LIVING IN THE RUINS

LIVING IN THE RUINS

minho x fem!reader. 2k words. minors dni. best friends to lovers. soft!minho. angst. fluff. jealousy. emotional hurt/comfort. smut with feelings, in a tent.

“Excuse me?”

You blink at the stranger in front of you. She seems to materialise before your eyes. You’d zoned out again and missed the attention your best friend had clearly been receiving from strangers in the crowded room. “I was wondering if I could get your number?” she asks, eyes fixed on Minho’s. She blinks quickly a few times, her long dark lashes fluttering much like your heart in your chest. 

She hasn’t looked at you once despite your close proximity. You’re so close to the object of her attention in fact, your thigh brushes against Minho’s jeans under the table. 

He shifts beside you, sitting up straighter in the booth. “Oh,” he says, clearly taken off guard as well. “Thank you. I mean that’s — I don’t—” 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks with a small tilt of her head. 

“No,” Minho answers quickly, incapable of lying. His discomfort radiates off him. You’d spent years learning his emotional tells. “I mean—” 

“He’s not into women,” you interrupt, finally drawing her attention to you. She blinks before her eyes drop down to your chest and back to your eyes, like she’s completely taken aback by your presence. It’s impossible, you know that logically. Still, she puts on a good performance. “Sorry,” you add. 

Her lips curve into an unconvincing smile. “No worries,” she says. “The hot ones never are.” 

The whole exchange is as short as it is ordinary. How many tipsy girls work up the courage to ask the pretty man across the bar for his number? You would bet money on it happening multiple times over somewhere across the planet at any given moment. It’s normal. Mundane. Still, you know it’ll chip a little more of your carefully built wall away. A chisel to stone, slow and steady. The only problem is that it’s been chipped at for years. You can feel the fragility of it these days, each chisel etch feels alot like when you’re down to the end of a game of jenga. 

Any move now will cause it to crash and fall. 

She hadn’t considered for a moment you might have been together — not when she’d spotted him across the room, clearly with you — and not when she’d gotten close and blatantly ignored your comfortable proximity to each other. Her question about his relationship status had been an afterthought, a possibility she hadn’t considered until faced with a response other than ‘yes’. She’d been expecting a yes.

The thought that he might be with you, might be attracted to you, was unconsidered. You wonder if she’d discussed it with her friends. ‘No,’ they might have said. ‘There’s no way he’s with her.’

Minho is quiet as the petite brunette turns on her heels and disappears back into the mass of people. His red ears give his embarrassment away. 

You nudge his shoulder, rocking him out of his trance. “Hey,” you prod. “Alright?” 

The smile he offers you is a little lopsided — very Minho. “Always,” he says. 

—

Your annual camping trip is just like the year before. Your small group of friends sets up camp in your usual spot. Everyone climbs into their usual tents. Everyone assumes you and Minho will be sharing, as always. 

You’re not sure why it hurts so much. They assume that nothing would ever happen between you. None of the other girls share a tent with a guy they aren’t dating. You’re the exception. Because Minho would never want you. 

He notices your low mood later that night. The group separates in the dark to play flashlight tag and as you find yourself wandering a secluded patch of the campsite, you know he knows. His attention is on you instead of where he’s walking. You almost scream when he falls into apparent nothingness. 

“I’m fine,” he quickly reassures you, pulling himself up from the ground. “Just dropped my glasses.” 

“God, you scared me.” 

It takes you both at least ten minutes to find them, relying purely on touch alone. It's too dark to see much at all without a light and using your phones would give your position away. 

You’re grateful for the darkness when you reach up and place his frames gently on his face. It hides the heat in your cheeks when you brush chocolate brown hair behind his ears, ensuring you’ve placed them properly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, close enough that his breath warms your lips. 

You’re also grateful just to be near him, you realise. Just to know him. You love him. 

You love him. 

It’s an earth shattering realisation to have while playing flashlight tag in the middle of nowhere. You need to escape. You can’t. You’re sharing a tent with him. 

The situation isn’t helped when later in the night one of the girls with big bright eyes and a gentle smile makes a very clear move on him. You were used to it. People loved him. 

You loved him. 

