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pov: you're in the jacuzzi with jungkook ♡

he looks like the main character from some romantic winter movie ❄️

jisung smut audio

oh my god, i keep forgetting to post here,,, anyways here's 4/8 of a werewolf au i'm cooking up:) !!

minsung smut audio

minho has to punish his jisungie after he was being a brat

Screen Identity: Mismatched Passion

— contains adult content, minors do not interact 🔞 —

[ abstract ]: After a rough break up during semester break, you’re put in a class with none other than your longtime academic rival Han Jisung once university starts again. Things don’t get any easier considering he’s your older brother’s best friend and destiny decides to assign you two to a partner project. Luckily, you can distract yourself a little by chatting with the mysterious guy you met online a couple of months ago, getting closer both emotionally and physically with him, absolutely unaware he might be nearer than you would expect…

[ parts ]: EP. 1 — PAPILIO ULYSSES [ coming soon ]

[ general ]: jisung + fem reader, gamer + stoner jisung, gamer reader, academic rivals/enemies → lovers, brother’s best friend, minho is reader’s slightly older brother, college au, smut + angst + fluff, accidental online dating, inexperienced jisung + inexperienced reader [ real life ] vs simp jisung + brat reader [ online ] so they act a lot differently while chatting

[ warning ]: explicit sexual scenes [ will be individually specified for each chapter ], consumption of alcohol and weed, [ I might add more during the writing process and pls always make sure to read the chapters’ individual warnings and remember you’re responsible for your own media consumption ]

[ words ]: ?/?

[ note ]: a huge thank you @palindrome969 for helping me figure out the title and everyone else who suggested ideas! this is the long awaited and promised spin off series to The Experience Project [ minho x a different reader than this one ] so it might include the tiniest spoilers but nothing huge! make sure to check out the original story too. Tag list is open. if you wish to be added in order to engage meaningfully with this little story just let me know! If you asked me before under some other post please comment here again, I couldn’t keep track of all wishes to be tagged since I didn’t have a list at this point. I hope you will like this story 🩷

© leeknowsallyoursecrets 2024 — copying, stealing or translating my work is prohibited

jisung smut audio

nj: we can’t play tag because of jungkook jk: why?? 🥺 why can’t we play it because of me? 🥺🥺

HAN ☆ DON'T SAY 5-STAR DOME TOUR (230903)

IM NOT CRYING YOU ARE

(The jisung friendship in this is EVERYTHING to me, I’m crying literal tears here I NEED THEM TO REUNITE BY THE END OF THIS IM SO SERIOUS)

(Also, holy shit, Felix and the belt. I am in HEAVEN)

part viii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ;

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 13,800 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics and abuse history. reader is harassed at a bar by a handsy man. some fighting. unprotected sex. BDSM dynamics (dom!felix/sub!reader, sadism, masochism, rope bondage, spanking, belting, fear kink).

-

You sleep through most of the afternoon, waking in that bleary, purple hour where evening is unexpectedly creeping into the day.   Felix is not in the room, though the evidence of your lovemaking remains in the mess of your shared bed.  There is also a tender ache between your thighs but it does not register as pain, or at least not as bad.   It is proof of pleasure. 

You touch yourself there, still sleepy but still wanting. 

You listen for Felix.  He is talking in the other room, on the phone with your father.  You slip out of bed and dig around for a shirt, because you don’t want to distract Felix too bad while he is reporting. 

A conversation with your father will no doubt cool him down, more effective than a douse of ice water, but you will not abandon him to that cold.  Never again. 

You wait in the corridor, listening as he mentions your missed class but lying about you having a stomach flu.  He claims he made you rest because you have an important exam in a few days.   He also claims you argued with him, which is convincingly in character for you, but naturally he won this supposed argument so your father has ‘nothing to worry about’. 

You grin, biting your bottom lip, as tender from loving as the rest of you.   

Felix ends the call.  After a moment, he sighs and says, “I know you’re there.” 

You turn the corner.  Felix is sitting in the middle of the couch, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.  His hair is partially pulled back, a lazy half-bun with the rest in a messy sweep around his neck.  The collar of the shirt does not hide the love bite on his throat, twin to your own. 

Despite his frown, he is sitting with his legs apart, and light sweatpants do very little for hiding anything inside them.   He clears his throat but doesn’t close his legs, just cocks an eyebrow when you meet his gaze.    

You blink oh-so innocently.

“You made me sound like such a good girl,” you say.  “Even I almost believed it.” 

You can see the amusement tugging at his lips.  He pushes his tongue into his cheek. 

“Mmm…” His low voice comes softly.  “But you are a good girl.  When you want to be.”

“When I’m made to be, you mean,” you say. 

You hold his gaze as you approach.  He plays the professional, watching you with a detachment that contradicts the thickening bulge in his sweats.   Your desire is even more obvious, in your eyes and face and the sway of your body. 

You put your hands on his knees and bend over, the collar of your shirt swooping low.  Still, he looks into your eyes and no where else.   A conversation happens there, beneath the surface of your words.  You have often read each other like a book. 

Come with me, you say, and though he does not move, though his body and eyes are rooted, he lets a little fondness run through the fissures of his usual mask.  He finally looks at your lips. 

“Do you tell them?” you ask.  You get down on your knees, face at level with his open thighs.  “When they ask how you get me to behave, how you seem to do it so easily when so many tried and failed…”      

He says your name, darkly coloured with promise.  You both know where this is leading. 

It is not just about the kneeling or the pouting, but that this is you, who has never willingly knelt for even the most dangerous of men.  And when you rest your head on his knee, you are thinking about that, about how it is only for him, exactly as he is.   How he knows every possible way his body could be used to hurt someone.  How he runs a gentle hand across your hair. 

“Sweetheart,” he says.

“Do you tell them how you win our arguments?”  you ask, flicking your gaze from between his legs to his face.  “Or do you leave out the part where you shut me up with your dick in my mouth?” 

His hand drifts down your face and he holds your chin, lifts your head.  He furrows his brow as if he, too, is completely innocent. 

“Shut you up?” he asks.  He presses two fingers at your lips in a patient request.  You open your mouth and take him to the knuckle.  “That doesn’t sound right.”  He lets you tease him, lets you swirl your tongue around his fingers.  He looks at those fingers as he slides them out between your lips and back in again.  “You weren’t quiet this afternoon,” he says.  “Mmm, the opposite even, I think, don’t you?” 

You give him your best glare, to which he laughs, a little huff of amusement. 

“You can hate me,” he says, “if it makes you feel better.” 

He stands and takes his fingers with him, so you chase him with pursed lips.  Your breath catches when he grabs the back of your neck, stopping your pursuit, holding you firmly, safely. 

He smiles down at you with that too-sweet, too-innocent smile.  His other hand unties the band of his sweats. 

You swallow.  Your heart is thumping, an excited and pleasurable thrum you feel right down to the core of you.   You blink up at him as the waistband comes loose so he can roll the material down, his dick hard and springing up, his hand as firm on the back of your neck. 

You smile. 

“Make me,” you say. 

He smiles back. 

“Don’t have to,” he says.  “You’ll do what I say.  Now come on.  Be a good girl and open your mouth.”

He is right, that it takes nothing more than that.  You want him too badly to even pretend to refuse, your lips parting in an open kiss that welcomes him to enjoy you as much as you are enjoying yourself. 

Though he plays along, Felix is naturally restrained.  Even when assuming the semblance of total control, he holds himself in a type of bondage, his body tense and breath ragged. 

You make a showy mess of your wet mouth and stick out your tongue. 

“Is that it?” you ask.  “I don’t think you would any arguments like that—”

He laughs and shakes his head.  He hesitates only a moment before taking your face in his hands and fucking himself back into your open mouth.  

It gets you hot and wet, how he hands himself over to you, how he trusts you with the pleasure he is always so reluctant to accept.   You give it to him and more, until your jaw is sore and your face is wet with tears. 

He touches you there, looking down at you with the sort of reverence that usually comes from the person kneeling.  He cups your face and tilts it up, looking at you affectionately even while stroking his dick right beside your cheek. 

You glance there out of the corner of your eye, then bat your eyelashes up at him. 

“I hate you,” you say, and it makes him come in a streak on your wet cheek. 

It is stupidly hot, but Felix being Felix apologizes anyway. 

When he reaches for you, you lean away.  His gaze is wary, watching as you swipe a finger over your cheek then lick that finger clean.  There is very little evidence left on your face, but you gather what remains and put your fingers back in your mouth, giggling as he huffs but surrenders to a smile.   He reaches again but you dodge his hand. 

You wonder if he is also remembering your first night together: how he chased you to stop you from petulantly shoving things in your mouth, how you were the hot-tempered girl you are pretending to be now, how he was the dutiful soldier already in over his head because of that girl. 

You think he does remember, because you understand each other with one glance. 

You run and he chases you.   He vaults the couch and sweeps you into his arms before you can get too far. 

When Felix truly applies himself, you stand no chance of escaping, so every little squirm and wiggle is something he grants you.   

Right now, he concedes no ground.  He locks you in his arms, your back to his front, and marches you right up to the window.  

It is a mirror on the outside and, even if it was not, you are too high up for anyone to see anything but a spec in the glass.  Still, there is a thrilling moment when you feel like you are standing on top of the whole city, where everyone can see you, where they can see him, his hand slipping under your shirt as you plant your palms on the glass. 

“That’s it,” he says, nudging your feet apart with a little kick. 

Your breath is already fogging the glass by the time he touches you.  He makes an even more guttural sound than you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he rubs his fingers through all that wet desire. 

His hair is more dishevelled now, wisps falling from the knot.  You unravel just as quickly, quicker even, riding the rhythm he sets with his hand. 

His arm is around your neck, cradling you close, and his other hand is inside you.  You press against him and come to the soft sound he makes, to his breath hitting your neck, to everything intimate between you. 

His touch gentles but not stop.  You realize he does not intend to stop, that he is slowly working you towards another orgasm.  You whimper and wriggle in his grip, but you also push desperately onto his hand. 

He shushes you soothingly, his arm holding you steady when your knees start to tremble.  He eases you both down, on your knees, never ceasing his touching. 

You come even harder the second time, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. 

He kisses your face then slows down and finally stops his touching.  He cups his hand over your pussy with a sort of possessiveness.  Then he sighs with satisfaction, his breath waking goosebumps along your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, a soft murmur. 

It is only for you, a secret whisper spoken right into your ear.  You look down at the city beneath you, sprawling as far as the eye can see, all the way to the where to the last rays of sunlight peek over the horizon.  An entire world. 

You touch a hand to the glass.  He kisses your neck and your eyes close.  You imagine falling into that big open world, secure in his protective hold. 

You let yourself relax in his arms.  You release a breath you did not realize you had been holding.

-

The next few semesters pass in a blur of similar dreams and desires.  It is just you and Felix in the middle of everything, in and out of a dangerous world, escaping to a haven of your own design.  

You do not know where the times goes, but weeks turn to months.  Semesters come and go. Another graduation looms on the not-so-distant horizon.  Somehow, you feel as ill-equipped for the world as you did when you were a teenager.   

So much has changed and so much has stayed the same.  When it is just you and Felix in that apartment, you feel free to safely exist.  You lives are mired in trouble and trauma but you grow comfortably into your weird, grown-up selves.  You might even say you are happy to be who you are, appreciating the good days because of the bad ones.  

But beyond graduation is the looming threat of a permanent return to your father’s house and the life he has planned for you. 

You are spending the weekend there, in your old bedroom, because of a few events your father wants you to attend.  After just one day in his house, you revert to all your anxious teenage habits.  It worries Felix when you withdraw like that, when you get snippy and cold, though he knows you well enough to understand.  

You look at him now, on the opposite side of this huge bed, far away because you are not alone in this house.  The space feels bigger than you remember.  Terror forms its usual death grip on your heart.  You wonder how you were ever so reckless with your safety, with his safety.  Felix is the bodyguard but you would do anything to keep him safe. 

