than anything else you were used to doing in bed. Changbin was always romantic and never ever rough with you, not even when you explicitly asked him to he’d been able to fully let go. Seeing you so desperate over the mere sight of his arms, though… 

You don’t remember how or when you found the time to undress yourselves, but you eventually found yourselves naked and with Changbin’s fingers between your legs. “What are you doing?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Prepping you?” He returned the confused stare. He always prepped you.

“Changbin, if you don’t pin me down this bed and fuck me stupid within the next three seconds you and I are going to have problems.” 

Something inside him switched. However, he still wasn’t going to fuck you without the tiniest bit of prepping, so he figured lube was the second best option. He squeezed a generous amount onto his cock, then his gingers, then looked you in the eye. 

“You really want me to pin you down and fuck you stupid?” 

“Very much,” you returned the challenging stare.

Changbin cupped one of your asscheeks and squeezed the flesh into his hand. “Turn over. Face down, ass up.”

You obeyed. Turned around to glare at him when, once again, you felt his fingers between your legs, impatient to feel him already and not wanting to waste your time with foreplay. 

“Changbin—”

“I’m just spreading the lube. Behave,” he spanked you jokingly. 

“Why don’t you make me behave?” You challenged him. 

The next thing you knew, you were pressed onto the mattress with Changbin’s body pressed on yours. His arm circling your neck tight enough to keep your head in place but not as tight as to suffocate you, of course, you could breathe just fine in this position. 

“That what you wanted, huh?” He whispered in your ear. 

Goosebumps all over your skin at the sound of Changbin’s lust-filled voice. His other arm hugged your waist so that your hips were slightly lifted from the mattress, enough to grant him access to where you needed him the most. He rubbed himself on your pussy just to tease you, ready to slip inside any moment. 

You nodded, truly desperate to feel him. “Mhh yeah,” you whined, “wanted you like this, Binnie.” 

And he melted at the pet name, pressing his tip inside and then filling you up wholly, taking your breath away. He wasn’t excessively big — more girth than length for sure, but from this specific angle he was entering you in, he felt much bigger inside of you, filling you up perfectly until all you could feel was him, until he filled all your senses. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder. 

“Love you so much,” you rambled on, already cockdrunk as he started to push inside of you slowly, rolling his hips to meet the skin of your ass. “Love everything about you.” 

“But you love my arms a bit more, don’t you?” Changbin joked, whispering the words in your ear as he tightened the grip around your neck the tiniest bit, checking you were alright right after and relaxing once he made sure you could  still breathe just fine.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your skull with the next thrust. Your hair was stuck all over your forehead and face and Changbin was fucking you so good he was making you see stars. You clenched around him. 

“Are you close, baby?” Changbin asked, and you nodded, unable to speak properly. 

From this position, he couldn’t rub your clit, but you also didn’t want him to move at all because he was hitting all the good spots inside of you.

“Harder… tighter…” you mumbled incoherently, and somehow Changbin got the message.

He fucked you harder, allowing your clit to repeatedly brush on the soft covers of Changbin’s bed, and flexed his muscles harder, consequently tightening the grip around your neck. With a moan and a choked gasp of his name, you finally managed to reach your high — body shaking and trembling, toes curling, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. Changbin continued to fuck you, determined to chase his own orgasm before you felt overstimulated. He pressed his forehead on the nape of your neck and rolled his hips harder. 

“Binnie—”

He came inside of you, biting down your skin to muffle the sounds that fell from his lips. He softened inside of you, and effortlessly rolled the both of you over onto the mattress until you were resting on top of him. 

“Missed seein’ your cute face,” he smiled at you, pulling your hair from your face. He pressed his lips on yours. 

“Missed my favourite cheeks,” you poked his cheek, returning the smile. 

“Favourite cheeks, favourite arms… seems like you’re obsessed with me or something,” he jokingly rolled his eyes, then bursted out in a contagious laugh. He hugged you closer, and you rested your head on his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. You wrapped your arms around his torso and squeezed him.

“You’re my favourite.”

—

-> 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬! "𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧", 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.

🏷️ lee minho x fem!reader. cw ; stepbrother!minho, perv!minho, dubcon, yandere themes, degradation, name calling: slut, pet names: bunny ( 444 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

there's many things minho can't stand. nosy people, cheap beer, his middle-aged boss wasting his time with another pointless request. but the worst of them all? it's the one thought that threatens to consume him whole whenever he hears you slip out of the house, scantily clad in the tiniest fucking dress he's ever laid his eyes on: the thought of anyone else touching you, his pretty little sister. of anyone touching what's his.

it's all your fault anyway. you turned him into this, made him obsessed with every inch of you until he could no longer keep his hands to himself. he had to have you. just once.

just once turned into twice, twice turned into endless forevers. you're his and his only, he's made sure of that: fucks you stupid on his fat cock whenever he gets the chance, adorable pouty protests long since gone and replaced with the sweetest moans he's ever dreamed of.

he's got his teeth on your shoulder, bites down just hard enough to make you shudder. minho has to hold himself back from drawing blood, from claiming you for anyone to see, including your parents. ever the concerned older brother, he'll keep you safe forever like he's promised himself. even if you'll beg him to let you go. after all he's the one who taught you how to beg.

you're tight and wet around him, perfect fucking pussy sucking him in with every thrust. he loves watching your nose scrunch and your eyelids flutter whenever he hits the spot just right. after hours of practice your body has become as familiar to him as his own.

"i can't believe it was this easy." it shouldn't have been this easy. you stare up at him in confusion. his adorable, pretty, dumb little bunny.

minho shakes his head. "all i had to do was fuck you a couple times and you come running to me," he chuckles, "'t was only a matter of time."

you're not looking at him now, embarrassed gaze downcast and pointed somewhere at his chest. "like a fucking slut," he adds, and laughs when you shudder again.

"my sweet little bun." he nips at your earlobe and forces his cock deeper, knowing you're close. "there's no hiding from me. i know you better than anyone, you know that, right?"

you don't answer, and minho grabs your chin to force you to look at him. "i know you need this, it's okay. tell me how much you hate me. how much my touch disgusts you,"

"say it," he orders, and he thinks he might burst into flames when you don't hesitate.

"i'm yours, minho, all yours."

© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”

alright fuckers it’s binnie loving hours.

my big binnie boy <33

★ ── OTHER THAN THE BED... ? ⸝⸝ [ HYUNG LINE ]

skz hyung line and their favorite places to fuck ! ♡

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI! ⭑ fem!reader, dom!skz, mirror sex, couch sex, riding, doggy, light primal play, talk of exhibitionism, name calling, spanking, wall sex, degradation, manhandling, possessive behavior

੭ ⭑ 𓂃⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 0.7k ] ⭑ [ m. list ] ⭑ [ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ]

⟡ 방찬 BANG CHAN -> bathroom mirror.

chan grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugged hard so you lift your head to face him-- or rather, the mirror in front of you. he had you bent obscenely over the bathroom sink, fat cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt from behind, his thrusts so hard and deep that the sink digs painfully into your hips and you keep narrowly missing hitting the mirror with your forehead. "look at you~" he cooed so sugary sweet, nasty and condescending, the smacking of skin and the wet squelches from your cunt nearly drowning out his voice, echoing against the bathroom tile. "look so pretty like this, babygirl." you hardly recognized the person that stared back at you in the mirror; your mouth hung open, unable to contain your moans and shrill cries of pleasure, drool leaving your chin spit-slick and shiny. your eyes were blown out, dazed and unfocused and utterly debauched. you wanted to avert your eyes, but chan wouldn't let you look away. you can see his handsome, sweaty face and his pretty smirk behind you in the mirror, his tanned skin pink and his hair sticking to his forehead. "go ahead, pretty girl, tell me what you see."

⟡ 민호 MINHO -> the floor.

"such a tight fucking pussy, so good for me--" minho rasped, panting like a dog; the pace of his hips made you throw your head back and wail, his pretty cock hitting so deep inside you were seeing stars. you had been being a brat all night, pushed minho's buttons until he snapped and put you back in your place-- he had pushed you down onto the living room floor and mounted you right there like some kind of animal, held you in place with his long fingers pressing blooming purple and pink bruises to your hips and neck. "gonna make me cum soon, fuck baby... gonna let me cum inside? let me fill you up?" your knees burned from the carpet but you couldn't find it in you to care, not when minho was fucking you this good. he goes faster, harder, enamored with the way your ass jiggled fom his thrusts, the way your moans only got higher, more pathetic and whiny. he slapped your ass, hard, and snickered to himself as you choked on your scream. "you like it when i fuck you like this, huh? whore. right here where anyone could see you? see how good i give it to you? fuck, my girl's such a nasty slut."

⟡ 창빈 CHANGBIN -> the wall.

"who's pussy is this?" changbin growled into your ear, calloused hands folding you in half as he pounded you against the wall. "hm? who's pussy does this belong to? since you don't seem to fuckin' remember." your legs swung uselessly over his shoulders, bin's white-knuckle grip pressing your knees up against your chest-- his thick fat cock hit all of the right spots, kissed your cervix with every rough thrust, filled you up so deliciously you were rendered completely speechless.. "i-i'm sorry!" you warbled, scratching uselessly at his bulging biceps, unable to say much else with his thick fingers sliding down your thigh to rub tight circles against your swollen, aching clit. you could hardly focus, greedily drinking in eyefulls of changbin's big arms as he flexed to keep you firm against the wall. "it's yours! i'm yours!" "damned right," he grunted, huffing breath unsteady, his thrusts growing slick and sloppy as he neared his climax. "fuck yeah, you're mine, all mine."

⟡ 현진 HYUNJIN -> the couch.