It’s a stupid thing to cause the wall to finally crumble. It’s humiliating really. But when he laughs at something she whispers in his ear: it happens. 

It falls. 

You’re pathetic without it. 

All you can do is hide from him, escape to the tent and pretend to be so tired you’ve fallen asleep before he can investigate. It’s not something you do. Not with Minho. He knows you so well hiding from him is just as stupid as it is pathetic. He’ll know. 

Still, you can pretend. He won’t know as long as you’re unconscious. You can put it off until morning. 

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. You lie there staring at the canvas of the tent for what feels like hours, the sounds of him tossing and turning continuing for so long you almost give up. 

But then he’s still. His breathing seems to even out. He’s asleep. 

That’s when you let yourself cry. Quietly at first; silent aching sobs. 

What a time for the wall to crumble. You wonder if you have the energy to rebuild. You’ll have to find it. The alternative is letting Minho go entirely, removing him from your life and letting the ruins erode away over a long, long time. 

Not an option. 

“Hey,” Minho’s soft voice calls. Shit. You wipe clumsily at your eyes and sodden cheeks. “Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” he questions as his palm rests gently against your shoulder. 

You should face him. You can’t hide. You know it. 

“No-thing,” you whimper, breath catching between each syllable. It’s that awful breathless kind of sobbing, the type that leaves you unable to inhale fully, let alone speak. 

He rolls you over onto your back. He isn’t rough — but it’s with enough strength you’re completely unable to resist him. 

“What is it?” he says again, tone much more forceful now. He isn’t letting it go. He looks down at you with wide eyes, like he’d never been asleep at all. 

You shake your head. 

His gentle thumbs move to your cheeks to attempt to wipe away the mess you’d left behind. He rests on one arm, leaning over you so he can give each cheek the same treatment. It’s a curious instinct, to wipe away someone's tears — like it has any effect on the person’s pain at all. It’s the best we can often do, you suppose. 

“Just focus on breathing,” he says. “Just breathe.” His hand stays against your cheek, fingers resting on your neck by your ear — featherlight. 

Breathing is easy, in theory. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. His lips part to join you, guide you. His lips are still a little red from his bedtime routine, his tinted vaseline usually lasting him the entire night. 

“That’s it,” he soothes when you finally manage a few steady breaths in a row. “That’s good. You’re okay.” 

They’re simple words of comfort. The kind of thing anyone would say to a person in distress, but they settle something in your chest. You were okay. He was yours in a way that was more than nothing. He cared in a way that felt so genuine it was hard to be dissatisfied with the nature of it at all. 

“Did something happen today?” he asks, still leaning over you. It’s a vulnerable position to be in. It mirrors how you know this conversation will go. Your wall is a crumbled mess. You have no defences against him. 

“Not really.” 

His eyebrows pull together. 

“Nothing worth this,” you clarify. 

“Tell me.” 

“It’s not… It’s embarrassing.” 

His lips curve in a tiny lopsided smile, just a hint of amusement. “Friends are for sharing embarrassing things with. And I’m your friend,” he says. “Aren’t I?” 

You blink quickly a few times, desperate to keep your tears at bay. Then you nod weakly. 

“Why do you look so miserable about it?” he says, tone light and teasing. 

Your lips wobble a little as you struggle with the words attempting to burst forth. They pound and burn and demand to be set free. You lose the battle. “I love you.” 

He blinks, eyes flicking across your face. 

The gates are open now. You’re turned loose. “I love you so much,” you sob. “It hurts. It hurts everyday and it just keeps getting worse and I can’t—” 

His lips cut you off, a warm, heart-stopping, and very much welcome interruption. He’s kissing you. He’s—

“Stop,” he mumbles against your wet, salty lips. “Stop hurting. Please.” His next kiss is unbearably soft, a brush against your upper lip. “Please,” he whispers. 

You nod dumbly.

He rewards you with a collection of gentle kisses across your cheeks, replacing the remnants of your tears with the sticky wetness of his moisturised lips. You imagine the slight red marks he must leave behind. 

He settles over you properly at some point. You’re too distracted by the path of his lips to notice exactly when. But then his arms are by your head, caging you under him in a way that makes you hope for the universe to halt all progression forward. This was enough; everything. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips finally. “I’m… sorry for letting you think I don’t. I’m a coward.” 