You slide a little closer, then a little more.  The cadence of his breathing changes as he wakes, always a light sleeper, though he does not open his eyes.  

You brush some hair off his face.  He leans into your touch and you smile despite everything.  You stroke his cheek and feel your sorrows melt with his soft exhale.   

“Rest,” he says in a deep voice rough with sleep.

You continue to stroke your thumb over his cheek, just looking at his face.  His roots are getting dark again and his freckles are more pronounced in the blue dark of this bedroom.   You admire his profile, the slope of his nose, his lips, and you find yourself overcome with affection and desire. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, catching your hand when it slides down his neck.  “Not now.” 

His admonition makes sense.  You have only been here a day.  You will be back in the apartment in a few more.   An apartment with privacy and protection, where you can touch each other without any consequences.  There is no reason to put yourselves in jeopardy here, tonight. 

Maybe you do remember how and why you were so reckless as a child, stealing back whatever parts of your life you could, whenever you could, however you could.  You should be allowed to touch who you want when you want.  You should be allowed to live in your own body. 

You want to feel alive, and you feel most alive when you act in defiance of all the rules that would restrain you, when you face down danger in your path and steal back your heart from that death grip. 

“Felix,” you say.  Then, in a softer hush, you whisper, “Baby.” 

It catches his breath as it always does, such a simple endearment, so common, like he is just a boy and you’re just his girl.  You are certain if you slide your hand lower, you will find him already getting hard just from hearing it. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

“This is crazy,” he whispers, eyes still closed, tightly now, like he can make the rest of the world disappear by not looking at it. 

“I’ve always been crazy,” you say.  “You like me anyway.” 

He finally opens his eyes.  He looks at you and your heart skips beats, and you wonder if that gaze will ever cease to make your heart race this way.  Years and years and years of sharing this bed, and you still feel warm and dreamy when he strokes the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. 

“Hmm, doesn’t matter how I feel, yeah?” he says.  “You hate me no matter what.” 

His tone is light and teasing.  It is your usual innuendo.  The game you always play. 

You do not want to play any games tonight.  Tears prickle in your eyes as you look at him, as those words cross his lips.  You want so badly to say what you really mean, but your emotion gets the best of you and the words never cross your lips. 

His brow furrows when he realizes you are struggling with something.  He touches your face, turning it towards him to look at you more closely.  A tear slips down your cheek and he wipes it away. 

“Felix,” you say.  You shake your head.  You clasp his hand to your cheek.  “Make love to me.” 

You cannot help but laugh at the look on his face.  Very little surprises him, a consummate professional in all appearances, and he is good at absorbing his own shock and moving on.  But he looks physically stunned, eyes wide and mouth open, words caught in a cluster on his tongue. 

When you laugh, it snaps him out of his daze.  His face softens, expression fond if not a little morose. 

“This is, uhh…” He clears his throat, shakes his head.  “Stupid.” 

“I don’t care,” you say.

It is the truth.  You are suddenly completely apathetic to everything beyond the bedroom door.  You don’t care if they catch you.  You don’t care if they hurt you.  You don’t even care if they kill you.  That dark thought has you reaching desperately for the only source of light and life in the room. 

You wrap your arms around Felix.  You hold his shoulders and kiss his face, lining your body up against his.  When you kiss below his jaw, he makes a soft sound of surrender.   His hand slides up the back of your shirt, rests between your shoulder blades and holds you, firmly, as he looks at you then kisses you. 

Your eyes close and you kiss him back.  They stay closed, even when the kiss deepens, when he licks into your mouth, when he catches your sigh with a bruising press of his lips.  You let yourself fall into the sublime haze of desire, not looking but feeling. 

He puts you on your back and holds himself above you.  You are already breathing hard.  You tug on his shirt so he leans back and whips it off.  Then you are touching his bare shoulder, his back, dragging your nails down his backside and feeling him shiver against you. 

His open mouth is hot against your throat, wet on your chest through your shirt, then under it.   You tug it off and over your head, leaving it spilled on the pillow beside you, then your arms are around him and your legs are spreading to fit his hips.  You are both fumbling with the last of your clothes when he gasps against your throat and mumbles something like, “We don’t have—we can’t—”   

Some distant, logical part of your brain knows he means protection.  After the first coming together, you’ve been careful in all your intimate moments.  But sense and logic are far from your mind right now. 

Once you are both completely naked and free, you wrap around him and pull him to you.  He comes to you with another surrendering sigh. 

Your eyes have been closed for so long, and the physical sensations have been so strong, that you very literally see stars when he is finally inside you.   

He instinctively covers your mouth when you make too loud a sound.  You grab that hand and lace your fingers, then rest it beside your head.  He covers your mouth with his, gathering your other hand so both are pushed into the mattress on either side of your head.   He is so close, his whole body pressed to yours, that you think he must be deeper inside you than ever before. 

His hips roll against yours with a slow sensuality, one sometimes lacking in your more desperate couplings.  It all feels so good that you genuinely believe you could die happy if you died right now. 

He makes another soft noise that sounds like a question.  You answer with a gentle moan of your own, a squeeze of your fingers between his, and a clenching between your thighs that has his whole hard body going soft and tender in seconds.  He comes inside you and maybe that should wake you up and cause alarm, but it doesn’t.  The room just gets quieter, your heart thumping against his all the while.  He holds himself above you for a few breathless seconds then lets go. 

You hold him against you, hands separating so you can slide them along his arms and up into his hair.  His face rests in the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

Maybe you should feel more concern for your circumstance.  But you are not really worried. 

Tomorrow, you will attend another party, you will smile, you will dance with someone your father pushes your way.  

A few days later, you will convince your father to let you take birth control, claiming it is to manage your irregular and too-heavy period flows.  He will be as immature as ever and quickly agree, anything to end a conversation he finds too awkward to navigate. 

You and Felix will go back to your apartment.  You will study for tests and drink coffee and write essays.   You will count the days to graduation.

Right now, you laugh.  It is soft and carefree.  It catches when he slides out of you, but it returns when he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow.  But his regard is a tender one.  You stroke his face and he kisses your palm, then he swoops down and kisses your nose and cheeks and just under your chin. 

I’m alive, you think.  In your father’s house, disobeying all his rules.   He has tried so hard to kill you, to break you down into pieces that he can rebuild, the way he does with any malfunctioning piece of industry tech.  And he has failed.  Despite his best efforts, despite his money and power and influence over what seems like the whole world, you are alive. 

You concede that maybe with your problems and imperfections, there is not much more to boast, but being alive is all that matters. 

Felix kisses you.  You think about the childish fairy tales that your father and grandfather ensured never took root in your mind.    If you were like them, you would not believe in magic kisses or true love or saving grace.

You kiss Felix back. 

-

“Can you ride a motorcycle?” you ask.

Felix, who is concentrating so you do not fall off your bicycle, briefly flicks his gaze up to you.  You lose your balance and swerve, but he is quick to catch the handlebar and steer you straight.  His hands hover around you as he walks alongside where you peddle. 

“I can do anything,” he says but absently, too focussed on watching you. 

You snort and your amusement almost derails you again.  You correct your wobble with a little jerk of the handles. 

“Cocky,” you say.  “I’ll have to see it to believe it.” 

Felix laughs.  He holds the handle and guides you around a corner in the path.   

“Maybe I should learn to ride a motorcycle,” you say with absolutely no sincerity.  “I’m sure my father would loooove that, don’t you think?” 

Felix levels you with a predictably dry regard.  You giggle maniacally which causes you to swerve again.    

He steers you forward with a quick yank.  He cannot help but smile at your cheesy grin.

“How about you learn to ride a regular bike first, hmm?” he says. 

“It’s not my fault,” you say, wobbling again.  “It’s the wind.”

“Mhm.” 

“It is!”

It is a rather blustery day, all grey skies and swift winds.  Felix almost lost his favourite beanie, so now it is yanked tight and low over his head so you can hardly see a wisp of hair.  You are similarly bundled in a hoodie, the strings drawn comically tight around your face so it would stop blowing off.  Felix keeps snickering when he looks at you, but it just makes you giggle back at him. 

The university has bicycles for rent to cross campus.  Though you usually walk, today you thought it would be fun to try, even if you did immediately disprove the old adage about memory and bike riding.  

You have not ridden a bike since childhood.   You were not allowed to use it outside because your father was concerned the wheels would carry you away too quickly, that something could happen before your nanny and guards caught up.  You were only allowed to ride your bike in the gym, which got very boring very fast, so you never bothered with it.  The only other time you sat on a bike was the few times you sat on the handlebars when Jisung rode his bike around. 

The memory comes so suddenly, a snapshot of a moment you did realize you remembered so vividly.  His goofy laughter sings through your memory, your own delighted shrieks as he sped down a slope and scared himself more than you. 

It makes you a little sullen.  After years, it seems ridiculous that you should still be so hung-up on an adolescent friendship, especially with so much more to occupy your mind.  But then, you suppose it was not just any friendship.   The Han Jisungs of the world are few and far between.  You were lucky to know him while you did.  Without him, you doubt you would have ever gotten on a bike again. 

Without him, you doubt you would have ever done much of anything but curl into an empty husk of a person. 

Instead, you are soft and smiling when Felix touches your back.  He notices the change in your disposition and looks at you with concern, and it does not trigger frustration nor do you flinch from his touch.  You just smile and steady your handlebars. 

“Just silly stuff,” you say with a shake of your head.  “Sometimes I sat on Jisung’s bike while he drove us around.  Just… thinking about him, I guess.” 

“Mm.”  Felix nods, understanding.  He holds the handle to help keep you steady but he looks ahead, sighing into the wind.  “It’s not silly.   Your friendship was important,” Felix says.  “Though, uhh, I definitely wouldn’t trust Jisung behind the wheels of a motorcycle.”

You laugh at the image of Jisung on a motorbike when that poor boy would sweat just from speeding down a hill.

“No,” you say.  “Definitely not for him.” 

Of course, maybe that is not true anymore.  You are picturing a teenage boy, but Jisung will be as grown as you now.  Who knows what he looks like or what he enjoys, what he fears or wants anymore. 

Romantic intimacy holds its own special felicity, but it is still different from the gentle affection of friendship.  Your heart pangs with the ache of missing him, of years passed apart, of your first ever friend now potentially being as unrecognizable to you as any stranger.  

“I just hope he’s happy,” you say, feeling it so strongly you cannot keep it yourself.  But then, that was always the way with Jisung, to have liked him so much that you cannot help but let it spill out of you, consciously or not.  You’re kinder for having known him.  You know how to joke and be goofy and make Felix smile. 

“Me too,” Felix says.  “He was… well, sort of my friend too.  In a way.” 

“He was,” you say.  “I guess he was the first friend for us both—whoa!”

You make a playful swipe at his shoulder and it makes you lose your balance again.  Felix fortunately catches you with those lightning-fast reflexes, holding you up while your bike hits the pavement.  There is some stumbling while you try to stand, tangled up with the bike, and nearly yank him down with you. 

Eventually you step out.  Felix brushes off your shoulders and pats down your arms, as if inspecting for injuries. 

“I’m fine,” you say, at the same time Felix says, “He wasn’t.”

“Huh?”  You blink at him.  “Who wasn’t what?”

“Jisung,” Felix says, a little exasperated.  “He wasn’t my first fr—”  He cuts himself off when he meets your eye, frowning instead.  He tugs on the string of your hoodie so your already tight lacing gets a little snugger.  “I’m not talking about this while you look like that,” he intones dryly. 

Before you can even open your mouth to protest or ask more, he picks up the bike and swings onto the seat for himself. 

“Come on,” he says, patting the handlebars.  “I’m hungry.  Let’s go.” 

You are not exactly a spritely adolescent anymore, but you manage to get yourself perched up on the handlebars.  Felix is a better driver than Jisung, faster too, and you find yourself laughing into the wind from the thrill of it.  When you reach the campus café, Felix is smiling too, and your previous conversation is forgotten for the time being. 

You park the bike in one of the rental receptacles then enter the café.  The warmth inside is a balm after the chill.  You take off your hood and breathe in deeply, satisfied.  Felix rubs your back as he walks you up to the counter to order. 