"i just want to cuddle, baby," he had sworn with a smile, patting his lap so invitingly and beckoning you to come sit, but you knew he was lying straight through his teeth-- in no time at all hyunjin had you stripped naked and bouncing up and down on his cock, helping you set the pace with his hands gripping tight on your ass, alternating between squeezing and slapping the flesh, his evil grin widening with every whimper and gasp he managed to get out of you. his big long cock was so deep it made your head spin; you could feel him in your tummy, his hips meeting yours with deafening smacks... "jinnie, jinnie, i'm gonna cum!" you squealed, your nails digging crescents into hyunjin's shoulders; he just bounced you harder, fucked you deeper, threw his head back against the couch cushions when your wet gummy walls spasm and flutter around his shaft. "shit, baby, gonna cum for me? gonna make a mess?" he goaded eagerly, lopsided grin and unfocused eyes making your pussy clench hard around him. "go ahead baby, cum on my cock~"

RASPBERRY PIE

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. 4k words content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, angel). mutual pining. sweet/shy reader. perv!minho. corruption kink. food play. dirty talk. oral (m rec.). soft!dom minho.

you bake your quiet neighbour a warm raspberry pie.

He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked from the jump – he finds himself attached so early he almost convinces himself you're a witch in disguise; that maybe he'd moved in next door to a creature designed to trap men like him. A siren, maybe. The sweetness was an act; all the soft tones and doe eyed looks were just a trick to lure him down beneath the waves.

He was determined not to drown.

And then you show up with the pie, a little flushed from working around a hot oven. It'd been 6 months – 6 months since he'd moved in, and as he opens the door to find you in an apron with little pink stains, a feeling of approaching and inevitable doom settles in his chest. Finally, you'd come to take him.

"Hi," you greet with a shy smile. "My friend brought me over far too many berries yesterday so..." you look down at the golden pie, carefully decorated and clearly still warm, "...well I made this. For you."

If he was wise, he'd politely decline, close the door, and never be faced with the reality of the sweet little siren in his apartment, offerings of temptation and all.

"For me?"

You look up at him through long lashes. "Do you like pie?" you ask. It's the way you say it, like if he doesn't you might genuinely hurt inside – like with a simple rejection of your offering, he had the ability to snuff out some little candle alight inside you.

"I like pie," he says.

Then you smile. Like it's the best news you've heard in weeks. "Oh, good."

He steps aside, his body betraying him. The siren enters with her warm pie and soft smiles – and he knows, unequivocally, that he's fucked.

He keeps his distance as you comfortably navigate to the kitchen to find a place for your offering. The apartments were all pretty much identical as far as he knew. The two on this floor, his and yours, were mirrored. He imagines that just on the other side of your joining wall, you took the same steps he did he each morning, in parallel.

You fiddle a little with the delicately placed raspberries atop the pie as he approaches from the other side of the island. You wear a tiny silver ring on one finger, much like one he wears on his own. He'd spotted it before, during short interactions in the elevator. He suppresses the urge to comment on it now, to ask if it meant anything to you.

He doesn't need to know you. He couldn't afford to. He was finding himself attached enough without it.

Then you pluck one little berry up in your fingers and bring it to your lips. He watches you. He watches you and he knows that he's walked willingly into a trap.

"Sweet?"

You look up. "Hm? Oh." You nod. "They're lovely. My friend gets them from this farm near his parent's place."

Friend. His. He sits in the feeling that stirs in his chest for a quiet moment. It's a rotten feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

"He brings them often?" he finds himself asking.

"Not at all. He just happened to come by after being there for a weekend. He doesn't go there often, I don't think." Your accompanying smile is almost enough to snuff out the rotten feeling before he has time to digest it. Almost.

Then he considers that this might not be the only pie. You may have made this other guy a pie just like it... maybe it was bigger, maybe you'd used the sweetest berries in his pie.

He kicks a cat toy across the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little embarrassed by his own internal monologue. Witchcraft, turning his brain into mush.

"You have a pretty view."

He looks up to find you brushing your hands down your apron and rounding the kitchen island. You seem drawn to his floor to ceiling windows, a little moth to the light.

He follows.

"Mine isn't nearly this nice," you continue once he's standing beside you. "All I get is the construction site and a concrete wall." Then you close your eyes, head tilting back a little to let the sun's afternoon rays bathe your face. "Don't get the sun like this, either," you add, a little dreaminess leaking into your already sweet voice.

Oh, he's fucked.

"You like it?"

You blink up at him, eyes adjusting to the light again. "Hm?"

"I mean if you really like it, you're welcome over anytime, whenever." He wonders if this is part of your spell work, making him say stupid shit. Maybe he'd be better off if you were casting spells on him, if he had a reasonable excuse for being so fucking braindead. "For the sun," he adds, like it makes it better.

A small breath of laughter slips from your pretty lips. "It does get a little gloomy over there, on my side of the wall."

It was hard to imagine anywhere you were being gloomy.

"I should go," you continue after a short moment of comfortable silence, each of you basking in the sunlight. He really should appreciate that more, he notes. Then he considers the fact he'll associate this little patch of warmth with you each time he attempts such a thing.

"Sure," he says, following you from a safe distance to the door. "Thank you. For the pie."

"You're welcome."

Everything is fine. He's alone and he survived the encounter. Then he's faced with the pie. He stares down at it, warm and made with careful hands.

He plucks a berry off the top. He thinks of the berry you'd eaten in the same way.

Everything is fine.

He hesitates as he goes to pluck a second berry. Instead of lifting one from the crust, he presses the tip of his finger a little against the surface. Warm. He breaks through. His finger is coated in syrupy, red filling when he pulls it free. It's sugary sweet when he sucks it clean.

Shame. That's what he feels next. Because sweet gestures of neighbourly kindness should not trigger the kind of thoughts creeping their way into his head.

He wonders if the little siren's cunt is as warm and sweet as the little offering she brought him. He considers doing the right thing, having a cold shower and sitting in the morning sun with a slice of pie.

But apparently, today, and the day before, and every day for the past 6 months, Minho was not wise and he wasn't very good. Because he let the thoughts of his sweet little neighbour stew for months, and this is where it'd led him.

He stands there, one palm pressed flat on the kitchen counter, the other buried in his sweatpants, and he thinks of the sweet little siren with her sweet offerings, and he imagines sinking his hard cock into her warm, sweet cunt.

—

It's hard not to deflate entirely as you close your apartment door behind you. You'd expected too much from a single pie, you suppose. It would entirely out of character for him to ask you to stay for a slice, to take the opportunity to finally have a conversation longer than an elevator ride.

You sigh, dropping your forehead against the cool surface of the door. It helps a little. You're overheated, both from the cooking, the warm sun, and the heat that had bubbled up from the inside as the pretty - yet frustratingly reserved - man next door had watched you move about his space.

You hadn't lied, his apartment was far nicer than yours. You could imagine basking in that patch of sun any chance you had. You wonder if he does the same, if he sits there after a shower, chest bare and hair still a little damp - letting the sun warm his skin.

You leap back as a knock on the door jolts you out of your daydream. Sighing, you press your palm to your forehead - head thoroughly rattled - as you pull the door open.

Oh.

"Hi," Minho says casually. He's a little flushed compared to when you'd left him minutes earlier. He shouldn't be. There were no stairs between your apartments.

"Hello, again."

He glances over your shoulder, getting a clear view of your empty living room. "It is darker in here," he says, still casual.

"Oh. Mm, yeah. I miss your sun already."

His eyes fix back on you. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth slightly. He has something to say... something he won't say.

"Why'd you make me the pie?" he asks.

You blink. "I... had a lot of berries from-"

"Your friend. I know."

You're officially confused. His eyes drop down your dirty apron before returning to your face. "You only made one?"

"Is it bad?" you question.

He pushes some hair away from his eyes. "No," he says quickly. "No, it's... nice." His eyes sweep down your body again. "Sweet," he adds.

"I only made one."

His eyes jump to yours before a brief look of confusion flashes across his pretty face. He seems to remember his own question soon enough. "You didn't want to give it to," he gestures vaguely behind you, "your friend?"

"No," you answer simply. This entire interaction was drifting into territory you weren't sure you were ready for. If his questions got any more interrogative, you might find yourself wondering how to answer them in any other way than 'Oh, the pie? I baked it for you because I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, even if you've seemed intent on not knowing me.'

"He doesn't like pies?" he asks.

You can't help following the path of his fingers as he fiddles with the chain hanging around his neck. They brush his skin as he strokes the metal back and forth.

"I... don't understand what you're asking me," you say as you pull your eyes from his neck. "Is something wrong?"

He readjusts his position in the doorway, pressing his hand to the frame and freeing you from the constant distraction at his neck. He leans over you a little like this.

God, he's pretty.

"You a witch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you put something in it?" he continues, still leaning well and truly into your space. "Something to make me-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing.

"Are you asking me if I poisoned the pie?"

His voice drops, like someone might overhear, despite you both being entirely alone on this floor of the building. "I'm trying to figure out why all I can fucking think about is how you might taste on my tongue."

Your head rushes, all the heat returning. Then your eyes drop to the floor.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. His shoes are safer. He was flirting. More than flirting. He wanted you.

His fingers guide your chin up, it doesn't take much, a nudge. "I'll leave if you want," he says. "Never mention it again. Just tell me what you want."

"Did you like it?" you find yourself whispering. "The pie."

His lips crack into a lopsided smile. It's tiny, but it's a smile. "Loved it, sweetheart. Sent me to heaven."

"Would you... would you like to come in?"

He nods.