“No,” you chastise quickly as you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Don’t say shit like that.” 

“I—” 

“It hurts me… and you told me to stop hurting.” 

His head drops to your neck… then, with a soft press of his lips to your skin, “Then I’ll never do it again.” 

Every move he makes is gentle when the slow, indulgent kisses turn into exploring hands and whispered pleas for more. Each of his whisper-soft words of affection sweeps away a crumbled section of your wall, clearing the space to build something entirely new. He’s warm, so warm as his bare torso rests on yours — as he finally presses inside you and sucks a mark into your neck to join the rest he’s left. “Doesn’t hurt?” he asks, stilling as he fills you completely. 

“No,” you gasp. “No, you’re… it’s—” His lips take the words from your mouth, a little messier than he’s been before. When his hips roll into yours you can’t help grasping at him like he might suddenly get up and leave — fingers tangling in his hair desperately.

“I got you,” he mumbles against your lips, heavy breaths mingling with your own. “I got you…” 

When he eventually spills inside you, flooding you with more of his warmth, you’re crying again. But this time it doesn’t hurt; this time it’s a release. The tears that he kisses from your face afterwards — they wash away the rest of the rubble.

An unimpressed Minbin for @snug-gyu ♡

thinking about being drunk in the back of a car with minho…

tags: drunken decisions!!!!, bsf!lee minho x afab!reader, kissing, making out, spit, fingersss, no actual smut but kind of implied, driver!changbin is fed up

author’s note: not sure if this is considered dubcon due to drunken consent but if you don’t like don’t read!! both characters are functioning and understanding of what’s going on despite drinking, NEVER hook up with someone who is past the point of awareness.

purely fiction, minors dni

you probably shouldn’t have drank as much as you did- if your blurry vision was anything to go by.

as fuzzy as everything around you felt, minho’s beauty suddenly stuck out to you clearer than it ever had before. you never really took in how perfect his features were; his perfectly sculpted nose now scrunched up cutely between two sharp, feline like eyes that currently struggled to maintain focus on changbin, the designated driver of the night, as he attempted to hold a conversation with the tipsy man.

“min,” you eventually whispered. his eyes flickered towards you, to which you finally got to admire his dark orbs under a slight state of intoxication. his eyes were more than alluring; you’d have no problem stare into them forever.

“hmm?” he questioned, his voice low and husky to match the faintness of your own. you didn’t immediately respond, being too busy admiring his features. your attention travelled down to his pink lips: they still looked wet from the drinks he was previously taking down, glistening from the reflection of the moon through the car window. “…what?” he asked again, his voice curious yet playful as his lips turned up in a smirk.

“…nothing,” you reply. “you just look nice.”

‘nice’ is not the word you wanted to use. best friends tell each other they look nice all the time. ‘you look nice’ is the phrase you use to compliment each other before a first date or when dolling yourselves up for a night out.

maybe it’s just because your sex life had been rather dry recently, but what you really wanted to tell him was how hot he was making your body feel. just being next to him and appreciating his features made your face flush with a heavy and sudden lust. minho’s fierce eyes were lidded and faded, yet you still felt intimidated under his gaze. the way he was staring into you, trying to decipher your true intentions, had your thighs shifting together- a small detail that failed to go unnoticed by minho.

“i look nice?” he repeated in a slur. his hand landed on your leg under the guise of holding his balance when the car drove over a small bump. your lower region tingled up at the light touch. “you look nice,” he replied.

“no,” you simply responded, turning your face away from his. he leaned closer, his face following yours. he cocked his head to the side to try and read your face that avoided him so persistently. your cheeks were now visibly red, feeling unbelievably warm from his close proximity.