You are waiting for your order when you hear your name.  You lift your head, smiling when you see the friendly, dimpled grin of a class-mate, Yang Jeongin.   He is a year younger than you but academically advanced so you have shared a few classes over the years.  He is a very sweet boy, but you have kept your distance given what happened to the last very sweet boy you befriended. 

“Jeongin, hi!” you say. 

“Hi, what’s up?” he says. “Have you started any of your final projects?  I’m already drowning.”

His big smile and wheezy laugh is disarming in its boyish charm, though you know Felix has his guard up as always.  You are still not expecting to feel a proprietary touch settle low on your back, subtle but possessive, and it makes your stomach flip. 

It is not really necessary anyway.  Jeongin is genuinely just being friendly.  He even invites you and Felix to sit with him and his friend, Seungmin, and talk about some readings. 

Instinct almost propels you to blurt your usual reply, a polite dismissal or vague promise of a next time that never comes.  Friendships don’t end well.  You know that. 

But Jisung is on your mind, not just the bad but the good.  You find yourself agreeing, then you find yourself sitting at a table with two class-mates, having a normal conversation about school and exams and some silly, gossipy campus rumours.  You laugh and drink, and Felix does too. 

You touch his knee briefly.  He touches your hand under the table. 

You leave the café feeling lighter, a bounce in your step that has Felix smiling affectionately at you. 

“I do have to tell your father something,” Felix reminds you.  “If he found out you were seeing people and I said nothing—”

“Ughhhh, clock out for two seconds,” you say.  To be extra annoying, you reach out and yank his beanie down over his face.  “Just tell him I’m studying with some people.  It’s for the benefit of my education, so I can be  his perfect and dazzling heir, since I am such a well behaved little girl now, all thanks to the dutiful care and guidance of my oh-so competent bodyguard. See? No big deal.” 

Felix fixes his beanie and shakes his head at you, but he still smiling. 

“I think you and the rest of the world have, hmm, a different idea of no big deal,” he says.  “You know, your extremely powerful father for one… and how he might, uhh, ruin our lives…?” 

You shrug. 

“Win some, lose some,” you say, to which Felix laughs and rubs his face in disbelief.  

Although some days the power of your father and the world under the thumb seems insurmountable, some days all you can do is sigh in the face of it.  Today feels like one of those days.  You are so often frightened or sad or just downright despondent.  Sometimes, the pendulum swings back the other way, and all you can do is laugh. 

You do so now, pulling your hood up and tightening the string around your face again. 

“Don’t worry, bodyguard,” you say with an exaggerated, innocent flutter of your eyelashes.  “I trust you to keep me out of trouble.”

-

“Oh, you are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you say.   

Seungmin laughs.  

A few weeks have passed in which you have tentatively befriended Jeongin and Seungmin.  Jeongin is all smiles and wheezy laughter, with a biting wit that catches both you and Felix off guard.  You can tell Felix enjoys his companionship, even beyond the superficial college-boy role he plays.  And not just because Jeongin is something of a gamer and Felix not-so secretly likes having a go at whatever hand console Jeongin keeps on him. 

You quite like Seungmin.  He is more soft-spoken until he has an opinion to vocalize, at which point there is no escaping his somewhat scathing commentary.  His frankness reminds you a little of Hyunjin, just without any showmanship or embellishment.  With Seungmin, what you see is what you get.  He’s smart and funny and playful, and you like listening to him talk about the readings and his family and all the general shenanigans of an ordinary life.

Felix has told your father they are study partners, which is not an outright lie as all of your interactions have taken place on campus.  You have stayed away from parties and clubs and private spaces, so there has been nothing tangible to protest. 

But today certainly straddles that line. 

After class, the four of you went to your usual campus café.  With a major project due at the start of next week, you have been swamped with work. 

It was after a few hours and several coffees that Jeongin suggested a break.  There are a couple bars around the sprawling campus.  Felix was a little hesitant but your pout was as effective as ever in persuading him.  

The bar is a cozy one, packed wall-to-wall with noisy students seeking downtime.  There is no way anything insane would transpire in here. 

Other than Kim Seungmin. 

“What, you can’t leave your boyfriend for a second?” Seungmin says, but with no animosity, smiling his big puppy grin.  He exhales and shakes his head, eyebrows lifted in faux exasperation.  “That sucks for you, wow.” 

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” you say.  You look over at Felix who is standing at a pinball machine with Jeongin.  His eyes keep darting over to you even though you are not that far away.  The game is just a few steps from the couch where you and Seungmin sit.   

Felix smiles.  He is in his favourite black beanie, some ripped black jeans, and a crisp white coat, wisps of blonde hair falling over his freckled face.  He looks like such a guy, just a casual university senior, slouching against the wall with hands in his pockets, chatting with his friend and his eyes on his smiling girlfriend.   It certainly looks as simple as that.  Your heart does not know the difference. 

He looks away for a moment because Jeongin says something.  Felix laughs.  The room is loud so you do not hear him, but you know that laugh so well, the low drop and happy rumble.  His eyes crinkle with delight.  Your heart skips beats like a little girl with a crush starting all over again. 

“Right,” Seungmin says, looking between you and Felix.  “Sure.”

You punch Seungmin playfully on the arm. 

“Stop,” you say.  “We’re just friends.” 

It is for the best you maintain that as your cover story.  It would be far too convoluted to pretend to be together while being together but lying about being together and—    

No.  It is for the best that no one ever suspects, that everyone assumes you are close friends or room-mates and nothing more.  Not an inkling of your true dynamic. 

No one needs to know you woke before your alarm this morning, that you kissed Felix awake, planting soft kisses on his face until he smiled.  That you teased him and kissed him and finally bit his shoulder, a playful step too far, so he gathered you in his arms and kissed you breathless.  That he stretched out behind you, that he pulled back your thigh with a strong grip and kissed your neck.  That he fucked you long and slow until you were gasping and wriggling in his arms.  That he made you come mere minutes before your alarm.  That he then made a professional call to your father about the week’s plans and the pompous, foolish, awful man was none the wiser.   

You look his way.  Felix winks then looks down at the game again. 

Seungmin clears his throat and you look at him with all the innocence you can muster.  He just laughs. 

“Uh-huh,” Seungmin says.  “Well, does he know you’re just friends?  I mean, seriously, watch this—”

Seungmin slings his arm over the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close nonetheless.  He leans in ever so slightly and Felix looks over as if on cue.  He would never cause a scene without due cause, and, besides, you doubt he seriously considers Seungmin a threat, but he instinctively shifts into guard mode. 

It sends Seungmin into peels of laughter.  You thump him on the leg. 

“Ahaha,” Seungmin says, but lowers his arm.  “Fine, I’ll go get drinks all alone so your super good friend doesn’t pop a vein if you come with me.” 

You hide your face in your hands and shake your head while Seungmin laughs.   He gives you a pat on the back before rising and pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar counter. 

Felix watches him go then looks at you.  You smile at him reassuringly, waving a hand, non-committal. 

Your stomach does a little flip when his sharp stare softens to something more intimate, something just for you.  Years ago, you worried those glances and touches would be addicting, and you were right.  It is more intoxicating than anything in a glass.  Headier than the atmosphere of the bar.  You are flushed with warmth in seconds, the packed heat of the bar keeping that warmth at a simmer. 

You have always desperately chased highs and adrenaline, whatever form they took, good or bad.  When Felix looks away, you crave the thrill of his determined attention, so you stand and step behind the couch.  He looks up as quickly, like you knew he would, standing straight and taking his hands out of his pockets. 

You truly do not go far.  You have no intention of running, of making him follow, of making him worry.  You would not do that to him.  While you are certain no one would try anything in a place as public as a campus bar, you nonetheless will not play completely stupid games.   You only mean to catch his eye so you can level with him a teasing smirk of your own. 

But then someone grabs your arm and yanks.  The unexpected touch and the forcefulness triggers a swift panic, your eyes swimming with the shapes of shuffling bodies, your ears slurring what sound like a friendly enough sentence – someone asking if you are in a certain class with him. 

“I think I’ve seen you,” he says, still gripping your arm.  He smells as drunk as he sounds.  Harmless, or maybe not, given the bruising strength of his touch.  Drunken stupidity can be as dangerous as conniving intention.  “But you always got that little lap dog hanging around, cutie,” he says.  “Can’t get within a foot of you without him in the way—”

Said lap dog manifests without delay.  The man is taller but he is no match for Felix who comes up behind him and yanks on his collar.   

Felix pulls the man over backwards to stare him down.  He says, “Hands. Off. Now.”

The man lets go but with a stupid, futile struggle, shoving you so hard that you hit the woman behind you and topple her drink. 

In less than a second, the man is on the ground, people shrieking and stepping back when he falls.  Felix steps over him to reach you, catching your hand and touching the side of your face. 

“You all right?” he asks. 

Everything happened so fast that you hardly know what to say.  Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck to be closer to him.  He hugs you back as fiercely, murmuring words of comfort that get muffled in your shoulder. 

His senses are sharper than yours.  He knows the man is up and he turns in time to catch the clumsy punch the guy throws his way.  Felix does not show off, even though he could probably lay the guy low a second time.  He just pushes the hand away. 

This nonchalant rejection seems to anger the man more than a direct hit.  He is embarrassed and his stupor only encourages retaliation.  His buddies are trying to pull him back now, failing to lead him off. 

The man looks at you, red from both exertion and embarrassment, and says with a snarl in his upper lip, “Should keep that dog on a leash.” 

Splash.

It takes a second for everyone to realize what just happened.  The man is as startled as you, standing stock still with something dripping down his face. 

You all look over to Seungmin who is standing there with a half-empty glass.

“Uh… Woof I guess?” Seungmin says, then throws the rest of his drink on him. 

The guy staggers towards Seungmin who backs up rapidly.  Then Jeongin literally flies in between them and takes a swing at the guy.  It completely misses and he smacks his hand on a stool, but it is enough for the man to back up.   He must decide that the odds of three-on-one are not in his favour so he finally abandons course, shaking his head as he stalks off with his friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, walk away,” Seungmin says as menacingly as Seungmin possibly can, which is not much, especially with Jeongin doubled over beside him.  He is shaking out his hand, his face contorted with pain from hitting the stool.  “Are you okay?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah, I’m—” Jeongin starts. 

“Not you, dumbass,” Seungmin says.  “Go apologize to that chair you assaulted.  I’m talking to her.”  He looks at you with a tilt of his head.

You nod, letting Felix tuck you under his arm.  He rubs your arm soothingly, up and down, and it helps ground you. 

“Just happened really fast,” you say.  “Startled me, you know…” 

“The guy was a jerk,” Seungmin says.  

Felix scoffs.  His eyes follow the retreating figure.  “No kidding,” he says. 

“I just wanna go home,” you say. 

Your panic ebbs and the hurricane inside you settles. 

You touch Felix’s chest.  His heart is beating fast with adrenaline.  Your breath catches when he looks at you, tendrils of frustration radiating off him.  Yet despite the aura of energy, he looks composed, hair neat across his forehead, beanie in place.  His jacket is slightly rucked up the arm, but otherwise he is in perfect command of himself. 

Your heart dances its bewildered little dance. 

His hand drops to your hip and he tugs you close.  He exhales through his nose, your eyes drawn to his closed mouth.

You think you must be drunk despite not touching a drop of liquor.  How else to explain the physical sensations inside you, so contradictory to your heart and mind?  Your soul could never, ever abide by violence or true possessive domination, not with your history and upbringing. 

But perhaps it is that, the naturally contradictory nature of its manifestation in Felix.  Made by violence, but not made of it.  You feel safe because his careful touches and gentle glances do not come from the same blithe, civilian naivete of your sweet friends.  It comes from all the violence and control that he rises above. 

He holds you and you are safe, protected. 