You go to turn, to let him follow you. But then, instead, you take his hand and lead him in. He's warm. You imagine all the sun he gets over there must've absorbed deep inside him over time. Maybe he could leave some of it behind here for you - that heat might leak from him if your kept him here long enough.

He follows where you lead, his hand still grasped firmly in your own. You're not sure why you lead him to the sofa. You aren't sure what you're expecting next. It's why you find yourself simply standing beside the piece of furniture waiting for him to say something – to let go of your hand maybe.

Instead, his thumb begins brushing over your skin. He's quiet, seemingly unhurried to break the tension building.

"I asked my friend to bring the berries," you confess quietly, eyes focused on your interwined hands. Confessions were always so much easier with your eyes downwards. "I wanted to make something for you... specifically."

"Why's that?"

His thumb continues against your skin. He doesn't make you look at him like he had before.

"Because I... wanted you to - I wanted your attention."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, "So you baked me a pie?"

"I'm good at baking."

"You are," he agrees. Then his other hand reaches for the hem of your apron. He rubs it between his fingers a little. "Messy though."

You look down at the patterned splotches, pink on white. Then he releases your hand, taking that warmth with him. He only allows you a few seconds to miss it though. That same hand snakes around the back of your neck, skin on skin.

Your eyes are drawn to his without thought.

"Are you always messy?" he asks.

You nod, chewing on your lip a little.

He seems pleased with your answer, a small hum escaping his throat. "I like messy," he says, sounding a little far away. "Do you like messy, sweetheart?"

Your eyes drop to his lips, a little stained from your pie filling. "Yeah," you breathe.

He tugs you towards him before your have time to suck in another breath, attaching himself to you like he's starved. You can't help gasping a little into his mouth as he presses you into him with a hand to your back.

Holy fuck. Surely you'd wake up slumped against the door any second. Maybe someone hadn't just knocked on the door. Someone had opened it and knocked you out and you were dreaming about your pretty, brown eyed neighbour.

He groans a little before taking your lip between his teeth. No. No you were definitely awake. "So sweet," he mumbles as he releases you, his breath ghosting over your wet lips. "Can I have you?"

–

It's hard to keep his head on straight as you look up at him with those big sweet eyes. Can I have you? His stomach rolls as he waits for you to say yes. Please say yes. 6 months of denial and he was desperate.

You'd made that sweet little gift for him. Just for him. His little siren.

Then you're pressing against his chest, forcing him down onto the sofa. He looks up at you, at the stained apron and the hair sticking a little to your temples from the time spent making his pie.

Then you lower yourself to your knees.

Oh, fuck.

Your hands only have to brush his legs for him to get the hint. He spreads them, allowing you to shuffle closer to him – settling between his thighs.

Then you look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He's keeping you. His head drops back as he collects himself. Then, "You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

You nod, fingers pressing lightly into his thighs.

Minutes ago he was fucking himself into his own hand imagining how warm you'd feel around him. Now you're between his legs, lips wet, asking to taste him.

He's careful to keep his eyes on you as he frees himself, intent on catching each and every reaction you make – he's keeping it all.

You're a little hesitant as you reach for him. "You're good, sweetheart," he encourages. "Touch me however you like."

It seems to be all you need. In the next second your soft little hand is wrapping around his length. His head drops back again as his eyes close.

It's a mistake, closing his eyes. He's not prepared when your wet lips press to the tip of him, soft and warm. He groans, hand automatically making a home in your hair. He needs grounding. He needs –

Your lips wrap around him. His little siren was sucking his dick into her sweet little mouth. His hips jump a little. "Oh fuck, that's right. You're all warm for me."

You hum a little around him. Then, you take him deeper. Hot little tongue dancing over his sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he groans. "Take it for me, sweetheart." He resists the urge to spill himself right here, right against your tongue. "Hm? You taking it for me?"

His hips jump again as he fucks himself into your hot mouth, wet and sweet and just for him. You'd wanted his attention. You'd come for him. Just him.

"You mine?" he gasps as he forces his head up to look at you. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

Your lips pull off him slowly, a little suction at his tip sending his head spinning. "Do you want to?" you ask, lips swollen.

He leans forward enough to begin lifting you, encouraging you to climb into his lap. Each hand rests at your hips as you settle yourself there, his leaking cock pressed between you.

"So bad," he answers.

You shift a little in his lap. He imagines you squirming on his cock.

"Me too," you confess. It's quiet, like it's bad.

Sweet siren.

"Sit on me," he instructs. "Want you to bounce on me, sweetheart."

You eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, processing, deciding. Then you shift, reaching up under your dress and tugging your underwear down.

Something in his stomach stirs when he realises you were leaving the rest on, apron and all.

You grasp him in a soft hand, guiding him beneath your clothes – then you sink down. He's transfixed by the little sound that escapes your lips as you take him in. That, and the way your cunt feels squeezing around him. He might have to keep you for fucking ever.

Hot and sweet and wet and better than he'd imagined as he'd fucked himself against his counter minutes earlier. Better than any of the scenarios he'd dreamed up over the months he'd spent thinking of his sweet little neighbour.

You fall into him with a sigh once you're full seated, cock buried deep.

"Doing so well," he says, hand squeezing a little at the back of your neck.

You mumble something into his neck in response. He can't quite make it out, but he swears, it almost sounds like a tiny 'thank you'. He has to keep himself from filling you at the thought of it.

His hands return to your hips. You must take it as a prompt because you lean back from him enough to begin lifting yourself off him and dropping again.

It's slow at first, a little swivel in your hips, grinding yourself down into him.

The apron prevents him from seeing how his cock looks slipping in and out of your little cunt. He hasn't even seen it, that sweet little hole between your legs.

Instead, he feels.

–

It makes sense that a man as pretty as him would have the prettiest cock. One you wanted to taste. One that would have you slippery and ready to take him.

There's this vein that throbs in his neck each time he drops his head back with a groan. His neck. God you want to lean forward and bite into it. But he might not be into that. Next time, you think. Or the time after that.

God you hope there's a next time.

His fingers dig into your hip as you sink all the way down again. It feels a little like he's resisting, holding back.

"Minho?"

His head lifts, eyes a little glassy as he blinks at you. "Hm?"

"You can fuck me," you tell him. "However you want. I want you to fuck me."

He blinks again. His fingers dig into your skin harder.

"Tell me when you wanna stop. Just tell me," he says.

You nod. Then he's leaning forward and tugging you against him. His lips press to your skin just at the crook of your neck.

Then you're falling. He falls over you. Then he lets go. He presses you into the couch cushions as he drives into you, hair falling over his face. He's even pretty like this, with parted lips and brows slightly furrowed.

Your skin slaps together as he fucks himself into you. Messy, he'd said. He liked messy.

That's what he gets as he continutes to drive into you, as you begin to drip around him, as he fucks that wetness into you and over your thighs and then the sounds it all makes.... messy.

"Wanna fill you," he mutters. "God, I wanna fill you so bad. Wanna fuck my cum into your sweet cunt."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he continues, overwhelmed.

"You can take it for me, angel. I know you can. Sweet little thing made just for me. I knew it." He's muttering so much you're hardly sure he even knows what he's saying. His fingers are almost painful as they dig into your skin, like he can't hold onto you hard enough.

"Fill me," you gasp.

He eyes lift from where you join together to lock on your face. "Yeah?" he asks, a slight croakiness breaking his words up a little. "I'll make you all warm and sticky inside, hm? Just like your pretty little pie? That sound nice?"

Oh god. There was something inside you, something made for this – for him. You knew this was going to ruin you forever.

"Please."

He falls over you, then he bites. He bites into you as he floods you full.

blood, sweat & tears x myth

— 10:12 PM

this post contains; smut [threesome—minho + changbin. d/s dynamics—they're kinda hard doms. tears. facefucking. spit-roasting. spit play. cumplay. very light degradation—only once. ear licking?—once. slight exhibition(?)—taking pictures/recording] mention of wearing make-up. 823 words

💌 this is rlly just a filthy little drabble idk what else to say about it. hope someone out there likes it! not edited—forgive me for my sins 🛐

“Take a picture, Changbin,” Minho hisses.

Minho, who's fucking into you from behind, reaches over and hooks his fingers into your mouth; holding your mouth open wide and using the leverage to pull you up slightly. As Changbin walks over to you, phone in hand, you stick out your tongue for him. If it hadn’t been for Minho’s fingers pulling your mouth open, you would have been smiling widely at Changbin, eager and ready to welcome whatever he chooses to give you. 

Changbin smiles at you, bending over slightly to spit onto your tongue. And as his spit drips down your tongue, he snaps a few pictures. 

“Bet you look so fucking slutty. A fucking mess,” Minho grunts out, almost in a whisper. 

He’s right—what a mess you are: there’s spit covering your chin, and the eye makeup you had on runs down your cheeks from the large number of tears you’ve cried. The shirt you’re wearing is pulled down, exposing your breasts and your panties are pulled to the side—material nearly ripping at the stretch as Changbin had been far too impatient; but hey, at least he didn’t rip a hole in your leggings like the last time.

“Stay just like that,” Changbin groans out, hand wrapped tightly around his cock. His phone tossed to the side and completely forgotten about at this point.

Minho's fingers stretch your mouth open wider, allowing for Changbin to slide his cock into it. Changbin holds you by the sides of your head, near your temples, and thrusts his cock completely into your mouth. Nose brushing against him, tickling you as you choke around him. It doesn’t help that Minho is fucking you in the most ruinous way—completely using you, fucking you on and off of his cock, but also meeting you halfway with full thrusts. 

All of that makes you gag around Changbin, feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly nudge against the back of your throat. He slides out of you, slapping his cock on your tongue before sliding back in and burying his length inside your throat once again. Somehow, Minho and Changbin match their thrusts into you; when one pulls out, the other slides back in, not giving you a moment to think properly, not that you would want to, anyway. 