“no? but you always look nice.” his pretty lips were molded into a pout when you finally faced him again. his body was now extremely close to yours, his leg only a hairs length away from pressing against yours.

you tried to look into his eyes again, you truly did, but his lips look much more enticing in your buzzed state. despite minho’s clouded mind, he was certainly alert to where your lidded eyes settled on his face. you merely whined in response to his compliment, the only form of reply you could manage, before he took your cheek in his palm. “you know you always look good, right?” he practically purred, forcing you to finally make eye contact.

his fingers trailed from your cheek and down to your chin, and now it was his turn to stare at your pretty lips. electricity ran through your body under his intense gaze. your lips subconsciously fell into a pout, presenting them deliciously to minho’s view.

it felt like forever before he finally leaned in with a hum, kissing your lips slowly and tenderly.

the way he kissed you was a contrast to his feisty personality. his lips moved against yours in a steady rhythm, taking his time as if it was the last time he’d ever lay his lips on another human. for how riled up he had you, you weren’t expecting him to pace you like this. his hand that wasn’t resting on your chin rubbed at your thigh, pulling small noises from your mouth that vibrated through the passionate kiss.

you could taste the alcohol lingering on his tongue when he finally welcomed it into your mouth. you took initiative in intensifying the kiss, an unexpected bout of courage leading you to bite down softly on his bottom lip. his eyes opened momentarily, catching yours as you mentally panicked that you may have crossed a line. you didn’t have a lot of time to overthink it, because minho eagerly returned the gesture after a moment’s time, pulling at your bottom lip between his teeth as he groped your thigh with a little more fervor. the man was practically straddling you at this point.

you had to stop yourself from moaning out, nearly forgetting about changbin in the front seat of the car. as if on cue, you heard a loud gasp of your names coming from the front of the car.

“yah! what are y- in my car???” changbin cried as he met your eyes in the rear view mirror. your face flushed and you hid yourself in minho’s neck.

“we’re just kissing, relax!” minho scoffed in response, settling back into his seat.

“i don’t care! it starts as kissing, then kissing turns to fucking in the back of my car!”

in the midst of changbin’s complaints, you watched minho’s fingers lift up to his lips in the corner of your eye. his digits slid past his bow-shaped lips momentarily, returning to your view coated in a thick layer of saliva. your wide eyes followed his slender fingers as they drew closer to your face, your mouth unwillingly gaped open. he tapped two fingers on your bottom lip, an unspoken request that you gladly obeyed.

your lips captured his spit-covered fingertips, little by little taking in the whole length of his digits. your lidded eyes maintained contact with his steady gaze. if it wasn’t for the prominent tent in his pants that twitched at each swirl of your tongue, you wouldn’t think he was phased by your actions at all. it felt messy, you felt like taking everything he would give you, and he was absolutely dominating your mind.

his fingers curled down your throat, triggering a small gag that had changbin whipping his head around and losing control of the car.

“what the f- can you guys NOT?”

to that, minho practically lunged at you, instantaneously replacing his fingers with his mouth and pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips. the kiss sounded as messy as it felt. his tongue danced around yours in a lustful exchange of saliva that drooled down your own chin.

it was over as soon as it started though, or at least it felt like it. minho pulled his whole body away from you and once again sat back in his designated seat under harsh glares from the irritated driver.

changbin sighed out, visibly aggravated at the two of you. “minho if you’re not in the front seat in ten seconds, i’m calling the cops and asking them to pull me over.”

you peeked over at minho who exchanged an amused glance with you. he leaned over to level his lips with your ear. “stay at mine tonight?” he practically purred, his fingers ghosting over your thigh and his breath tickling your neck. you nodded a little too quickly, to which minho smirked and patted your leg. he then stood up and crawled across the body of the car, taking his place next to changbin in the passengers seat and muttering a small “cockblocker” under his breath.

in a clouded state of drunk and horny, you didn’t care much about the sober consequences that the next day would bring. you missed his presence next to you, but you knew he’d make up for it once you were both finally out of this damned car.

⭑ Minho moments that live in my head rent free 58/?? ⭑

¸*˳·˖ৎ୭ good loving changbin x f!reader

summary: out of the 90 odd playlists on changbin's spotify, jisung picks what might be the one playlist that isn't meant to be played in a car with him and chan – changbin and your sex playlist

word count: 2.6k words

author's note: this was originally for something else that has now fallen through, so I might as well post it for you all to enjoy <3 thank you to ems and a certain someone else for reading it first and gassing me up. also can you believe this is my first time writing a standalone for my main man? unbelievable

warnings: unfocused (bricked up) driving; many memories of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it & pee after sex, guys); oral (m&f receiving); breeding kink; blindfolds and sensory deprivation; the tiniest bit of side minsung bc it's me

skzms' masterlist

♫ frank ocean - novacane ♫ doja cat - agora hills ♫ the weeknd - the party & the after-party ♫ plaza - all mine ♫ madeintyo - hunniddolla ♫ partynextdoor - wus good / curious

The last notes of a TigerJK track blast through the car, but before the song even fully ends, Jisung sighs dramatically and rips the USB cable from his phone.