You say goodbye to your friends and Felix calls the car.  You wait outside together in the light of a streetlamp.  The cool night air dwindles what remains of his adrenaline, though his heart picks up when you step closer, when you press your face to his neck and sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, cupping your cheek and lifting your face.  His thumb strokes your cheek, down along your jaw.  He looks into your eyes and smiles.  “You were just standing there.  He shouldn’t have grabbed you.  You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say.  You look down and his hand falls away from your face.  You fiddle with the zipper of his jacket then drag it down a couple inches.  “I’m just really sorry.” 

He is silent for a moment, his back a little stiffer.  You think he catches the tone in your voice because his hand drifts a little lower, resting on the base of your spine.

“I see,” he says, voice lower.  “Even though Jeongin did all the work hitting that stool—?”

The unexpected joke in a sultry exchange makes you snort with laughter.  The sound surprises Felix who laughs so hard he almost falls over.  You give him a little shove, shaking your head. 

“All right, all right,” he says, patting your back.  “Behave.  The car is coming.” 

“I always behave,” you say with a swish of your coat, stomping ahead of him to the approaching sedan.    

You sit in silence for part of the journey, quiet even with the partition up.  Felix has an elbow resting on the window sill, temple pressed to his fist as he stares at the passing streetlights. 

“Are you mad?” you ask in your coldest tone. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, dimple flashing with an aborted smile.  “I’m never mad,” he says.  “I’m a professional.” 

“Right,” you say.  You slide across the seat to be closer to him but he puts up his hand, stopping you.

“I know it’s a limo, but seatbelt, yeah?” he says.  You do not miss the patronizing tone. 

“You gonna make me?” you ask.  You grab his hand and lower it, looking at him with your smokiest gaze.

His tongue jabs into his cheek as he looks at your hands, palms touching, fingers lacing.  He appears contemplative, beyond your little game.  You give his hand a gentle squeeze.   His eyes meet yours. 

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, low even though no one can hear you back here.  “You know that, yeah?  You know I—  I never knew how to want or not want something.  I would never—”

“I know, Felix,” you say. 

I love you too. 

It sits on the tip of your tongue.  You very nearly say it in that same low voice. 

He lowers your hand to your lap, his palm to your knuckles as he cups your thigh and squeezes.  Once, twice, three times.  He taps on your knee three times then guides you to do the same.  You are a bit bemused until he says, “If you want to talk to me, then…”  Three more touches. 

“I see,” you say, hot beneath the skin of your cheeks and throat, your heart a thunderous thing.  “You expect to shut my mouth then?”  You blink at him too cutely. 

“I expect you to apologize properly,” he says. 

He catches your face before you can spit a rejoinder.  It steals your breath.  He holds your face steady in his hand, jaw pinched, mouth shut, his eyes burning into the side of your face. 

“You answer to me,” he says sternly.  “You think you’re sorry, yeah?  Then you’re going to apologize.  Properly.  Quietly.  Obediently.  Now nod for me.  You understand.”  

You do not nod.  You look at him out of the corner of your eye.  His lips break into a smile. 

“Ah,” he says.  “I see.”

And he does.  He has always seen to the depths of you.  Just as you have always seen beneath his surface smiles. 

The driver sees nothing but a professional on payroll, exchanging an evening pleasantry before Felix escorts you into the apartment building.  The greeter nods at you, you nod back.  Felix marches you into the elevator and stands politely at your side, hands in his pockets. 

You lean on opposite walls of the elevator.  He takes off the beanie and tucks it in his pocket.  Then he runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing the fair strands.  Eventually he meets your gaze.  You stare at each other, a silent exchange of thought and anticipation. 

In the apartment, he does his security check.  You take your time drifting toward the bedroom, wiping off your lipstick, dropping your coat in the middle of the doorway.  He scoops it up as he enters behind you, tutting while he brushes it off. 

“No respect,” he says but lightly, teasingly. 

He walks right past you and drapes the coat neatly over the back of your computer chair.  There, he stands with his back to you, unzipping and discarding his own jacket.  It leaves him in a black t-shirt and his ripped black jeans, plus those heavy regulation army boots.  He is a sharp streak of black shadow, all at odds with his light hair and sweet freckled face as he turns to look at you. 

You stand across the bedroom from each other.  Your heart is going a mile a minute as he looks you over.  You hardly know why the roving glance affects you so deeply.  He has seen you in a hundred variations of dressed and undressed.  Checking you out in your jeans and t-shirt should hardly warrant a herd of butterflies in your belly. 

But it does.  Your skin feels alight as he looks at you, assessing you like a target.  When his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, he is not smiling.  He exhales.  His shoulders are tense, his body hard.

“Take off your clothes,” he says. 

You expected some deviance from routine given your flirtations, but that is still quite different.  You often undress each other, or you provoke him by stripping, flustering him into surrender.  He is not flustered now, his stare cold and ungiving as he waits expectantly for you to obey. 

Your fingers flutter at your side.  Your lips part with a breath. 

“Um,” you say, voice rough with arousal in a way you cannot hide.  It is hard to fake an affronted feeling, though it is not hard to look nervous.   “Excuse me?” 

“Everything,” Felix says.  “Off.  Now.” 

You scoff, suffusing the worst of your jitters into the sound.  You feign a cocky tilt of your head, hands on your hips as you say, “I don’t think you’re in position to give me orders.  If my daddy knew—”

He lifts his knee only infinitesimally but when his foot slams down there is a knife in his hand. 

He flicks some hair out of his hair and smiles, perky, just like Felix. 

“Off,” he says.  “Or I take it off.” 

What should be a flicker of fear is a font of pure desire, sharp in your belly and hot between your legs.  You look at the knife then his cool smile, the crinkle of pleasure in the corners of his eyes, the pretty fall of his hair.  He flips the knife over his knuckles, around and around, smoothly, thoughtlessly. 

You step out of your shoes and kick them aside.  Your jitters are back, excited and jumpy, prickling under your skin as you lift your shirt over your head and toss that aside too. 

“Neatly,” he says, with a tsk, tsk tsk.  “Don’t make a mess.  Daddy wouldn’t like that, would he?” 

“Bastard,” you say, flushed with the admonition.  It also makes you a little giddy.  There is real power and real evil out there, and it is utterly meaningless in the face of everything between you and Felix.  It is a punchline.  It is an inside joke.  The only thing that holds any real power is his gaze, his voice, his hands.

Your eyes, your sigh, your obedience.  It makes him blush, despite his relative position of power, watching you neatly fold your shirt and place it on the bedside table.  You remove your jeans and fold those too. 

When you look at him, he points the knife to your underclothes, a mute statement: yes, I mean those too.  So you take off your bra and place it on the table, flushed and hasty and embarrassed and excited.  You slip off your panties and crumple them.  You miss the table and they fall to the floor, and Felix points to it with the knife. 

“Pick it up,” he says. 

You do, quickly, putting it on the pile then stepping away.  You cross your arms, only a little chilled, mostly hot under his gaze. 

“Good,” he says.  “Very good.” 

With a flick of his wrist, the knife is swiftly embedded in your desk behind him.  He does not even look back. 

You jump.  It makes your heart beat even faster, stomach tied up in anticipatory knots, desperate to unravel as he approaches you with a slow, predatory stroll. 

He circles you.  His fingertips brush your side, sending a shiver shooting up your spine.   He takes a pillow off the bed and puts it on the floor. 

You stand with your back to him, arms still crossed.  He touches the middle of your back, walks his fingers gently up your spine until he is holding the back of your neck, pulling you into him, your naked body against his clothed one. 

“Get on your knees,” he says.  You swear his voice is even deeper than usual.  “Sweetheart.”    

You cannot think of a snarky reply, not even when he steps back and you can breathe again.  You just look at him over your shoulder and make a show of rolling your eyes.  He tips his head, regarding you as if oh-so confused by your petulance. 

He stands while you kneel.  You sit back on your heels and hum to yourself as if bored. 

He ignores that, pointing to bed and saying, “Face there, not me.” 

You look at him with genuine confusion, once more surprised by his direction, but you do as told.  You kneel facing the bed.  He gets down on one knee beside you, cups the back of your head and guides you up, off your heels. 

“Up, up, up,” he says in too jovial of a tone, so frustratingly Felix.  “Hands up here.”  He pats the bed with his other hand until you uncross your arms and place them where directed.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Just like that, sweetheart.” 

He stands, leaving you kneeling at the bedside, upright, arms in front of you.  Kneeling like a penitent in prayer at their bedside.  You look over your shoulder at him, wearing your best and bitchiest expression. There is an irrevocable challenge in your eyes. 

Clink.

Your eyes drop to his belt, to the swift flick of leather and metal over his hands as he opens it.  He is unhurried, sliding it free of its loops. 

But then he does not discard it.  He folds it over his hand.  Once, twice, three times. 

He tips his head.  He holds up three fingers, a question.  

He knows the significance here.  He knows how your insides unravel at the sight of that belt hooked around his fist.  

You know he would stop if you said so.  If you said the word three, if you held up three fingers, if you tapped three times or did anything else to speak to him.  He has given you a voice in every form.  

He is standing over you, at once a personification of your pains and fears, and also he is none of them.   This does not feel the way it did back then, unwilling and tortured and harmed. 

He loves you.  And he is trapped with you, and he is carving out holes in the world with you.  He is handing you back your life, if only pieces, however he can.   You are not a scared little girl under him.  You are in control of that pendulum of emotion.  There is no power in the things that once scared you.  It is a punchline.  An inside joke.  

You smile at him. 

He gets down on one knee again, squeezes the nape of your neck then runs his hand down your spine.  Your back arches under his touch, breath staggering into gasps even though all he does is caress you skin. 

You jump when he smacks the soft curve of your ass, just the flat of his palm on your skin, but already you are tingling head to toe with pleasure. 

“I am responsible for you, yeah?” he says, and smacks you there again.  “That means you are mine.  You don’t run off, you don’t play games.  You do what I say.”

“Or what?” you say, voice already breathy.  “You’ll beat me up like you did that brute in the bar?”

You can hear him adjusting the belt, flipping it around his hand for a better grip. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks.  “Does it get your pussy wet, watching me hurt them for you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer.  Your voice is a feathery-light sound, piercing a gasp when he brings that strip of leather down against your backside. 

You squirm.  You are already so, so wet. 

“Hmm?” he asks, and does it again, a stinging, hot line across your skin.  “Is that how it is?” 

“I hate you,” you say.  You are gripping the blanket, nails digging in.  Your back arches at another strike, chest pushing into the bedding. 

“Awww…” he says, careless.  “Yeah… I know.” 

You must be wriggling too much because Felix pins you down with his free hand, your cheek pressed to the blanket.  He adjusts his position for a better reach. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, and snaps the belt across your skin.  This one makes you cry out.  “I know exactly how you feel about me.” 

You cry turns to a watery whine, shaking when he gently sweeps his fingertips across your smarting backside.  Your breath snags when he leans in close, breath ghosting your skin. 

“I know,” he says.  “Because it gets my dick hard.  Oh?  What’s that?  Did that scare you?”  He hits you again.  “You wanna tell your daddy?  Tell him how you’re all wet because your mean bodyguard got a little too, mmm, rough with you?” 

He kisses the middle of your back and you shiver. 

“Mmm,” he says.  “No.  You’re not going to do that, are you?  You’re going to stay right… here…” He leans back and snaps his wrist again, patting you when the belt sears your skin and you cry out again.  “That’s it.  You’re gonna take it until you apologize—”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even while tilting your hips, seeking more from him.  You can feel how wet you are when you squish your thighs together, hot and slick between them.  “I really am.”

“Oh?” he says.  “For what?”

“Uhhh—”  It turns to another yelp when he hits you again.  “F-for disobeying y-you.” 

“Why is that bad, sweetheart?”

“B-because—”  You don’t even cry out when he does it again.  This sound is a pure moan, roughly exhaled into the bed.  “Because you’re in charge,” you say breathlessly, voice on the cusp of a sob.  You can feel your knees starting to shake.  “Y-you’re in charge of me.” 

“Am I?” 