It doesn’t take much for Changbin to cum, relishing in the feeling of your mouth around him. His grunts get louder as he cums, ending in a few soft whines, which cause him to blush a little. He pulls out, hand squeezing the remaining few spurts of cum out of his cock and onto your face. Then, from behind you, Minho takes his fingers out of your mouth—a hand around your throat with the other freely rubbing Changbin’s cum into your face. 

Minho turns your head to the slide, slightly, puckering his lips to spit onto yours, rubbing it all in even more. Changbin plays his part too, of course, continuing to snap a few more pictures of your face and the new mess he helped create. And without being told, Changbin makes his way behind the two of you, clicking record in the process—pictures simply won’t do enough justice.

The scene from behind is just as messy as your face, if not, messier. Minho’s balls, covered and dripping in cum—probably a mixture of yours and a previous load from Changbin—slapping against your cunt as he drives himself into you. Changbin doesn’t care too much about that though, no, he cares more about your dripping cunt and how well you suck Minho in, wishing it was his dick instead. 

And while Changbin records, kneeling to get the best angle, he strokes his cock with his free hand. Squeezing his fist around his throbbing cock and occasionally swiping his thumb over the tip. The scene before him, along with the sound of your moans and the feeling of his hand around his cock are all enough to get him close to coming again. 

Meanwhile, Minho continues fucking into you, pressing soft little kisses against your skin because he knows you like it when he does that. He knows you like it when he’s rough with you, still sparing a few seconds to be soft—and if you deny how much you like it, he just laughs, the way your pussy flutters around him completely told on you. 

And once that fire rises in the pit of your stomach, you refuse to harbor it within you, letting yourself completely unravel around Minho’s cock at the same time Changbin cums into his hand— your moans and exhales of relaxation rival Changbin’s grunts. It doesn’t take long for Minho to slow down his movements, stilling inside of you, continuing to pressing kisses against your shoulder until he reaches your ear. 

“You can cum once more, can’t you?” Minho asks, licking the lobe of your ear.

This will be a long night for the three of you.

© PLANETDREAM 2022

however you want it, lover-lover

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

warnings: 🔞!!!! bang christopher chan’s never-ending shame and embarrassment, angst (? kinda maybe if you squint), masturbation (m!), cunnilingus, rimming (f!rec), unprotected sex, foot stuff (chan puts his foot on ur head when he fucks you in doggy), daddy kink, dirty talk

a/n: eeeeeep surprise! another commission!! thank u again to the sweetheart who commissioned this! the only specifications were about chan putting his foot on your head during doggy & the “step on me” comment, thank you for giving me creative liberty on everything else, i had so much fun with this!! <3

“step on me.” 

it’s the first thing you’ve said in probably thirty minutes. you and chan are busy doing absolutely nothing, both on your phones and relaxing together on your couch on his odd day off. 

“ste- aha! what? jesus, what are you saying?” 

“step on me! look at this tiktok.” 

you hand him your phone, and chan immediately groans and looks up at the ceiling when he lays eyes on the newest tiktok edit you’ve been watching for the past two minutes straight. at least two minutes. he’s going to have this song stuck in his head for the rest of the day thanks to you. 

no diggity. flashes of sweat-slicked abs, slitted eyes, and a sharp jawline that have you kicking your feet and biting your lip next to him. 

“don’t- don’t look at it like that. i don’t look like that,” chan complains. he tugs on his earlobe; the skin is flushed pink. 

“you’re so fucking hot. that part! wait, go back, that part. that- right there. i’m getting horny.” you push into his space on the couch, knees pressed close to his muscular thighs, using your finger to point dramatically at the phone still clasped in chan’s loose grip. he almost shrieks when the clip of him lifting up his shirt rolls around again, an embarrassed grin on his face while he rolls his hips to the beat. “that! oh my god, i love these guys.” you pat his stomach. 

“why are you watching these? this is so embarrassing,” chan mumbles. he lets you snatch your phone from his hand without fuss. 

“edits of my sexy boyfriend? are you joking? i have a whole folder of them, look.” 

you’re not kidding, chan comes to find. you really do have a tiktok folder filled with hundreds of spicy edits of him. you add this one to the folder and hand your phone back to him, curling up beside him tightly with your arms wrapped around one of his so that you can go through them together. 

countless edits later, you can feel the heat radiating off of your tomato-red boyfriend. the last straw doesn’t even come from a particularly scandalous edit, just the song attached to it. 

“oh gosh, not-! not daddy’s home, i can’t handle this!” 

“whaaat?! what! what, come on, that one’s so good! you were so hot in that suit you wore at kcon!” 

chan drops your phone into his lap and fake cries into his palms while you shake his shoulders with your hands, the chorus of daddy’s home still playing ridiculously in the background. 

“you’re so red right now i feel like you’re going to explode or something.” 

you fan him aggressively with your hands, and chan tugs at the thick neck of his hoodie to circulate some air to his equally-as-red chest. 

“i think i could. stays are, um, haha! stays are really, really good at edits. those transitions were kinda crazy.” 

“‘how many letters is bang chan?’” you read, picking your phone back up from his lap and pausing the video to scroll through the comments. “‘we must stay focused brothers.’” 

chan leans into you again and grabs the corner of your phone to angle it towards him so he can read the funny comments with you. he’s cute, embarrassed and sweetly shy from seeing his own body and hard work be made a spectacle of. your man is a pro-idol indeed, the confident lip bites, shirt lifts, and grinding hips come easy to him on stage, but chan off-stage would prefer to curl up in a ball and cover his ears at the mere mention of a compliment. 

“‘step on me, king,’” he reads. “what- what does that even mean? no, i don’t wanna know. you guys are insane!” his lips quirk down, contemplative. you giggle at the way his eyes dart back and forth quickly like he’s really trying to figure out the mystery of someone wanting to be stepped on by him. 

“it’s just, like, an internet thing? people probably don’t even really mean it, it’s like a reflex to say when someone’s super hot. well, no, i lied. people definitely mean it with you.” 

before you can explain your case further, chan grabs you around the shoulders and pulls you to his chest in a rough bear hug. your nose is smushed against his abdomen, and you’d bite down if you knew you’d get anything other than the thick fabric of his hoodie in your mouth. 

“whaddya mean people definitely mean it with me, huh?!” 

you love when he gets like this, playful and silly and uninhibited. cute. his face flushes petal pink at the attention, the compliments and praise make him want to shrivel up, but he wants to hear them from you regardless. he craves it. 

“y’re hot, goober,” comes your muffled reply. chan has mercy on you and lets you up from his grasp, he even smooths out your now frizzy hair. it’s not until your legs are thrown across his lap and you’re nestled into the corner of the couch that he speaks again. 

“did- i mean, did you mean it? like- you’d want me to? step… on you? or something?” 

your comment started off as a little joke, something so completely unserious, but at the same time, it’s not like you have to put much thought into it. you’ve watched porn, you’ve watched hardcore porn when you were in the mood for it, and there’s something in particular that you are mighty keen on trying out in bed with chan as long as he’d be comfortable doing it with you.

“yeah, like. like, wouldn’t it be kinda hot? if you fucked me from behind and put your foot on my head to hold me down?”

chan cocks his head like he’s not expecting you to answer so seriously, blinking rapidly as he takes in what you said. he’s the perfect partner, the perfect lover in bed and out, there’s truly not much you could ask him for that he wouldn’t go out of his way to do, but this might be the exception based on the sour look on his face.

“don’t- don’t make me feel bad! is it weird? maybe it’s kinda weird.” 

“hey! hey hey hey, no, bug. c’mere.” chan tugs on your ankle until you’re curled up next to him again. he wraps a strong arm around you, settling the other one under the tuck of your legs so he can cradle you close. “i didn’t mean to make you feel bad. you know how i am about my feet, yeah? they’re so… flat.” 

he mutters the word flat like it’s a curse, like he’s disgusted with himself. chan nitpicks himself like it’s his job, and he’s the chairman of the company. his nose is too big, his feet are too flat. why is his bum so big and his arms not big enough? he focuses on every single detail of his physical being until they drive him crazy, but you’re helping him work on it, a slow but sure process. what may be small details to you are not small details to chan, it’s important for you to remember. 

“don’t be mean to my channie.” you bonk your forehead against his. “i think it would be hot. just- it’s just another way you can have me, you know? get me on my knees for you and push my head into the mattress when you fuck me, and if i move too much you just put your foot on my head to keep me in place. tell me to be good and take it.” 

you press your legs together at the thought, and chan rubs a gentle hand up your thigh. an even gentler smile graces his pretty lips, he can tell by how squirmy you’re becoming that you’re getting worked up.

“is that what you like about it? that i can keep you in place?” 

that’s only part of it. you don’t want that from just anyone, you want it from chan. chan makes you crave submission in a way you never have before because you trust and love him so wholly. chan takes you to the moon and gives you the stars while you’re there. you tell him all of this, and his fingers make their way between your closed legs.

“let me think on it, yeah?” he whispers. “just let me think about it.”

he can’t stop thinking about it.

he’s already naked, didn’t bother changing into clothes after a quick shower, and his cock is drooling on the thick planes of his abs. 

chan likes being dominant. chan loves being dominant, in fact. there’s something so special about taking you apart and putting you back together again. it’s cathartic to him, and he knows it is for you too, but sometimes the vast clashing of chan’s shameshameshame and wantwantwant is hard to navigate. 

what kind of man is he that fantasizes about debasing you like that? you deserve to be treasured. you’re his queen, he should treat you as such, how could he even think about something like this? 

nevertheless, the thought lingers. 

your hands pinned against your back by his veiny ones. his cock, hot and heavy, drilling into the sweet heat of your precious cunt. you’d be crying, he’s ashamed to think, begging for your daddy to fuck you harder, give you more. 

chan licks his palm. his balls are tight when he fondles them, squeezing the wrinkled skin in a rough hold. he hisses through his teeth when he traces his middle finger a little lower, rubbing slowly at the sensitive skin of his taint just like you do for him. 