“Okay, I’m officially bored with my music,” he announces with a pointed sigh

Changbin scoffs from the driver’s seat, the sound of the indicator clicking through the air as he makes a right turn.

“Only took you – what? 3 hours?” he teases. Jisung flicks his shoulder with a pout. Chan next to you, who’d been so quiet for the last hour that you thought he was asleep, chuckles quietly and pops one eye open, giving you a look that says ‘here they go again’.

“You said you didn’t mind! I offered to leave the aux to you, and you said I should put the music on!”

Changbin reaches over from where his arm is resting on the middle console and absentmindedly pats Jisung’s arm.

“I’m just teasing you, Sung, I like your music,” he chuckles, but Jisung’s pout doesn’t budge.

“No, no, you know what, let’s put your music on then,” he exclaims pettily and grabs Changbin’s phone from between them. “We have like an hour left, and I wouldn’t want to keep bothering you with my music.”

Changbin’s strong shoulders, the only thing you can see from your seat behind him, a peek of them visible between the back- and headrest of the driver’s seat, rise, and fall in an easy shrug. But despite your limited view of him, you still stare because you’re atrociously down bad for your boyfriend, yes, but also because his thin, black, figure-hugging sweater is ridiculously distracting, especially when you know what it feels like under your fingertips.

“Go ahead, Jisung-ah, just pick whatever.”

His voice is soft, and you know his eyes are equally so, and you wish you could see them. But you’d have to crane your whole body to the left if you wanted to do as much as catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. So you count your losses and let your eyes trail back out the window, watching the highway and the fields beyond pass you by while Jisung quietly scrolls through Changbin’s Spotify.

You’re on the way to the mountains, to Changbin’s family’s cabin in the woods. They usually rented it out as an airbnb, but had offered it to Changbin and his friends for a little fall break getaway, which you had gladly accepted. You’re in the car with Chan, Changbin and Jisung, but the others are also on the way, Felix, Jeongin and Hyunjin in one car, bringing copious amounts of snacks and food, and Seungmin and Minho in the last, and most likely quietest car, bringing what is probably a ridiculous amount of booze.

“You have so many playlists, Changbin-hyung,” Jisung whines, kicking his feet restlessly into the carpet.

“Just pick one that looks good,” Changbin retorts, “we pretty much listen to the same stuff anyways, I don’t know why you’re insisting on using mine.”

Jisung scoffs.

“I will not let you tease me later about me bothering you with my music for four hours,” he pouts, and this time you can’t help but giggle. He must know that he will get teased anyways. “Plus, I wanna find some new stuff to listen to.”

He scrolls for 10 more seconds before he shrugs.

“Okay, fuck it, let’s just do this one, this looks chill.”

He presses play and your body reacts immediately, before your brain can even catch up, heat dripping down your spine and into your abdomen. No, he couldn’t have …

“Which one is that …?” Changbin asks, his voice sounds casual enough to the boys, but not to you, attuned as you are to even the slightest crack in his facade.

Jisung obliviously checks Changbin’s phone again.

“It doesn’t have a title. Just the explosion emoji,” he shrugs and goes back to looking out the window, his head bopping to the music, completely oblivious to what he just did.

Of the 90 odd playlists on Changbin’s Spotify, Jisung had somehow managed to pick your and Changbin’s fucking sex playlist.

Frank Ocean’s voice floats through the car, and you see Changbin’s fingers flex on the steering wheel. You rack your brain for a reason to ask Jisung to change playlists, but the heat coiling between your legs is too addicting, making your head a little fuzzy already. And so neither you nor Changbin say anything as the song nears its end and when the tinny sample of Agora Hills starts playing, it doesn’t even take you by surprise. No, all it does is remind you of a few nights ago, of the same voice greeting you as you walked out of the bathroom wrapped in your towel, Changbin waiting for you, lounging on the bed wearing a tight black t-shirt and a devilish grin on his handsome face.