You hear the belt unravel, the clink of the metal as it hits the floor.  He touches you with his bare hand, smoothing his palm over your warm, smarting skin.  Every inch of you quivers with the tingling aftershock of the soft touch. 

“Yes,” you say.  “I’m—I’m yours, Felix.” 

There is a moment of quiet when all he does it touch you, gently, a caress across your stinging skin.  Your whole body reacts to him, the slightest brush sending floods of heat shooting through you. 

He traces a circle on your backside, pinches the warm skin.  It makes that sob spill over your lips. 

“Say it again,” he says, his voice lower, only just above a whisper. 

“I’m yours,” you say just as softly.  A tear spills onto the blanket. 

“My name.”

“Felix,” you say.  “My bodyguard.” 

“Yes,” he says, still in that soft voice.  He slips his hand down between your legs and you rear up, spreading your thighs, eager to feel him.  “I am, aren’t I?”  He hardly needs to touch you to feel how wet you are.  Just a surface touch wets his fingers with your desire, a slow stroke that makes your knees shake again.   “I’m good at it, aren’t I?” he says, and takes his hand back.  “At guarding this body.  Hmm?”

Another tear spills out.  You nod, breathing hard into the blanket. 

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. 

He stands up and you lift your head, blinking up at him with big, wet eyes.  You can see how hard he is, obscenely bulging behind his fly.  It makes your mouth water, makes you press your cheek into the blanket as you stare at him wantingly.  

“If I’m not going to hit you,” he says, “then what am I going to do with you?” 

His thumb presses at his zipper and he smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and slowly tugs it down.  Your knees finally surrender and you sit again, slumped against the bed and reaching between your legs. 

“Uh-uh-uh—” he says, diving down to catch your arm. 

You groan, wriggling while he scoops you up and deposits you on the bed as easily as tossing a pillow.   You shuffle around, making some pitiful blubbery noises as you lay on your sore backside.  You rest your head on a pillow, breathing hard, so aware of your body in a way you have never felt before. 

Felix takes off his boots while you settle yourself.  Then he gets on the bed and kneels at your feet, a vision of sin in his black clothes with his flushed face and heady, dark eyes.  He wets his lips, leaves his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he looks at you like a meal offered to a starving man. 

“Hold the headboard, sweetheart,” he says, nodding above you. 

You do not look away from him, reaching back to grip one of the bars in the headboard.  Though your legs are pressed together, you feel the exposure of the vulnerable position, throbbing everywhere he looks at you.    

Your breath gets ragged when he moves closer.  He takes a pillow, ripping it out of its case and tossing the cushion aside.  He flips the soft material of the pillowcase around his fist until it makes a long line like a soft rope. 

Then your hands are bound to the headboard.  His fingers curl around yours, showing you how to tap, how to talk to him.  It registers, even if he immediately distracts you with a wandering hand, slipping down your body to touch and fondle. 

Then he is back at your feet, grabbing your ankles and sliding up, up, up until his hands are hooked under your knees and he can spread you open to him. 

Your hips buck, your back arches, legs shaking in his steady hold.  You are so open to him that it makes you whimper and close your eyes. 

They open again when you feel his mouth between your legs, his teasing abruptly finished as he dives in with full commitment.  You cry out in relief, with utter ecstasy, noisier than you have ever been as he licks and sucks and strokes.  You twitch when he nips at your thighs, when he slips his tongue inside you, when he licks back up then tortures the source of your pent-up need, again and again until you are crying out and coming hard on his tongue. 

He lets you finish, takes over that peak and beyond.  He lowers your trembling legs, lets you wrap them around his hips.  You make a horrible mess of his pants, you are sure, grinding up against the hard material. 

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he says, reaching past you to the bedside table. 

You hardly have a second to look before he is shoving your balled up panties in your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he says, kissing down your neck.  “That’s a good girl.  Don’t need to think, yeah?” 

He sits back on his heels and finally unzips all the way.  He shuffles his pants and boxers down past his hips.  He smiles, then pushes your legs against you so are nearly folded in half. 

“Just—” he says with a soft grunt, pushing at the soft, wet heat of you, so easily sliding inside.  “Just—need—to—take it.”

And you do, moaning helplessly into your gag, still sore from your earlier punishment but all that sensation mingling with everything hard and sweet and good between your thighs.  Your eyes close and you let yourself float, feeling as he hits all those soft places inside you that make your body keen.  When you come again, it is just from that, and a stream of euphoric tears follow as you wrap him between your legs and bring him over the edge with you. 

“God,” he says, dropping every trace of his persona, sounding near tears himself as he comes inside you.  “God—fucking—You.  Oh, sweetheart.  Jesus.  I—” 

His brain sounds as mushy as yours, maybe only marginally smarter because he takes out your gag and releases you from your bondage. 

Your arms fall limp around your head and you hum sweetly, literal music moving through you as your whole body aches with pleasant aftershocks. 

“We gotta clean you up,” he says softly, from somewhere, stroking your sweaty skin. “And I wanna take care of where I used the—”

“Felix,” you murmur, “if you don’t get over here and kiss me stupid, then I’m gonna take a turn with the belt.”

He laughs, then you feel him stretched out beside you, his arms circling you.  You roll into his embrace, throwing your leg around his hip and snuggling into him. 

“You still hate me, yeah?” he says after a moment, though how he expects any coherency when he is massaging down your arm like that, you do not know. 

But you nod, kissing his chest.

“Of course, you’re my bodyguard,” you say. 

You sigh when he smooths his hand over your backside, tenderly caressing the sore skin. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Always.”

-

It sounds almost ridiculous to say, but he honestly fucked you so good that you feel like a new woman. 

You have a little skip in your step – or maybe it’s a limp – for the next couple days, and it’s cute how it flusters him in the daylight because he knows the cause. 

In the mood for a full cleansing, you get the idea to clean out your closet.  You toss things around left and right, sorting donations and garbage and pieces you forgot you owned. 

You are elbow deep in a pile of old sweaters when your fingers curl around something soft.  You yank it out of the pile, hidden away at the very back of your closet.  You wonder what it is and why you have not been wearing it when it is so soft—

Peppy music is blaring out of your speakers, your disposition cheery and pleasant as can be.  It all gets a little fuzzy when you unfold the sweater and realize it is Jisung’s hoodie, the one he gave you that last night you left his house. 

You and Felix are meeting Jeongin and Seungmin after class today, a usual coffee at your usual café while you do the finishing touches on your semester project.  Having friends and a lover and a future you can almost see, can almost imagine controlling if only in your own special way, makes you realize how far you have come. 

Things have changed.  You have changed.  You have forgotten a lot about high school.  You don’t really remember faces, or the things that had you stressed, or half the arguments with your father.  You were obsessed with Lee Minho for years but, frankly, you can hardly remember what he looked like.

But you touch the hoodie and you can feel your best friend, solid as if he was still sitting beside you.  When you lift it to your chest, you swear you can faintly smell the lingering trace of him, that boyish body spray that was probably baked into everything he owned but that you stopped noticing because you were around him so much. 

It is the smell that overwhelms you.  In a matter of moments, your face is buried in the hoodie and you are crying, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re happy or because you’re not. 

Felix comes running, stumbling to a stop in your closet door and looking at you with alarm. 

“Sweetheart?” he says, crouching down beside you.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know what to say.  You lift your head and look at him, face streaked with tears.  He wipes them immediately, a gentle back and forth, soothing you until your crying is just a mere hiccup.  “I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your face on your sleeve.  “I don’t know why I still get so worked up.” 

“About what?” Felix asks. 

You open the hoodie and recognition lights up in his eyes. 

“Jisung,” he says. 

“You recognize it?” you say, a bit surprised. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and looks at you with a dimpled grin.  “You were wearing this the first night we—”

“Right,” you say with a watery giggle. 

You look back down and sniffle some more, blinking back another onslaught of tears.  You run your hand over the material while Felix rubs a soothing circle on your back. 

“Why is it so hard to let go?” you ask softly.  “When I have people here, now...  When I have a future and…”  You trail off, voice breaking.  You wipe your face again. 

“I don’t know,” Felix says, sounding as morose.  His gaze wanders.  You can see his own mental space shift as he goes somewhere far away.  “I guess…”  He rubs the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.  “One person can’t, uh, really replace another, I guess.  And he was your friend.  It’s different.”  He swallows.  “You can’t just let go of love.  Not… not easily.”

“I guess not,” you say.  You trace a circle on the material with your thumb.  You sigh.  “I should get ready for school.” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, voice breaking too.  He clears his throat and stands.  “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, hugging the hoodie to your chest and staring straight ahead. 

“No,” you say softly.  “Thank you, Felix.” 

You are a little too distracted with your own thoughts and grief to notice his own solemn disposition.  He does not hold it against you, though, as you are distracted for the rest of the day.  The cause is reasonable enough. 

You are sitting in the library with Felix and your friends, working on your project but distracted, when you lift your head and spot the library computers. 

You have not looked for Jisung anywhere, not online or in person, far too terrified your father would find out and track him down and kill him.  You remember his rage.  You know how serious he was. 

But that seems far away now, not the same nightmarish terror that haunted your every shaking step.  Now you are staring at the campus computers with a more calculating air.  You realize there is no way to trace any searches back to you if they are made on a public server.  

Felix looks up when you stand, shooting you a questioning look.  You just point to the computers and he nods, slouching back in his seat again. 

You feel a little queasy, maybe from the tumultuous feelings of the day.  Maybe plain worry.  Until now, you could pretend Jisung was fine, but what if he isn’t?  God, what if your father went after him anyway?  What if something else happened?  What if he got worse after you left him on that hospital bed?  You are sick with the thought. 

The world needs him.  You need him.  Even far away, even without seeing or touching him, because your friendship does not require that.  It can be words on a page, tucked away in a yearbook that you read on your worst days when you need a reason to keep fighting. 

And so you search.  You find results faster than you thought.  It turns out Jisung has been writing music.  He is very underground and indie, it seems.  He does not have a huge collection of followers, but his artistry has stirred interest nonetheless.  You find his social media profiles without much struggle, as well as his soundcloud and professional profiles.  It looks like he works part time at a grocery store while making music.

You click through his profiles, smiling at some of his goofy pictures and videos.  There are some click-bait short videos with dramatic fonts slashed over his face, saying things like GIRLFRIEND DRAMA!! and GAY RIVALS??

You click on a couple.  It’s just videos where he talks to the camera, but he’s so funny that it feels like miniature stand-up routines. Some of these videos get more views than his music.

It looks like he had a girlfriend for a while, then a boyfriend, which is probably not too surprising when you remember he was obsessed with Hyunjin. 

He says exactly that in his video, laughing as he runs his hands through his hair, black-painted nails stark against the lighter dyed locks.

“Yeah…” he says, laughing awkwardly, “Turns out most people don’t have an arch-nemesis that occupies their every thought in their horny teenage years.  Who knew, right?” 

The comment sections are all a bit chaotic, as comment sections are often a no-man’s land of anarchy, but it feeds the algorithm so he lets the public run amok.  It does not seem to ruffle his feathers.

You scroll until you see a video with the words BEST FRIEND?  It is the only video where he turned the comments off. 

You are not sure what you are expecting.  It has been years.  This video could be about anyone.  He has more friends, quite a lot by the look of it. 

His video starts with that very message.

“I know it’s hard to believe since I am, like, so insanely beautiful and funny and popular and talented now,” he says with a goofy drawl, grinning at the camera, “but I used to be like… the loser.  Not even a loser, no way, man, I’m an overachiever.  I mean the loser.  I did not have any friends but, like, I didn’t even have any enemies either, like what’s a guy got to do to get bullied around here?  I was just, you know, kinda invisible I guess… Hard to believe I developed issues and became an online clout-chaser like whoo-hoo…”

You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself.  The Jisung on camera is wearing glasses, his hair longer than you remember.  His shoulders are broader and he looks good, healthy. 

He rubs his shoulder as he gazes past the camera, looking wistful. 