“baby, fuck.” his words are whispered, drowned out by the clapping of sweaty skin and your delicious moans that his mind conjured up. a dirty movie just for his viewing. 

he finally takes hold of his cock, knobby fingers curling around the head and soothing downwards to spread precum down his length. chan’s hips raise into his grip at the same time you fuck yourself back on him in his fantasy. 

“my pussy feels so goo-o-od, daddy,” your voice says. it’s frantic, mumbled pathetically due to the fact that your cheek is squished against the mattress. the force of his thrusts shunts your body up towards the headboard, but you’re held in place by chan’s strong grip. 

he slows down, and it pulls a pathetic sob from your lips. chan pulls his cock almost all the way from your cunt before slowly, so slowly, sliding back inside balls deep. you quake when his balls mash tight against your swollen clit, the feeling of his cock so deep inside is so overwhelming that you struggle to get your arms up under you so that you can scramble uselessly up the bed. 

“don’t run, don’t fucking run, take what i give you, yeah?” 

chan manhandles you back by the hips until he’s pressed all the way inside again, and that’s when he swings his leg around. even in his fantasy, he can feel the texture of your pretty hair and the heat radiating from your face. 

the scene in his head makes chan throw an arm over his face while his other hand speeds up on his cock. he’s so wet now that his fist makes a slick noise every time it moves, the tip of his dick a leaky faucet. if anyone were to walk by his door there’s no doubt what he’s getting up to. 

“daddy?!” you cry, gasping. your hands scramble to grip at the sheets. 

“stay still. stay right there, baby, i don’t wanna hurt you,” he grunts. it takes a moment to get his rhythm going again, not used to this position, but he’s a quick learner. he can feel the way you try to nod your head under the weight of his foot, and it’s so sweet the way your breath catches in your throat. 

if he were any meaner he’d press his foot against you rougher, mess up your hair so it tangles and sticks to your teary, ruddy cheek. 

“so good, sweetie, you’re doing so good.”

“so good, sweetie, you’re doing so good,” chan whispers aloud. if he keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the pictures in his head, it’s almost like he can feel the tight grip of your little cunt on his cock instead of his fist. 

“‘m doing so good,” you whimper. “c’n i cum for you, please? please can i cum, daddy? daddydaddydaddy.” your fingers wrap around his ankle and - 

chan cums with a choked groan. his almond eyes flutter open as sticky cum oozes in ropes against his taut, heaving abs. he slows the speed of his fist but continues touching himself until his hips are kicking in overstimulation. 

he lays there for a moment and focuses on the cum cooling onto his abdomen, refusing to acknowledge the dregs of embarrassment yet that are creeping into his relaxed state of mind. did he really just get off to that? did he really just get off to a perverted fantasy about stepping on the love of his life? 

all of a sudden, like the angel you are, your voice cuts through his thoughts. a beacon of light, a lone lighthouse in the fog of his stormy sea. funnily enough, you had mentioned this after a particularly frenzied round of sex, and he’s never forgotten it. 

don’t let your shame get in the way of something you think you might really enjoy. 

you’re almost bouncing in his lap when he finally tells you he’s down to try it. your excitement is palpable, and he can’t help but smile with you. 

the both of you are nearly naked when he tosses you on your bed and climbs on top of you. you can’t help but wriggle, the only thing that’s left on your body is your pants. 

“you gonna be rough with me, channie?” you ask, coy. he doesn’t grace you with an answer, but he does flip you onto your stomach before crawling down the bed and slowly easing your pants down. he stops before he pulls them all the way down your ass, pausing to press heated kisses to the fat of your cheeks. 

“lift up on your knees, baby. yeah, ‘s good,” chan coaxes. with your pants still bunched up under your ass, he helps you situate yourself on your knees. he was expecting for you to rise onto your palms too, but your upper body remains flat against the mattress. your ass is presented to him on a platter. he tugs your pants down further so that they’re stuck around your thighs. 

you sigh at the first touch of his warm tongue to your cunt. he eats you out like he’s ravenous, shaking his head against you to get his tongue deeper while his hands grip your asscheeks to keep you steady. you know he likes to be smothered like this, the meat of your pussy lips bracketing his tongue so you’re all he can taste, all he can smell. 

he left your pants around your thighs for a reason; you can’t spread your legs like you want. you squirm, whining pitifully in your throat while your movements are restricted, and chan just huffs a smug laugh against your sloppy wet pussy. 

chan pulls away for a moment to hook two bony fingers in your clenching hole, kissing your thighs and your asscheeks as he makes his way somewhere else. 

your mouth opens in a silent moan, chin quivering and eyebrows furrowing when chan sucks a wet kiss onto your asshole. 

“o-oh, chan, channie,” you finally moan, and he responds with his own. his fingers fuck you with precision while his tongue circles the furl of your littlest hole until he pulls away to speak. 

“‘s not my name,” he mumbles. his ears heat up. 

“christopher. chris? chris, you’re so good to me.” a whine, pitched high and needy. 

“one more try, baby. you know what my name is, yeah?” 

he curls his two fingers deliciously in your pussy and returns his mouth to your asshole, flicking rapidly and then sucking around the pucker in a messy kiss. his lips smack against you so perfectly that your brain nearly shuts off. 

“da- daddy! daddy, you’re my daddy,” you cry, legs still uselessly fighting against the waist of your pants to try and spread yourself for him. chan grips your wrist and presses it to your lower back when your hand flies back to attempt to spread your ass open. 

“yeah. yeah. that’s right, baby. and i’m- daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” 

he pulls your pants the rest of the way off and you’re presenting yourself again like it’s your favorite thing to do. face down, ass up, ready and waiting for him. chan doesn’t waste anymore time before he mounts you, pressing his hands to the arch of your back and making it bow deeper as he sheaths himself inside your warmth. 

“big- big cock, daddy.” 

“big ‘cause you like it like that.” 

he’s right, your daddy’s dick is big and you love it. 

he waits until you’re relaxing into the sheets to start a cruel pace, leaning over your back to brush his fingers through your hair while he works his hips. his mind is almost blissfully blank, the only voice in his head telling him to fuck you better, fuck you like you deserve, give you what you asked for. 

it almost happens like it did in his fantasy, a particularly deep thrust sends you scrambling up the bed and rubbing frantically at your pulsing clit while he follows behind you. 

“no no no, don’t. stay still, just take it. i’m not done yet, yeah? you’ve gotta- gotta be good and take it.”  

it’s not nearly as smooth as it was in his head, nothing ever is and probably never will be, but he successfully swings his leg around and plants his foot on your head. his hamstring burns, thighs quivering for a moment before he takes a deep breath and thrusts himself fully inside again. 

“ohmygoddaddy,” you wheeze. “oh my god, daddy! oh my god, oh fuck.” he can feel the way your cunt clenches on him frantically. chan stays frozen for a moment, waiting for you to kick at him or whimper out your safeword, but neither come. he feels your pretty hair under the sole of his foot, feels the heat radiating from your sweaty skin. “please, that’s so fucking hot! you’re so fucking hot.” 

your voice is throaty and desperate, and it sends chan into a frenzy. 

chan lifts up on his knee so he can fuck you harder, hovering over your back and planting both hands beside your shoulder. it’s a stretch, but he finds that he likes it. he fucks you like a dog, hips rutting roughly and leg hiked up so he can push your face into the mattress with his foot just like you wanted. 

“such a- hah, haaaah, pretty mess for me,” chan moans. his chest is flushed pink with exertion. he’s used to it flushing pink with embarrassment, but there’s no embarrassment or shame to be found here, not today. “pretty mess on my cock. love you. baby, love you.” 

if he looked down, there’d be a sweet ring of cream around his cock, your pussy so sloppy wet and creamy that you’ve left your mark on him. 

you’re being fucked so hard your head should be bobbing with the movement, but you’re held firmly in place by chan’s foot. you whimper when he adjusts his stance and his heel presses into the plush of your sweat-sticky cheek. 

“daddy, da- daddy. daddy,” you repeat. you just want to say his name. chan can see your face clearly from where he’s hovering above you and slightly to the side. you can barely keep your eyes open, and they’re swimming when you do, gaze loopy and delirious. you’re drooling against the mattress, lips open and plump and squished slightly from the weight of his foot on your precious cheek. 

“what does daddy need to do?” he breathlessly asks. “are you still with me, sweetheart?”

you rush to answer, tongue heavy and words slurring when you tell him that you’re “right here with you, daddy.” 

it takes everything in him not to growl like a damn animal. you’re so fucked out on his cock that he’ll never forget it, so perfect and dirty and darling. he can already feel his heavy balls tightening when they slap against your clit, he’s so ready to feed you full of all his cum, but he has to get you there first. you’re squeezing his cock so tight that he knows it won’t take much more. 

“fuck. fuck, whose hole is this? tell me whose it is.” 

“‘s your hole, daddy. daddy’s hole. just- just yours. do you like it?” you ask him so sweetly he has to giggle, and all you can do is whine. chan’s arms almost give out when your fingers wrap around his ankle and stroke lightly at the skin. 