He’d gotten up and sauntered over to you, ignoring your raised eyebrow, thick arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you so close you could smell the cologne on his skin. He’d pushed you against the wall and kissed you with such eager lips, warm hands slithering over your damp skin, hot tongue licking the stray water droplets off your shoulders before ripping the towel from your body and sinking to his knees. He’d given you your first orgasm right there, against the bedroom wall with your thigh over his shoulder, and the second one on the bed, hands laced with yours as he fucked his tongue into you.

The memory vibrates through your body, and it’s like you can feel his soft fingertips on your skin, can feel his hot breath on your lips, the rumble of his groan against your clit. Arousal already pools deep in your gut when the song changes.

But this one, is even worse, the Weeknd’s voice calm and balmy in your ears and taking you back to a few months ago, a random weekend off for Changbin, when he’d suggested the blindfold for the first time. Said blindfold has become a regular part of your sex life now, but you still remember everything from that first night, the intensity of it all, of every one of Changbin’s touches, of the nerves jittering through your body, of the otherworldly feeling of the orgasm he pulled from you with his fingers, of the wet tears staining the black silk as you begged for him to take it off so you could look at him as you fell apart – the look on his face when he did, the way his thumbs wiped your tears away as he kissed you, forehead’s touching as you fell apart almost at the same time.

Distantly, you can hear Jisung ask Changbin about the cabin, the rooms, where the nearest supermarket is, but you can’t find it in yourself to focus. Chan next to you, thankfully, still has his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest that’s rising and falling gently.

For a second, you wonder if Changbin knows. If the edge to his voice is real, or if it’s all in your head. But then a muscle in his neck jumps when the song changes, and you know he knows, know he feels it, too.

Your pussy throbs when the bass drum of the next song hits, the smell of your laundry detergent wafting off your clothes only serving to drive you a little more insane, intensifying the memory of your face buried into the freshly washed duvet of the foot end of the bed, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air through your open, drooling mouth, on the night Changbin had fucked you raw for the first time. When you slightly shift in your seat you have to bite back a moan, your pussy so sensitive, your whole body floating somewhere on the edge of reality where you can feel the memory of Changbin’s nails digging into the skin of your hips, of his plush pink lips dragging wetly against the shell of your ear as he gasped strings of praises into your ear before he filled you up, so hot and sticky and perfect and addicting.

You lift your hand with no involvement of your brain, burning with the need to establish some kind of grounding contact with the love of your life in the front seat before you lose your goddamn mind.

Changbin nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels your fingers tracing the swell of his tense muscles, and his vision blurs for a moment when your fingernails drag down his skin. He doesn’t know if this is better or worse because the feeling of finally being able to feel you, instead of having to contend with the dull ache of knowing you’re behind him with no chance to even see you, makes him a little bit dizzy.

He’s rock fucking hard and weeping into his boxers, has been since the first notes of Jisung’s ill-fated pick rung through the car, and he thanks whatever fucking deity gave him the idea of wearing jeans today because if he was wearing sweats, there is no way Jisung wouldn’t have caught on. But instead, all Jisung does is babble on and on about the week, about whether there might be some early snow, about who he should room with, about how he had always wanted to try chopping wood, though he wonders if he’ll be strong enough to do it.

And Changbin truly tries his best to make all the appropriate noises, say all the right things and focus on the road at the same time, though that is so, so hard when the song that’s playing now was the one reverberating through the walls of the bathroom of a club he doesn’t remember the name of while you were on your knees, skirt flaring over your soft thighs, your eyes so big and watery and pretty as you took his cock down your throat.

It’s torture, the way he can still feel your nails digging into his thighs, the music throbbing through the wall and into his spine, the way he feels the phantom of your throat constricting around his cock.

“He wouldn’t, right?” Jisung says through the horny fog in Changbin’s brain, and Changbin has to blink a few times before he can reply.

“No, Minho would never pick Seungmin over you,” he says dutifully, but all he can focus on is the memory of the tears dripping down your glittered cheeks, the lipstick smeared around the base of his cock.