“I had one friend, though, eventually,” he says.  “I used to think she was kinda scary but, also, to be fair, I thought everything was scary back then haha…  I mean, not haha, you know I was… It was rough. I was like ready to end it all, man…  Times were hard!  Teenage angst, you know, nothing like it!  But she, uh…” 

He looks at the camera and it makes your spine straighten.  This was posted a year ago.  He is not actually talking to you, but for a moment he feels present. 

“She was really good at seeing people,” he says.  “I think, maybe, that’s because she wanted for someone to see her too.  But, like, that’s hard to ask for… And even harder to accept when you finally have it.  She would run away just as fast as she would want attention, haha.  But at the same time… You know, she got it.  She got me. We got each other.  Until then, neither of us had ever really—you know, we didn’t really have good families and stuff, we didn’t have friends.  I talk about firsts a lot, and, you know, every one makes a deal out of their first kiss and their first lay and stuff but like…  Your first friend...”

You pause the video for a second, blinking so you don’t cry in the library.  You briefly glance at Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin.  Jeongin has predictably strayed from his studies, showing Felix something on his hand console.  Seungmin throws a pencil at them. 

You smile then look back at the screen, hitting play. 

“It changes you, you know?” Jisung says.  “Especially at that age, you know, when you’re growing and stuff… You kinda learn from each other.  Even though we super different, in some ways we were the same, and I think I still… um, carry her with me.  It sounds cheesy but it’s true. I was a stupid softy but her…!  She never took anyone’s shit!  And I got better at that, and I think it was because of her.  We, um, we didn’t exactly have a falling out—  Life just—  Sometimes life isn’t fair.  And she was… she was kinda in a bad spot.  And at the time I felt like I let her down, because I couldn’t get her out.  Of course, now I’m like, yo, we were both kids, haha, how the fuck was I gonna do that anyway… And before we said goodbye, you know, she told me I did save her, and I didn’t really know what she meant at the time.  But when I realized how much of her was still with me all the time, every day, how much she taught me to get me where I am today… I got it.  I still wish I could have done more, but I get it.  And I mean, um, hey, if you’re out there—”

You are startled into greater attention when he looks directly in the eye of the camera.  You realize he is speaking to you, across space and time, as surely as a scribble in your yearbook or a laugh in your memory. 

“I don’t know if you’ll ever see this,” he says.  “But I, uh, I told you once a best friend promise is forever.  Ten years, twenty years, fifty years, you know… hit me up.  But, um, even if you don’t… even if you can’t…” 

He takes a breath and shakes his shoulders, wiggling like he would do when he was trying not to cry.  He exhales and smiles.  You can see all the emotion behind that smile, grief and hope alike. 

“I just hope you’re happy,” he says.  “I am.  And that’s partly because of you.  So if you ever need a reason, or an excuse, or whatever to be happy… This is it.  Thank you for… for everything I guess.  I loved you so much that it made me love the whole world just because you were in it.  So I don’t need anything else from you, but if you could be happy for me… Yeah.  That, uh, that would be good.” 

He pauses, purses his lips, then he laughs a very watery laugh. 

“Okay!” he says.  “I’m gonna go cry now like a big baby.  Love you all! Bye!  See you next time.  Oh yeah, stream Volcano!  Bye!”

You end up laughing through your tears, Jisung being so incredibly Jisung.  You glance back at Felix and your friends, watching them try to keep their laughter down as they snicker over something in Jeongin’s game.  Seungmin has his big puppy grin on and Jeongin’s dimple are so deep as glee pours off him.

Felix looks so delighted and carefree, his whole face glowing like it was touched by a drop of sunshine. 

You want this. 

Now.  Always. 

Oh, Jisung, you think to yourself.  How many times are you going to save me?

You open a new window and make a profile on the website.  Fortunately, Jisung allows private messages from accounts he does not follow.  You just hope he clicks on the message despite the blank profile.  You cannot have anything public that would give you away in any capacity. 

But you open the private message and you write, and you hope it reaches him, even after you have closed the window and walked away, head high with your purpose and a newfound determination to fulfill his only wish for you.

-

To the bestest most awesome boy in the world, from the bestest most awesome girl in the world.

I think I have that whole note memorized by now.  I don’t know you even remember these words, but it was how you started your message in my yearbook. 

I know it’s been a long time but I wanted to reach out.  My situation hasn’t really changed, so it’s still not safe to see you properly, which is why I’m messaging this way.  I’m sorry for that.  But I saw your video where you said you were happy, and I just wanted to say how glad I am.  You deserve the world, Jisungie.  I hope you know how much it loves you back.  How much I love you back. 

I have friends and even a boyfriend now.  I don’t think I would have any of it if not for you.  I think I am starting to be happy, but truth be told I don’t really know what that is supposed to feel or look like.  But I think I am starting to understand.  I think I know what I have to do. 

I’m going to get out.  I am going to get my love out too.  I have been waiting and wallowing, but I’m not going to do that anymore.  I want to be happy, whatever that looks like. 

Thank you for saving me when you did.  Now it’s time for me to save myself. 

You also gave me the world and I love it a little more everyday.  I hope someday soon I can see more of it.  If I’m lucky, maybe I will see you too, but even if we never meet face-to-face again, know I carry you with me too.  A best friend promise is a forever promise, right? 

Take care, Jisung.  Keep fighting.  Be happy. 

Love,

Your best friend. 

Now and always.

♡

CATFISH...? — han jisung

pairing: rockstar!han jisung x fem!reader genre: humor (!! basically crack), smut word count: 9.2k warnings: 18+ mdni!!! tinder usage (jumpscare i know), switch!jisung, sexting, oral (f. rec), orgasm denial, protected sex, finger sucking, overstimulation, praise kink, they're in a dressing room and there is a mirror (u do the math...)

summary: What is more embarrassing than matching on Tinder with a catfish pretending to be rockstar Han Jisung, number one heartthrob of the decade? Probably discovering that the catfish isn't a catfish and actually is, in fact, rockstar Han Jisung. Whoops.

Your downfall begins with one too many glasses of wine and the accidental slip of a finger.

In your defense, you didn't mean to swipe right on the very obvious catfish account now staring up at you from your phone. In all honesty, you didn't mean to redownload Tinder at all—not after your last failed attempt when you swore off dating apps forever.

But hey, you are a strong believer that one shouldn't be held responsible for the decisions they make while wine drunk, and you'll stick by that until the day you die.

For a catfisher, the profile looks rather convincing. A well curated selection of photos, a flirty one-liner bio, and somehow they even managed to get the account verified.

And yet, you find it very hard to believe that the Han Jisung, lead singer of the number one band SKZ, happens to be in your area, on Tinder of all places.

Sure, the serotonin of seeing "It's a Match!" did send a little thrill down your spine. Still, it always amuses you when people decide to pretend to be celebrities on dating apps to get more matches.

As you lounge on the couch, taking another sip of your drink, your phone lights up with a message.

jisung: damn jisung: i'm trying to blow ur back out fr jisung: respectfully of course

In the background, whatever cheesy romcom you put on plays, and you can't help the snort you let out after reading the messages.

you: damn you: what happened to hi? hello? my name is?

You know indulging a catfish isn't the best idea, but you're drunk and bored, and using dating apps always makes you act out a little more than you should.

jisung: my b ur right jisung: hi, hello, my name is jisung :^)

The dorky emoji amuses you, as does the catfisher's dedication to keeping the charade up.

you: much better you: you may proceed jisung: ahaha jisung: no but fr if ur into it, wanna let me dick u down? you: lol jisung: ? you: sorry, not really into being fucked by guys who lie abt their identity jisung: lol wym you: no way ppl on here actually think ur han jisung jisung: yes they do? jisung: because i am? you: you'll forgive me if i don't believe u jisung: i'd forgive u for a lot of things ;) jisung: no but fr i am han jisung jisung: han jisung is me

You chew on your lip, thoroughly amused with the conversation. Did this person really expect you to just believe them? If they were Han Jisung, then you must be Mother Theresa.

you: prove it jisung: how am i supposed to do that :( you: i'm sure you'll figure it out you: prove ur han jisung and i'll let u dick me down any time, any place :)

A giggle bursts forth from you and you take another sip from your wine.

jisung: bet

When you wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, all thoughts of your conversation with the catfish from last night are gone.

The only thing on your mind is a hot meal to soothe your aching stomach and a few Tylenol to calm your raging migraine.

Which is why, when your phone lights up with a notification from Tinder halfway through your breakfast, you can't help but be confused.

You hardly remember re-downloading Tinder last night, and it takes a moment to recall what you had been doing.

When you open the conversation thread, however, it all comes flooding back to you.

jisung: good morning beautiful ;^) jisung: are the pics i posted on insta enough to prove to u that i am actually han jisung jisung: posted them just for u :D

Your head throbs and for a moment, the letters on your screen blur together. It takes you longer than necessary to read the messages, but when you do, you can't help but scoff.

you: has anyone told u that u text like an absolute fucking loser you: and how do those pics prove anything? you: they're just selfies you: literally nothing about them proves its u jisung: oh fuck ur so right jisung: i didn't even think of that jisung: so does this mean u don't believe me :( you: obviously ???

"What did your phone do to you?"

Across from you, your best friend Seungmin sits, chewing thoughtfully on his eggs.

"What do you mean?"

He raises a brow. "You're glaring at it like it personally offended you. So who's next on the hit list?"

"Ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It's just some weirdo, no need to worry about it."

"Okay..."

Your catfisher doesn't respond, leaving you to enjoy your breakfast in peace. In broad daylight, entertaining some weirdo behind a fake profile seems even more stupid than it did last night. And yet, you can't find it in yourself to delete the app, or even unmatch with him.

Maybe it is because you want to see just how far he's willing to go to keep up this charade. Maybe it is because you want to believe that he is telling the truth, that it actually is the Han Jisung.

Most likely, though, it's probably because you're bored and like to fuck around with stupid men for the entertainment value.

The next message from him comes later that night.

jisung: alright jisung: what can i do to prove that i'm actually han jisung jisung: i've spent all day trying to figure it out but i can't

Your hangover has finally faded away, and Seungmin has just left you alone after badgering you all day to help him with his newest home renovation project.

you: awww is it too much for ur wittle brain to handle? you: if u can't even do this how do u expect to... what was it? you: "blow my back out"? jisung: babe, i don't need to be a genius to dick u down the way u deserve you: ... you: did u just indirectly imply that ur dumb? jisung: no jisung: ok maybe but i don't wanna talk abt it

You are getting ready for bed, cleansing your face and reading his messages in between your in depth skincare routine. Despite how absurd it all is, you can't deny that texting your catfisher is actually kind of funny. In fact, you can't remember the last time you had this much fun talking to someone from the godforsaken dating app.

Sure, from a logical perspective, everything about this interaction is a trainwreck. But it is also harmless and amusing, and more importantly, you don't owe whoever is on the other side of the screen anything.

jisung: back to the question at hand jisung: what can i do to prove to u i'm really han jisung jisung: just say the word and i'll do it you: and why exactly are u so interested in proving it to me? you: if u were really han jisung, wouldn't it be easier to move the fuck on to someone who actually believes u? jisung: yeah... jisung: but ur hot jisung: and i'm kinda into this push and pull thing jisung: ...and did i mention ur hot? you: ur so fucking weird jisung: thank you! :D you: NOT a compliment jisung: yes it is ;) jisung: sooo... help? you: nah you: u gotta work for it jisung: ur so evil... so hot but soooo evil....

When you go to bed, you dream of Han Jisung and catfishes and an evil red flame chasing you. And you are surprised to see a familiar message light up your home screen the next morning when you wake up.

You are even more surprised that your catfish continues to message you throughout the week. You figured that after a day or two, they would grow bored and give up. Instead, you find that whoever it is, they are very dedicated to proving themself as the Han Jisung.

Every day, your catfish has a new ploy of how to convince you of his real identity. And every day, you take delight in pointing out that the evidence he provides is circumstantial at best.

The thing that surprises you the most is that you continue to indulge him. Even if your catfish didn't grow bored of you, you figured eventually you would grow bored of him. Instead, you find yourself slowly becoming endeared to his strange habits and his quirky way of texting.