“baby, i love it. love this pussy, love everything about you, nnnuh, come on. come on, do it. cum for me. daddy’s s-so proud of you, you’re perfect.” 

you almost dislodge him when you cum, shivering so hard in pleasure that your body starts to buck. chan lifts his foot from your head and ignores the ache in his thigh in favor of holding you in his arms while you cum, hips still thrusting so he can help you ride it out. 

“you too, cum in me, please? please, daddy. i want your cum so bad.” your eyes are almost rolling in your head, but you pucker your lips for a kiss and chan’s gone. 

he turns your head so he can lick inside of your mouth. your pulsating pussy still milking him for all he’s worth, he’d be crazy not to give it to you. he cums with a loud groan, so loud that it’s hardly muffled by the smacking of your lips, and he stills inside of you. chan can feel his thigh shaking against the back of yours. 

you’re a little out of it, he can tell. you coo sadly when his softening cock slips out of you as he slowly rolls you onto your back, but your lips quirk up in a loopy smile when he cups your cheeks in his hands to help you focus your gaze on him. 

“my heart. look at me? gosh, you’re so fucking pretty.” 

your lashes flutter, and chan smiles. 

Imagine double penetration with Minho and Changbin.

I feel that this combo would be insane!

The way those two can roll their hips. The control they have with their bodies. The stamina. Oplkfscgukmthk 🥵🥵🥵

See here and here … for evidence (links in ig… trust me you will like)

But even if it’s not double pen though, and they take turns rolling their hips into you and then pulling out so the other can slip inside?

Maybe that’s how it starts??? Minho holds you up, legs wrapped around his waist, digging his fingers into your ass cheeks as Binnie fucks you from behind for a while. His fat cock stretches you out so good, massaging your walls.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You wanna feel Minho now?” He slips out, making you whine at the loss of his thickness inside you, and holds you up so Minho can fuck you. You have to hold onto Lee know’s shoulders for dear life as his hips roll up into you at a delicious angle. Minho gets a little more aggressive than Binnie, but still so composed and in control. “Does kitten want her insides rearranged…hmm?” And then he relentlessly thrusts up into you, hitting untouched parts of you.

You’re such an insatiable slut for them that you need them to fill you up at the same time.

Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks these two make a hot combo 🥵🥵🥵

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha

the bet | seo changbin

Pairing • Best Friend!Changbin x GN!Reader Summary • After a night of tipsy half-joking, half-arguing, Changbin makes a claim that's unequivocally false— if you were sitting on his dick, you would be the first to move. You've never done anything sexual with your best friend, but here you are the next day, sitting on his cock, seeing who would break first. The prize? The winner can post whatever they want on the losers twitter account. Genre • smut WC • 1.7k Content • no pronouns used but reader has a vagina, cock-warming, edging if you squint, unprotected, groping, nipple play, clit stimulation, piv penetration, lots of teasing and taunting from both sides, MDNI 18+

"You sure you want to do this?" Changbin asks. He's lazily sitting on his couch, smirking as if he's already won.

"What, scared you'll lose?"

"As if."

The two of you have poked fun at each other your whole life, but it's never escalated this much. It just started as jokes. Watching a raunchy movie, him saying he was bigger than the male lead, you not believing him, and somehow it ended up with him saying you wouldn't be able to resist it if you saw it. Of course you could, there's no way you'd care about his dick. It's Changbin. You've seen him do too much embarrassing shit your whole life to take him seriously. You could definitely resist his dick if you saw it.

And that's when he said you wouldn't be able to resist it if you felt it.

"This will be a walk in the park. All I have to do is sit there," you say.

At those words, you see a bulge start to grow in his grey sweatpants. Yeah, this will be so easy.

You ignore the pulsing that starts in your core.

"Let's make this a bit more exciting," he says. He's still so cocky. "Whoever moves first, wins. And whoever wins..." he stops for a moment, and his eyes light up when he thinks of a prize, "whoever wins gets to post anything they want on the others twitter account."

"Oh, you're on."

Despite all the talk, you're still nervous to actually start. You've never undressed in front of him before, and the most you've seen of him is his chest at the beach.

He starts first, taking off his sweats and putting them beside him on the couch. You try not to stare, but it's hard not to notice the mound in his crotch. Maybe he wasn't lying about being bigger than that actor after all.

"Are you gonna keep gawking at me, or are you gonna actually do something?" he says.

He can be so irritating when he wants to be.

Finally, you pull down your pants and throw them on the other side of the couch.

He starts taking off his boxers, and you pull down your underwear as well. You're a bit embarrassed to look at his cock directly, but not only is it big, it's thick too. Instead, your eyes dart up to his, but he's not looking at your face.

His eyes are directed at your pussy, drinking up the sight of it.

"Are you gonna keep gawking at me, or are you gonna actually do something?" you say.

He looks back up at you and smirks.

"Come sit down and we can start."

He relaxes into the couch, arms on top of the backrest, waiting for you to make a move. Hesitantly, you climb on top and straddle him, hovering over his lap. He uses one hand to position his dick, and you lower yourself down slowly. He teases you by moving it before it enters you, and it instead rubs your clit. You try again, and he moves it the other way.

"Changbin."

"Sorry, sorry," he laughs, and holds it still. Finally, you lower yourself on his cock, and you feel how hard he is. Looks like that teasing backfired on him, the slightest stimulation from your pussy stiffened him up this much.

Just from the first inch, he was already proving to be difficult.

"Wow, you're already so wet. Were you looking forward to this?"

"Shut up, I can feel your dick throbbing."

You lower yourself more, and you feel his girth stretch you out and fill you up in a way that no one's ever done to you before. It was terrible- you'd never be able to make fun of him for having a small dick again. You felt the pressure of his thickness against your walls as it slid in, slowly moving through you, and eventually you were able to fit his massive cock all the way inside you. When it hits the right bundle of nerves, you let out an involuntary moan.

He raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn't mention it. You think you would die of embarrassment if he did.

He reaches for his pants, takes out the phone in the pocket, and starts scrolling through twitter.

"We never said that was allowed!"

"We never said it wasn't."

If you knew he was going to cheat and use his phone to distract himself from his dick inside you, you would've brought your phone too. But you stupidly left it on the table, and you're forced to look at him laughing at posts you can't see.

You sat there in silence. Minutes pass, and you're trying to think about anything other than the way your best friends cock feels deep inside you, hot and pulsing against your walls. It wasn’t working. You wanted to rub your legs, squirm on his dick, feel any sort of friction from him. You take a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts.

He doesn't look up from his phone when he taunts you.

"Ready to give up? Why don't you bounce on my dick, for your own sake. Get it over with."

It's way too early in the challenge to give up now, but the less reasonable part of you does want to feel him thrusting into you and relieve the tension building up in your core.

It wasn't fair that he got to be on his phone. If he was going to cheat, so were you.

You move your hands to the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up enough to slip your hands underneath. Before he realizes what's happening, you're groping his chest, feeling how solid they were under your fingertips. You move to his nipples, circling them before rubbing them directly.

"What- ugh," he moans, and you tease his nipples more to see his reaction.

"This can't be allowed-" he says, breathing heavier. His dick twitches inside you, and it gives you a minuscule amount of friction.

"We didn't say we couldn't."

"Oh?" He smirks. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, his hands are inside your shirt, pulling up your bra and groping your boobs. He thumbs over your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch before pinching them. You moan louder than the first time, and your hands fall to his waist as you try to steady yourself. The movement of his groping slightly rocks you on his dick, and you feel it pressing against you, rubbing over your sensitive spot.

"Ch-changbin," you moan, "I take it back."

He stops groping you, but leaves his hands cupped over your tits. You're finally able to regain some composure.

"This definitely shouldn't be allowed," you say.

He laughs. "I can agree to that. No more groping."

He gives your boobs one last squeeze, and slides his hands down your torso, making sure to touch you the whole way. His hands rest on your thighs.

"Now," he continues, "bounce on my dick for me. You're getting desperate."

It's true, but you don't want him to know that. You're aching for something to to happen.

"If you want it to be over so badly, why don't you bounce me yourself."

He scoffs.

"I could make you end it now if I wanted, but I'm a nice guy so I'll let you think you have a chance."

"Oh yeah? And how would you do that?"

He stops for a moment, and then you see a mischievous glint in his eye. He looks down to your pussy and smiles.

"Like this."

One hand grabs your waist, and the other moves to your clit. He makes rough circles around it.

This was not good.

You try to force his hands off you, but it's no use. His toned arms stay where they are, and he rubs your sensitive bud with more pressure. You can't help but moan as you bury your head into his shoulder and attempt to keep yourself still, but your body mindlessly rocks into his. You've already lost, but he doesn't stop. In fact, he makes it worse, rolling his hips into you while he keeps his fingers rubbing your clit. Your moans don't stop, and soon he's guiding you up and down on his massive dick. You're bucking wildly on him, getting every last inch of him inside you. Every bounce hits that sweet spot, and you know you're close to your peak.

Then, he moves to lay you down on your back, cock still buried inside you. He's on top of you now, and he lifts your shirt up to feel your boobs as he's pounding into you. He thrusts into you deeper and faster, squeezing your tits, until you're a twitching, moaning mess. You clench your pussy around his cock, and you feel the coil snap.

"I'm cumming," you're barely able to say, and he continues pounding into you as you ride out your high.

He speeds up, chasing his own high. Soon, his hot white liquid fills you up as he collapses on top of you.

You both lay there on the couch, thoughts racing from what just happened. He really just fucked you silly.

Changbin of all people.

And it felt fucking good.

"So..." he finally says, rolling over to your side. "Should I start posting now, or do you want to get cleaned up first?"

You bury your face in your hands.

"Please don't post something that could get me fired."