He casts a glance at Google Maps and the indicator that there are only 13 minutes left would be a relief, but that’s almost 4 more songs, and he knows which one’s next because it’s the one you don’t always get to, the one you only still get to hear when it’s 3am and his whole body is folded over you, your sweet gasps and whines and slick sounds filling the room, as he fucks his release back into you, filthy and hot and wet. It’s usually at this point that his brain to mouth filter has melted away, and he starts slurring his words when he tells you he wants to marry you, wants to put a baby or five in you and raise them and grow old together. And it’s always bittersweet because at this point, with you whimpering, promising you’re his, his orgasm racks through him dry, no more cum left to fill you up with.

His cock twitches and he has to stop himself from grimacing when a thick stream of pre-cum leaks into his boxers.

Are you as affected as he is? It kills him, the fact that he can’t even see you, the only thing he can see in his rearview mirror, apart from the road, is a sleeping Chan. He wonders how you’re doing, if your body is on fire like his, if you’re squirming in your seat trying to get friction, if you’re wet in your …

He has to actively stop himself because if he thinks about your pretty, creamy little pussy now he might actually cum untouched. Oh, but he wonders, wonders if you’ve been turned on for long enough that it does the maddening, hot throb it sometimes does. Wonders if you’ll cum quickly when he’s finally buried in you, squeezing around him so hard he sees stars as he fucks you through it and towards your second …

“Wow!” Jisung exclaims, and Changbin nearly swerves straight into a tree. Wait, a tree?

When he blinks back into focus he realises they’re rolling up to the cabin, his cabin, a silver car parked in front of it, Minho waving to them with one gloved hand before he goes back to unloading beer.

“Ha, I knew we wouldn’t be last. Hyunjin’s on dish duty tonight, just like I told him he would.”

Jisung jumps out of his seat as soon as Changbin kills the motor, already skipping down the drive and yelling about dishes and a bet to Minho. Chan yawns behind him.

“Thanks for driving, man,” he mumbles, slapping a hand on Changbin’s shoulder, and Changbin forces himself to give him a smile. He wonders if his face is as hot as it feels.

When Chan throws the car door shut behind him, Changbin finally dares to throw a discreet look down.

Oh, he’s definitely hard, and he has no idea how Jisung didn’t notice because it is … obvious. No wet spot, thankfully, even though his boxers are sticky with his pre-cum, but his cock, right there, hard and pulsing and straining against the zipper. Straining so hard, as a matter of fact, that he has to bite back a hiss as he climbs out of the car.

But then the back door of the car opens and you get out. Changbin’s cock kicks valiantly, heart squeezing in his chest when he finally lays eyes on you because you’re … you’re you, always like straight out of his best wet dreams, but god, he loves you like this, legs deliciously shaky, chest rising and falling rapidly, burning hot blush on your pretty face.

The look in your eyes is nothing short of feral, all blown pupils and eyelids heavy with arousal, the last remnants of his reason fly out the window. He swallows and chuckles drily, gaze not budging from yours as he slowly reaches out his hand and drags you closer, until your bodies are pressed together. The proximity, your hot breath against his face, he wants to eat you whole. He blinks down at you slowly.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”

“Then we better hurry,” you say and Changbin leans down, winding one arm around your waist, using the other to swoop you up into his arms, before carrying you into the house, past Minho and Jisung and Chan without so much as a hello, and kicks the door of the first bedroom he finds shut behind him.

Minho blinks after you stupidly and gives Jisung a look.

“What’s gotten into them?” he asks incredulously. Jisung grins, but his cheeks are a fiery red.

“I’m pretty sure I accidentally put on their sex playlist in the car.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up and Chan chokes on air.

“Jisung!” he scolds, but Jisung just giggles giddily.

“In my defence, I didn’t notice until like 4 songs in when I saw Changbin bricked up and clutching the steering wheel for dear life.”

Minho smirks at him, and Jisung blushes even deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” Seungmin suddenly yells behind them, and they turn to see him hurrying out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him, “didn’t they arrive like literally 2 minutes ago, how are they already fucking?!”

Chan groans, running an exasperated hand down his face. Minho is still staring at Jisung, dark eyes watching him as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“It was a good playlist.”

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

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