It gets to the point that even Seungmin notices.

"Are you seeing someone new?" He asks over dinner one day.

You scoff. "Um, no. What the hell?"

"My bad," he narrows his eyes at you. "You've just been smiling at your phone really weirdly lately."

It's because your catfish had just sent you the cutest cat video ever after you mentioned one time how you love cats. But you don't tell him that.

Instead, you say, "you think any time I smile, it's weird. Not very best friend material of you."

He clicks his tongue.

"Not my fault you look stupid when you smile."

Later that night, the message comes through right as you are about to fall asleep.

jisung: ok!!!!! i think i got it right this time!!! jisung: if i post a selfie in approximately five minutes of me in a white shirt will u believe i'm han jisung jisung: ok maybe ur asleep jisung: but i look really fucking good so i'm going to post it now jisung: but this is me going on the record, the selfie WILL be of han jisung (me) in a white t-shirt jisung: seeee!!!! i'm telling u BEFORE i post it!!! ahaahahaha jisung: aaaaand just posted :^)

To his credit, when you open Instagram, you do see a selfie uploaded only minutes before of Han Jisung in a white shirt. Just like he said. And yet...

you: nice try you: but again, doesn't really prove anything jisung: whaaaaat D: you: everyone knows jisung posts after every show you: u just got lucky with the timing today jisung: ughgghhhhhh jisung: okay fineeeee but what abt the shirt jisung: i told u the color of my shirt!!! you: i've already seen like twenty videos of him from the concert tn in that white shirt you: doesn't take a genius to figure it out jisung: noooooo jisung: i knew i should have changed shirts :(((( you: at least u got one thing right tn you: jisung rlly does look fucking hot in that pic

A smile threatens to break across your face as you scroll through your text chain. Then, you remember who exactly you are messaging (more importantly, that you have no idea who is on the other side of the screen) and your expression evens out.

You close your phone, putting it on silent, and then go to sleep before you can do something stupid, like continue the conversation further.

If you were able to look past the most glaring red flag of your catfish, aka the fact that they are a catfish, you would be able to admit that they actually have a few redeeming qualities. Funny, endearing, kind of a loser... In other words, exactly your type.

And worst of all, you find yourself almost wanting to believe that the person on the other side of the screen is the real Han Jisung.

In fact, you find yourself paying more attention to the rockstar than you normally would. You were a casual stan before, but something about your catfisher has you paying attention to every move he makes.

Like the one time you decided to tune into his Instagram live, you logged in to see Han Jisung wearing that same godforsaken white shirt, lounging in a chair and reading comments.

From a completely objective perspective, you could admit that Han Jisung is the ideal candidate to steal an identity from if one was catfishing. He's hot, he's popular, and there's just something a little endearing about the small curve of his lip when he smirks, or the way his eyes light up when he laughs.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a squirrel," Jisung reads aloud.

A silly smile stretches across his lips.

"Actually," he begins. "I have been told I look like a squirrel, ahaha. Funny you bring it up."

The comments light up at the bashful way he answers the question.

"Although," he continues, chewing on his lip as his smile becomes more secretive. "Recently, I've also been told I look a little like a hamster. Especially when I'm eating. Isn't that so funny?"

His words shoot right to your heart, and your skin lights on fire. What did he just say?

The words are familiar, so familiar that you have to pause and think about it. And then, you remember your conversation with your catfisher...

A few days ago, you had been talking about Han Jisung and a photo he had posted of him eating ramen way too fast. You had made the passing remark that he looks a little like a hamster, or a gerbil, especially when he makes that expression.

Your catfish had taken personal offense, of course, but you brushed him off as you always do.

Except now... Why is the real Han Jisung bringing it up?

It takes a few moments of panicked contemplation for you to realize that you are probably not the only one who made the comparison. In fact, when you furiously click back to the photo on his Instagram feed, you find that more than a few people have also commented saying the same thing.

Your heart calms as reality comes back to you, and you can't help but laugh a little. At least now your catfisher will have good ammunition when he comes to you later, no doubt with another ploy on how to convince you he is the real Han Jisung.

Only, over the next few days, you notice that he does not bring up the hamster comment at all.

Disaster strikes again a few nights later. You have claimed the night as a self-care night because of the week you have had, and in your eyes, a self-care night means one thing: alcohol and trashy TV.

Tonight, your poison of choice is a spicy margarita. Well actually, a few of them.

Margaritas aren't your solo night drinks—Seungmin was supposed to come over and hang with you, but cancelled at the last minute like the bitch he is, leaving you with a few too many drinks that you might have made double, and the entire night to yourself.

The only issue is that tequila drunk you isn't regular drunk you. No, tequila has a way of bringing out your most base instincts, making you act out in the most inhumane way possible, leading you down a path of destruction. Tequila is inevitable.

In other words, tequila drunk you is horny drunk you.

Which is why you're surprised it takes you two whole hours before you pull out your phone and message your catfish boy.

you: u know you: u might not be the real han jisung you: but i gotta give it to u you: u really know how to curate a profile for the female gaze you: like damn you: u def picked the hottest pictures of him

The alcohol has already started to burn through your veins, casting a hazy sheen over your apartment, when your phone buzzes.

jisung: oh? jisung: do tell jisung: i soooo love compliments :) especially when they come from u ;) you: ur so fucking weird you: do u like get off on me describing what i find hot about another man jisung: maybe jisung: and ur the weird one??? jisung: u keep texting even tho u think i'm catfishing u (i'm NOT!!!) you: shut the fuck up jisung: yes mommy you: i'm going to kill u jisung: ok my bad!! anyways continue jisung: would love to hear abt what u think is hot abt me

You bite your lip, contemplating whether or not it is a good idea to continue the conversation. But you are also on the border between tipsy and drunk, and the insatiable need to be a fucking menace outweighs all logic.

you: perv you: u better not get off on this but like you: his hands are just... sooo sexy you: the callouses and the nail polish... mmm you: and his mouth. oh my god. you: u can just tell from the way that he sings he would be soooo good at eating u out. his mouth would feel like heaven fr jisung: mmhmm? you: that is just definitely a man who knows where the clit is you: GOD and his lips you: i bet making out w him is hot and messy and nasty oh my god jisung: wanna find out? you: shut up jisung: ok fineeee jisung: and what else

The unfiltered horny thoughts have been set free by the tequila, and you can't help the way your face flushes, the way your thighs clench together.

you: his face is so pretty you: i bet his dick is too jisung: fuck jisung: that's hot you: ? jisung: u describing all the things u find hot about me jisung: its hot you: ANYWAYS that's enough for tonight you: ur getting too delusional again

You take a long sip from your drink, hoping the coolness will calm the heat that is spreading through your body. It does, if only for a moment.

Then, you make the mistake of checking your phone one last time.

jisung: yeah baby, whatever helps u sleep at night jisung: just remember to think of my pretty dick when u fuck urself later tn jisung: and remember its your fault that all you have are ur fingers to help u

Your squirm where you are sat on the couch, a strange concoction of arousal and shame swirling in the pit of your stomach.

And when you do fuck yourself later that night, bringing yourself to two unsatisfying orgasms, you can't help but think that it really is no one's fault but your own.

The next day, you decide enough is enough.

Entertaining your catfisher has gone on for much longer than you thought it would. In fact, you haven't had a serious conversation with anyone other than him since re-downloading Tinder, and frankly, it is has spiraled out of control.

You spend a few too many painstaking hours revamping your profile, choosing only the best (read: most slutty) photos you can find of yourself, and when you are finally satisfied, you put your phone down to yourself and swear that you won't answer him the next time he messages you.

Then he messages you and that all goes out the door.

jisung: holy shit jisung: did u just update ur profile you: yes? jisung: u look so fucking hot jisung: who are u updating ur profile for? you: tf do u mean jisung: i mean that picture is screaming fuck me jisung: who are u trying to convince? jisung: u don't have to try so hard babe, my offer still stands jisung: let me dick u down so good u delete this app you: :) jisung: don't send that stupid smiley face when you've spent the past two weeks fucking around w me jisung: if u were here w me rn we'd be able to kill two birds with one stone you: ? jisung: me proving i'm actually han jisung and u letting me blow ur back out you: idk you: u sure u got what it takes? jisung: babe jisung: i'd fuck u so good u wouldn't even know ur name after you: bold words for a man who hasn't even shown me his face jisung: god ur such a brat jisung: do u ever shut up? you: i'm sure you'd love to know jisung: yeah. you'd shut up if my dick was in ur mouth jisung: bet u like that huh? jisung: bet u just loooove when someone puts u in ur place jisung: that's why u act out so much isn't it you: the fuck is that supposed to mean jisung: that u need someone to fuck the attitude out of u jisung: but don't worry jisung: just say the word and i'll do it, free of charge you: as if jisung: there goes that mouth again jisung: it's hot when u talk back jisung: would be hotter if u were on ur knees being fucked so stupid u couldn't say anything at all. you: too bad you'll never get a chance to find out jisung: fuck u you: yeah i know, ur trying really hard jisung: god jisung: look we're having a show downtown this friday jisung: u should come so i can prove that i really am han jisung jisung: and then u can be a good little girl and come backstage so i can blow ur back out you: very presumptuous of u to assume i'd want to come jisung: you'll be begging me to come by the time i'm done with you jisung: see u friday :) u won't regret it you: you won't be seeing me because i'm not going :) better luck next time :)

You, in fact, do end up going.

Not by choice, of course. You would like to point out that your unwillingness in attending the show is a very important distinction.

No, you end up getting dragged out of your apartment and to the bar where the concert is being held by none other than your best friend, Seungmin.

"Stop whining," he chides as you both get into the Uber.

"Seung," you pout. "I don't wanna go."

He rolls his eyes. "You're already dressed, and you like SKZ. What's the issue?"

You frown, fingering the material of your skirt.

"I just don't want to go," you grumble.

Maybe it is silly to be so insistent on not going just to prove a point to someone catfishing you on Tinder. Okay, scratch the maybe. But still, out of principle, you don't want to give him—whoever he is—the satisfaction.

"And why do you care so much about seeing them?" You ask. "Last I checked, you don't listen to SKZ."

Seungmin shrugs. "Hyunjin and I go back. Gotta support or whatever..."

You gape at him. Hyunjin, as in Hwang Hyunjin, as in the most popular member of SKZ?

"You're friends with Hyunjin and you never told me?"

You want to smack him over the head, especially when he shrugs his shoulders again.

"God, sometimes I can't stand you..."

The entire drive to the venue, the pout remains firmly in place. Seungmin doesn't seem bothered by your bratty attitude—but, then again, he never does.

When you arrive, he doesn't say anything as he drags you out of the car and then into the bar, all the way to the barricade. You aren't sure how he manages to do it, considering just how packed the venue already is, but you can't really say you're surprised.

After all, when Seungmin puts his mind to it, he can do anything.

The silver lining of it all is that he manages to swipe a drink from the bar before delving into the crowd. He shoves it into your hand, and when you take a sip from it, you find that the sharp burn of vodka soothes your irritation.

A feverish excitement floats through the air of the venue. The stage is already set up—the drum set towards the back, three mic stands staggered in the front, an amp off to the side.

You have never enjoyed concerts, but the atmosphere isn't the worst thing ever... In fact, there's something sensual about the dim lights and the anticipation.

"When is this going to start?" You whine to Seungmin.

He rolls his eyes. "Patience is a virtue, you know?"

"Not being a bitch to your best friend is also a virtue," you snark back.

The two of you bicker back and forth for the next few minutes, until Seungmin grows tired of it and simply stops replying to you.

Which, of course, doesn't do anything for your already irritated mood. No matter, though. You can find some other way to occupy yourself. Like...

jisung: how's the crowd? you: ? jisung: out in the audience jisung: u getting bored waiting for me? you: lol ur funny you: the only thing i'm waiting for is the takeout i ordered jisung: cmon babe ur breaking my heart jisung: can't u at least wish me good luck? you: break a leg! you: or maybe two :) jisung: would rather break ur bed ;) jisung: oh shit they're calling us on stage rn jisung: talk to u later ;)))

You scoff at his messages. It's still funny how dedicated he is to keeping the facade up, you can't help but think.