"What, I can't post 'I got cock drunk on Changbin's massive dick'? Or how about 'Changbin's cock felt so good inside me that I came before he even moved'. I think that's a good one."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"What about 'I've never seen a dick as massive as Changbin's. I want it inside me, thrusting into me-'"

"Stop!"

While that last one may be true, there's no way you'd let him say it out loud.

"Alright, alright. I'll post something so wholesome you're gonna barf."

You sigh. You'll never agree to something like this again.

"So...," he says, "wanna go for round 2?"

His fingers rub lazy circles around your clit, and you feel your core pulsing again. This is going to be a long day.

Lee Know ☆ SKZ Code Ep. 49

Bonus:

(180325) happy anniversary stray kids 🎂

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— in which volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・midnight city by m83・eternity by bang chan・waiting for us by stray kids・value by ado・dreaming by smallpools

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your perfume reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“Ugh, I learned too much about you that day.”

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. It’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at your face at the same time.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good

See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his final paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP

JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kyeyoung Kim «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin

To Director of Athletics Park,

I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his final paper.

It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him.

Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says, Hwang?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.

“No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie, Hwang Hyunjin? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me right now?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he lies. “Graduation stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied to his email within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest. You’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up without putting down his Americano. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I relinquish my rights” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a child, don’t you?”

“Hello—who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.”

The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.

“You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He flicks the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.

“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure a Quizlet was made.”

“Three, actually,” you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.

“I tried! Someone distracted me.”

“Read it before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin’ blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.”

“Sounds about right.”

He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

“Your role model?”

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough for your lips to meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lose your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs that my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”

You think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE AS YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—WE PRESENT TO YOU: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a nightmarish affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. You’re wasting your potential among humans, they’d argue, when it should exist in the heavens. They are the only ones to deserve you. They’re right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still here?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an injured glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your perfume reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game

Christopher,

Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza.

It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki.

Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club.

I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all.

Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you can’t live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

Okay tw, adult content

https://www.tumblr.com/ninthcurse/742991807838912512/thinking-about-legally-mandated-free-use-sluts?source=share

This had me thinking about that with skz

tw for link: freeuse, con-noncon/cnc (is that how you say it?), public sex

NO BECAUSE ANON YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE THAT TROPE ACTUALLY

tw for post below: fem!reader, cockwarming, public sex (implied), pussy play, blowjob/throatfucking, somno (kinda), free-use reader, boob play

not public property but skz property !! going on a road tip and sucking off the members in the back of the van...chan having you cock-warm him while he works on the new album...minho twisting your nipples on a public bus... changbin fucking you after an intense workout because he just has so much energy... hyunjin playing with your pussy while you're scrolling on your phone (hyunjin loves sex when you ignore him idk why I think this)...han humping you in his sleep because he's just so used to fucking you all the time...Felix sucking and licking your boobs gently...seungmin making you give him head no matter where you guys are or who's there...jeongin fucking you in front of his hyung's cuz you almost moan the loudest on his cock

yeah......yeah

no cuz I would love to go into detail about where and how they'd fuck you BUT maybe another time...remind me

♡ favourite minho looks: 10/∞

Nightmares

Genre: 18+, smut, fluff

Cw: ChildhoodBestfriend!Minho x Fem!Reader, nightmares, only one bed, swearing, perv min, masterbation (m), slight voyeurism

Wc: 3.5k

Summary: You thought Minho was having a nightmare, but his mind was focused on you in the middle of the night, out of breath for a completely different reason

AN: SORRY I STARTED MY EXAMS EVERYONE I will try to post every week because I've gotten some wonderful requests so far like this one that I can't wait to write, but I'll be done in two months so I'll be back soon don't even worry 🫵

Minho's childhood was sprinkled with silly nightmares, nothing too scary- but enough to disturb him in the middle of the night when no one else should have been awake. As his best friend, you took on the role of his self-designated guardian, and took the liberty to soothe him back to sleep in your small arms and offer him what solace you could.

During sleepovers, your vigilance transformed into something of a ritual whenever he would start to stir from something in his little mind. Without hesitation you'd rise, ready to comfort him and cuddle him until he fell back to sleep again. You'd tell him that whatever scary thing he was dreaming of was no match for him really, that the two of you would team up to scare it back- and he'd be okay.

There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a silent pact to keep his nightmares a secret between friends. If you weren't spending the night together, Minho would tell the tale to you on your walk to school, just a few feet ahead of your parents as they escorted the two of you to the building. You would give him a hug and move on, ready to delve into whatever game you wanted to play so you didn't gather attention from the adults.

But as the two of you slowly crossed the border from inseparable children to young adults, Minho's nightmares difted right to the very back of his brain, falling low into his subconscious where they couldn't bother him anymore. The frequency of his confessions dwindled down to passing comments about 'one of those dreams again' until he barely mentioned them to you.

With maturity came the realisation that not everything had to be shared between friends, the knowledge that some thoughts could be private thoughts- something that the other half didn't need to know. Secrets blossomed and insecurities arose, and the fact that nightmares were something vulnerable and full of depth spurred Minho not to share them with you like he had before.

While the currents of life carried the two of you through young adulthood, the bond you shared didn't break, the two of you were still almost inseparable- you just went home to your respective beds at the end of the day.

You couldn't help by be winded by the nostalgia of chucking your bags down in the corridor- speeding up to Minho's room to get out your shared Pokémon cards and argue over which of them was the best before climbing into pajamas and clinging to eachother while under the covers grew cold during the night.

"What?" He smiled, closing the gate to his garden- leaving you on the other side. There was a metaphor in there, you were sure of it. "Why are you staring at my house?"

"Just thinking," you hummed to yourself, "I haven't seen your room in a while."

"You can come up and help me pack if you want?"

"Oh as if," you scoffed, scrunching your face at his suggestion.

Minho was a perfectionist, and being a victim of his tyranny was something you'd experienced well enough growing up, you didn't need to be subjected to his exact instructions of how he wanted everything in his bag arranged.

In the midst of planning your triennal trip together, your parents had made a subtle change and gave you and Minho a room together instead of grouping with your parents. The sense of trust was happily welcomed, since the last time you had this trip you were both 16, you roomed with your families and it was getting a little cramped, safe to say.

It was somewhat of a rite of passage, the independence that was given with age, two adult best friends- given their own room like you hadn't been up countless nights thinking of sharing a bed with Minho again.

When the group of you arrived at the hotel, there was a shared semblance of excitement from you and Minho, a buzz of energy that hadn't been present for a long time. The feeling you always used to get before a sleepover, just like all those childhood nights.

He had brought the box of Pokémon cards, but the trip had been delayed because of traffic, and so your usual routine of arguing about the objective best for hours before you went to bed would have to wait until the next night. As it was now 11:36 and you needed to sleep.

"One bed?" You hummed, Minho lugging his excessive amount of bags in behind you.

"One bed," he shrugged back, "they must've done it by habit."

That was true, you never slept on an airbed or anything when you were kids- favouring top and tailing until you were awake to cuddle him back to sleep.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said with a smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed a pillow and blanket, swiftly arranging them on the ground before rifling through his bag for his nightly routine. Minho waddled to the bathroom, carrying a bag of skincare and his toothbrush. The bathroom light flickered slightly when he turned it on and he shot you a weary look.

You snickered quietly to yourself and pulled out your own toothbrush to go and join him. The sound of running water accompanied the brushing of your teeth together, and when you were done- you quickly emerged to get changed while he was busy with his face.

You shedded your body of your clothes and slipped on a large t-shirt before jumping into bed, getting comfortable under the covers. The gentle tug of sleep captured you already, and within seconds of having your face buried in your pillow you could feel your eyelids growing heavy.

The sound of your best friends laugh bounced softly around the walls as he too flopped down into his makeshift bed.

"Are you sure you're okay down there?" You asked quietly.

"I'm okay, just rest."

"Minho?" you said sleepily, raising from the bed to look at him, perched on his phone. His gaze met yours, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hinted at his lack of rest. "Why aren't you asleep?"

The shrill sound of something playing for a second had pulled you out of your slumber.

"Nightmare," Minho replied, his response simple yet weighted. The vulnerability in his admission prompted you to sit up, the comfort of being together insinuating the beginning of that same thing you did as a child.

He looked down, a little guilt playing through his features for not checking the volume on his phone before opening a video.

"Really? I didn't even notice," you admitted, a touch of surprise in your voice. A decade ago, you would have been hyper-aware and attuned to the slightest shifts in Minho's sleep. The realization that you hadn't sensed his nightmares stirred a subtle pang in your heart.

Ten years prior, the shared proximity in the same bed had made you an expert at knowing when he needed you, responding to the rustle of sheets or the soft murmur of distress. It was like the seperation had dulled your senses.

"It's okay, you didn't need to wake up," Minho reassured, the soft glow of his phone illuminating the gentle smile that graced his face. His words were an acknowledgment that the dynamics of your friendship had changed with time.

But it bothered you.

"Come up," you urged, an insistence in your voice.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, you know," Minho giggled. He maneuvered his body to face you, the playful teasing weaving a familiar thread through the air.

"Just come up here," you scoffed, a mock exasperation lacing your words.

He sighed, a sound not of disappointment but the knowledge of your eagerness to help and comfort him. With a fluid motion, Minho climbed to his feet, trudging over to where you had pulled the covers over in a silent invitation.

"Your pillow too," you whisper yelled at him, and he just chuckled, playfully stealing the pillow from underneath your head. "Really?"

"There's one down there if you want it."

His quiet laughter lingered in the air like a familiar melody that you never wanted to forget. You found yourself staring into his big brown eyes, a boyish glint dancing inside them, and it was then that you knew that if all the mischief that was allowed to present in one person had condensed right into someone, then that person was Minho.

"Fine," you declared with feigned indignation.

Without hesitation, you ripped the covers off of yourself, climbing out of the bed and stomping over to where he was laying moments earlier on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Minho's breath hitched silently in his throat, thankfully, because he wasn't sure how he would explain to you that he just couldn't take his eyes off of the curve of your ass as you bent over to collect his pillow from the floor, that the view was pulled directly from his midnight thoughts and it almost stopped him from breathing.

He swallowed down that lump as his gaze lingered on your panties as your shirt pulled across your back. The slither of stomach he saw as you pulled it back down lingered in his mind when his stare drifted down your legs-

"Hey, move over," you playfully shoved Minho's arm and slipped back onto the bed, landing face down.

He could see the dip of your spine as your shirt bunched up underneath you, pulling tight and giving him a view of your silhouette in the dark.

You pulled the covers back over yourself, settling into the bed with a familiar ease despite never having stayed in this hotel before and you knew it was because of Minho's presence.

The man crossed his brows in dissaproval until your foot accidentally brushed up against his leg underneath. A gasp escaped him, quickly covered by a muttered complaint about you being cold- the shakiness in his tone betraying the unexpected touch and the thoughts that brewed in his mind along with it.

With a soft sigh, you found yourself yearning for the simplicity of how things used to be. Beneath the covers, a quiet longing tugged at your heart. You wanted to bridge the gap that had grown between you, to feel the warmth of Minho's embrace as you had done countless times in the past.

The desire to reconnect with that old intimacy hung in the air, a yearning to cuddle him, to have his arms take you in a comforting embrace, and to snuggle together as you did when your hearts were unburdened by the complexities of other emotions and other feelings.

It was no secret to yourself that over the years you had grown real, adult feelings for the man laying just centimetres away from you.

While you lay there yearning for the comforts of the past, Minho found himself tangled in a not so innocent dilemma. The desire to maintain the purity of your friendship wrestled with the need for him to reach out further- latch onto something more. The moonlight peaking through the curtains shone a soft blueish glow on his bitten lip as he grappled with uncharted territories.

Well, uncharted?

No, he had thought about this many times, thought about going further with you- transcending the title of best friends so that he could indulge in every impure thought of you that plagued his mind.

Every want and need for him to explore parts of you he didn't know about yet, parts of your body that he wanted to touch and..

He shifted slightly, the internal conflict of his heart and his mind manifesting in a way that he knew wasn't appropriate when he was sharing a bed with you like this. Like friends.

In the quiet of the room, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Minho. But as you looked at him, his gaze seemed to linger for a beat longer.

"Big spoon?" You mumbled out into the darkness.

He swallowed, that pesky blush creeping up his ears. He was thankful that it was too dark for you to see his adams apple bobbing up and down, and his bottom lip slip underneath his teeth.

He didn't want to risk you feeling.. anything.

"Me? No," he shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips before he rolled over to face the opposite direction. "I want to be the little spoon."

You huffed with a grin and shuffled closer to him, hesitating for a split second before you curled your arms around his chest, resting your head against his pillow- close enough that your nose was nudging against his shoulder.

Minho's body tightened up, the feel of your chest pressed against his back, your breath hitting the nape of his neck making his hairs stand on end, the way you slung your leg over his.. so smooth and.. bare.

He was rethinking being the little spoon, he didn't think he could do it.

"Go back to sleep," you whispered, a gentle reassurance that you would stay as you were.

Feeling the tension in Minho's body, you traced delicate shapes over his skin in an attempt to make him relax, not realizing that the tender gesture was inadvertently making his heart pump faster. The feeling of your fingers dancing over his chest definitely wasn't making him relax.

As every one of your breaths deepened, Minho felt a mixture of relief and uncertainty. Your warmth against his back was comforting, but it was also not doing a thing to help his problem, the closeness amplifying it in fact. He wondered if, without disturbing your sleep, he could gently move you back to your side of the bed so he could get to the bathroom.. get somewhere else.

Carefully, Minho shifted, his movements slow and deliberate, trying to create enough space without waking you. He held his breath.

As he gently maneuvered the two of you to your side of the bed, the subtle rustle of sheets being the only noise beside your breathing, he slowly tried to untangle your hands from around his chest. Some unknown strength resided deep within you, because Minho tugged and pulled as quietly as he could for what seemed like minutes before your grip around him loosened.

He lifted each of your fingers one by one, relishing in his silent victory as he very slowly began to move away until you made a noise akin to a yawn and fixed your arms around him again.

Fuck.

Your small hands travelled down to his waist and wrapped around him like a snake, making his breath hitch and his stomach swirl with how close your hands were getting to his.. problem.

Minho was hard.

He was hard and your hands were inches away, intertwined and resting just below his belly button like you were doing it on purpose.

He sucked in a shaky breath and tried to pull away again, to no avail. He was being a lot gentler this time because he knew what kind of noise would escape his lips if your hands accidentally brushed him and he knew he couldn't wake you up moaning because your fingers had touched his bulge.

Minho couldn't ignore it, but everytime he tried to delicately wiggle away, your grip remained steadfast, tight and tethering him to you like a vice. He groaned, bleeding into a whine as he buried his face in his hands.

Fuck, fuck.

Fine.

He's stuck, and he needed something- some sort of friction, he could be quick, just.. just get it over with so he could just get to sleep. You wouldn't hear him, you didn't hear him awake until his phone went off earlier, so he would be fine right?

Right?

What if you did wake? How would you react? What would you think seeing your best friend fisting his cock right next to you? To the thought of you?

God, the thought plagued his mind like a thick fog- not letting him think straight and understand that this was clearly a terrible idea, carefully pulling down his joggers was a terrible idea.

The transition from childhood best friends to adults had hit him hard, this wasn't the first time he had touched himself to the thought of you- but doing it right here next to you aroused some sort of perverse sense of pleasure deep in his stomach. Thinking of you peacefully unaware of how your best friend wished to fill you to the brim, watch your face contort when he made you cum, when he made you cry.

He wished to see you squirming underneath him, he wished to see those panties again before he bent you over and buried his cock deep in your pussy.

Small hums escaped his mouth as his fingers gently curled around his shaft, tugging up and down and teasing himself- his abdomen tightening everytime his hand brushed yours.

His tip was just inches away from your hand, when he came he'd cover your fingers in his..

Fuck.

A deep groan escaped his throat, accompanied by you stirring in your sleep.

He paused, listening carefully to see if you'd wake- actually catch him in the act. The thought didn't turn him off. Minho held his breath as you moved, a wave of relief flooding through him when you merely sighed and nuzzled against his back.

Unbeknownst to him, your eyes were open, smiling softly as you assumed your presence had brought him out of another nightmare- his jittery movements stopping altogether as you hugged him tighter. His heartbeat was racing and his breathing was shallow, but he seemed okay, so you didn't push it. You'd just sit tight and wait for him to drift off again.

Minho exhaled shakily.

Thinking you were asleep, he continued his movements from before, up and down and up and down- almost desperately tugging at himself with a painfully bitten lip. The thrill of almost waking you, combined with the shared closeness, ignited a fire in his stomach.

Contrary to what you thought, Minho's pulse didn't calm down at all, and a frown creased your forehead as he began to pant, audibly out of breath. You felt for the man, he knew you would never judge him for having a nightmare, especially if it was bothering him this much. Feeling what you thought was distress, you instinctively hugged him tighter in your reassuring embrace.

A small whine of your name fell from his lips.

Oh.

Oh.

The tension hung in the air now, but your best friend didn't stop this time- he didn't know you were awake yet.

Should you tell him? Let him know you know?

Should you tell him you've been awake for a few minutes or just pretend to wake now? Did you even want him to know?

To.. stop?

He whimpered again, the sound broken and small. Quickly, he rushed his hand up to cover his mouth to stifle the sighs and whines that were getting louder- inevitably signalling that he was close.

No, you didn't want him to stop.

God, how could he do this and expect you not to wake up: he was being so loud? Maybe he wanted you to, maybe he was shamelessly getting himself off next to you because he wanted you to hear?

Maybe he was only being 'loud' because you were pressed against his back, the only sounds in the room were his small whimpers and the wet sounds of his fist sliding his precum up and down his cock. Anything from him would sound loud when you were fine-tuned with years of experience.

You wanted to see his face, to tease him about it- honestly the desperate sounds slipping from his lips made you want to join in.

You didn't want him to stop but you wanted him to know.

Know you were listening and feeling his elbow shake and the bed move underneath the two of you, know that all of his noises were pooling somewhere between your legs.

"Fuck." He moaned quietly, the sound muffled by his hand as he leant his head back- almost leaning on your shoulder.

Minho's body twitched against you, and you smiled to yourself before adjusting your hand placement. You may have slipped them under his shirt on purpose, and scratched your nails over his abs on purpose, gotten comfortable with each arm twisted over his chest like a backpack on purpose, but he didn't need to know that.

He let out a broken noise of pleasure, his muscles tightening frantically under your touch until he sighed out: his shoulders relaxing and his breathing steadying.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, once again trying to get out of your grip but you didn't let him. "Come on, I need to.."

Clean up, you assumed.

"Go to sleep, Min," you drawled against his shirt, feeling his entire body freeze.

A mischievous smirk befell your lips as he took in a shaky breath. "You're a-awake?"

You hummed in confirmation, not missing the little squeak of surprise that escaped his throat.

Cute.

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

SORRY SORRY SORRY I TAGGED YOU TWICE I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE FIRST POST KMFAOAOAOA

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pspsps linotuals

he is the blueprint (for @livelocks ♡)