But before you have the chance to type a reply calling him out on it, the lights dim and the crowd goes wild. The air is practically thrumming with excitement, and you put your phone away.

A stream of white smoke billows onstage, and the strum of an opening chord sends shockwaves throughout the venue.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" A voice announces from backstage. "So glad you could all make it!"

The screams grow deafening, and another chord is strung, echoing through the amp.

And then, right as the cheers hit their peak, the first member walks on stage.

His blue hair is shocking and his smile is bright as he waves out into the audience before taking his seat behind the drums.

"I love you Felix!" Someone screams from behind you.

Next, a young boy with a mischievous smirk—Jeongin, you recognize—runs on, giving Felix a high five on his way to the right side of the stage. Another deafening scream rises when he wraps his hand around the mic.

The screams only grow louder when Hyunjin walks on stage, running a hand through his hair as he goes. When he reaches the section of the audience that you and Seungmin are standing in, he looks down before blowing a kiss, one hand snug on the strap of his bass guitar.

Seungmin doesn't miss a beat before sticking his middle finger up at him, and Hyunjin laughs as he takes his position.

And then, the moment that you have been waiting for: Han Jisung, the real Han Jisung in the flesh, strides out on stage.

Your breath catches in your throat—you have always thought he was attractive. It would be a crime against humanity to not think such a gorgeous man was hot. But today... His hair is wavy and chocolate brown, his arms are covered with a large blazer, pins decorating the front, and his pants are so sinfully tight that you feel a blush rise to your face.

And as he walks straight to his position, front and center on the stage, you swear, it is like his eyes stay trained on you the entire way.

But it would be absurd to think that he's looking at you specifically, right? There's no way the real Han Jisung would. All this talk with your catfish must really be fucking with your head.

The opening note of the first song pierces the air right as Jisung takes his place, his fingers deftly strumming his electric guitar, and when he opens his mouth and begins to sing, you can't help but scream along with the rest of the crowd.

The rest of the concert passes in a frenetic, adrenaline obscured haze. The energy of the band and of the audience play off of each other, rising and swelling like a tide that you feel swept away by.

Even Seungmin—for someone who claims to only be here for his friend—seems to be caught up in the atmosphere as well.

And the entire time, you can't shake the feeling that Han Jisung is looking at you. Not towards you, not near you, but at you.

You know it is silly, but his gaze bores into you as he sings, while his fingers pluck the strings of his impressive guitar solo—even between songs when he bends down, close enough for you to see the fake freckles dotted across his face, and reaches for his water bottle.

It is almost a relief, then, when the band finally performs the last song of the set and regretfully takes their leave from the stage.

The lights in the club flicker back on and a sigh leaves your lips as the crowd slowly begins to stream out. You can't wait to get home and sleep—you are sweaty in places that you most definitely should not be, and it's not just because of the heat of the audience.

Except, when you go to leave, Seungmin wraps his finger around your wrist.

"What now?" You whine, your pout returning when you see the too-innocent smile on his face.

"We're going backstage," he tells you. "Just for a few. Hyunjin will kill me if I leave without saying hi to him."

"Oh my god," you breathe. "Noooo. I don't wanna."

"Stop being a brat," he chides.

Despite your protest, you don't hesitate to follow as he leads the way further into the bar, past the stage and through to the back.

Seungmin strolls into the dressing room with practiced ease, which makes you wonder how many shows, exactly, he's visited Hyunjin at.

"Seung!" Hyunjin exclaims, skipping towards him and wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He doesn't move to unwrap the other man's arms from his neck, though, which surprises you.

"Thanks for coming," he smiles so wide you think his face might break.

"And who's this?" He perks up, his eyes landing on you.

"Hm? Oh, that's my best friend," Seungmin says.

"Hi," you wave awkwardly.

"Hi!" Hyunjin smiles again.

"I'm Hyunjin, and this is Jisung," he motions to where the boy sits in a chair off to the side. Your lips part, surprised. He was so still that you hadn't even noticed him.

Jisung's eyes flit over you briefly and his lifts a hand in greeting, but doesn't say much more.

"Felix and Jeongin are around here somewhere," Hyunjin says, his attention focused again on Seungmin.

"They better be," Seungmin frowns. "Jeongin still owes me from last time."

"Wanna go find them?" Hyunjin asks. "I think they stepped out so Jeongin could flirt with the bartender."

"Hmm, do I want to go and embarrass Jeongin in front of someone he's interested in?" Seungmin pretends to think about it.

Hyunjin giggles, and before you have the opportunity to say anything, the two of them practically run out of the room, leaving you alone.

Scratch that, leaving you alone with Han Jisung.

Your chest flushes with anxiety at the sound of the door shutting behind them, and you stand still, frozen and unsure of what to do.

"So..." Jisung begins, breaking the awkward silence that settles over the two of you. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Oh, yeah, you guys were really good," you nod.

"Thanks!" He says. "Glad you had fun."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," you continue. "N-Not that I thought you guys would be bad! Concerts just aren't really my thing. I actually only came because Seungmin dragged me along, so... yeah."

A grin stretches across his face. "You're cute."

Your face flushes.

"Um..."

"No need to look so flustered," Jisung continues. "You've said much worse to me before."

"What?" Your stomach turns in confusion.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N." Jisung pouts. "We've been talking for weeks. Do you really not recognize me?"

"H-How do you know my name?"

A strange sense of panic wells up inside of you. You haven't told him your name yet, which means...

Jisung raises a brow. "Do you believe me now?"

You gasp.

"No way."

"Surprise?"

"No fucking way," you gasp again. "You're joking."

"I told you I was really Han Jisung." He pushes himself up from his chair, taking a step towards you. "You're the one who assumed I was a catfish."

You gape at him.

"Oh my god," you breathe out.

"I look better in person, don't I?" Jisung jokes.

"You're... real."

He nods. "Yup. I've only been telling you that for like, ever."

Jisung takes another step towards you. A thin sheen of sweat glazes over his face and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He has long since taken off the blazer he was wearing before, leaving him only in a white dress shirt and those stupid sexy black pants.

"Oh my god," you repeat, your face flushing when you think about all the horny things you said to him... about him.

"And you just let me say all that shit to you?" You gasp. "This is so embarrassing, oh my god, I'm so sorry—"

"I dunno," Jisung interrupts you. "It was kind of hot, hearing all the things you like about me."

You scoff even as your heart beats faster. "Praise kink much?"

"Yes," he nods, looking you straight in the eye.

There is something very attractive about the way he doesn't even try to deny it that sends heat flooding through your system.

"O-oh."

"So..." He takes another step towards you, and you take a step backwards. "You gonna make good on your promise?"

"What promise?"

You take another step backwards, only to find your back pressed against the door behind you.

"Hmmm, what was it again..."

A promising smirk dances across his lips as he pulls out his phone.

"'Prove you're Han Jisung and I'll let you dick me down any time, any place,'" he reads aloud.

"Oh my god."

"Is that all you know how to say?"

"Sorry, this is kind of a lot to process," you bite back.

"Is it?"

"If you were really Han Jisung this entire time," you pause. "Why didn't you try harder to prove it?"

He pouts. "I was trying hard."

You stare at him.

"You could have done so much more, like, I dunno, send me a picture of yourself?"

He pauses, as if the thought never occurred to him.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Jisung is so close that you can see the individual strands of hair swept across his face, you can see every ridge of his brow as it furrows. You can even see the moment that his expression shifts from vaguely contemplative to utterly smug.

"Well..." He begins. "Just for the record, you definitely look better in person."

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome," he flashes a dopey smile that is a stark juxtaposition to the predatory look in his eyes as he stares down at you, as if he wants to devour you whole.

You can't deny the way it sends a thrill down your spine. It is no secret between the two of you that you find him insanely attractive, and after seeing him perform—the confidence he has on stage, the utter skill it requires to put on a show that good—your attraction to him has only increased.

It is in the visceral way your body reacts to him, too. He hasn't even touched you, but you know that a hazy blush is painted across your cheeks, that your heart is beating a mile a minute, that your panties are undeniable damp by simply being in his presence.

Maybe that is why when his eyes flicker down to your lips and his breath fans against your face, you find yourself saying, "so? Are you gonna make good on your promise, or are you all talk?"

The way his gaze darkens at your words is equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, even as he takes one more impossible step forward, crowding you even further against the wall.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," he says, his hand reaching to grab your jaw and turn it towards him.

The front of his body molds against yours and your breath catches in your throat right as he presses his lips hard against yours.

The way Han Jisung kisses is the same way he performs—with everything he has in him. It is as messy and nasty as you had hoped, you think as he practically devours you.

There is a sense of urgency in the way his lips move against yours, parting slightly as he uses his tongue to coax a moan out of you. He licks into you, panting as he practically fucks your mouth with his.

The kiss is desperate and sloppy and so hot that you can't help the way your thighs clench. All you can think about is if he eats pussy the same way he makes out, which in turn only makes you even hornier.

His hands skim down your body, resting at your hips as he pushes one leg in between yours.

"Good, right?" He asks when he pulls away from your lips, moving to suckle at the sweet spot in the juncture of your jaw and your neck.

"Hmm, yeah," you say breathily, your eyes sliding shut as pleasure courses through you.

Jisung bites down, eliciting a yelp that fades into a moan when he uses his tongue to lave over the sensitive skin.

"God," he pants, rutting his hips against you. "You've been so mean to me these past few weeks, hmm?"

"N-No I haven't," you deny.

"Really? Then what do you call the way you've been texting me? You were stringing me along and having a lot of fun with it too, hmm?"

"Nope," you shake your head and he moves his leg against you. The pressure is delicious and it has you biting back a whimper. "Not my fault you couldn't figure out a way to prove to me you were real."

At your words, Jisung pulls away from you completely, faux disappointment stretched across his face.

"There you go, being mean again."

His pout is deceiving and you struggle to catch your breath, practically squirming under his gaze.

"But it's okay," he sighs. "I guess I'll just have to show you how mean you've been."

Jisung takes a step back, leaving you reeling from the lack of sensation. Your hand grips the door frame behind you and your face scrunches up into something that resembles a pout.

You watch, confused, as he walks over to the vanity and motions to the chair in front of it.

"Come take a seat."

You take a steeling breath, not sure of what exactly he is going to do next. He cocks an eyebrow at you when you don't move, which spurs you into action.

Awkwardly, you clamber into the chair, crossing your legs timidly as he stares you down.

Your breath then catches in your throat when he kneels before you, gently prying your legs apart.

"What was it you said about my mouth?" He muses, looking up at your through his thick eyelashes. "That it must feel like heaven, right?"

Your lips part, only a puff of hot air escaping them as you try to remember what he is referring to.

"I'm going to eat you out now," he tells you. "Is that okay?"

"U-um" you stutter. "What if—what if s-someone walks in?"

"I locked the door," he tells you. "So... Yes?"

Your eyes drift over to the door, where you see the lock is turned. You inhale slowly. Then, you nod.

"Yeah..."

His hands move from your knees up your thighs and to the hem of your skirt.

"This skirt is so sexy on you," he says. "It's what you're wearing in that picture you added to your profile, right?"

You nod quickly, your eyes focused on the way he pushes it up to reveal the black panties you're wearing underneath.

"God, you're so wet," he notes as he stares at you, and you can't help but feel nervous under his calculating gaze.

He lifts a thumb to your covered core, running it lightly against the fabric of your underwear, and your breath hitches. The sensation is light, barely a ghost of a touch, and yet it feels both too much and not enough.

Jisung looks up at you, a small smirk stretched across his lips, and he repeats the motion with a little bit more pressure. You inhale sharper, and he continues the pattern, pressing down a little bit harder each time until you are whimpering under his touch.

"You were playing so hard to get, but look at you now," he sighs. "I've barely even touched you and you're already whining for me."

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, trying desperately to control the sounds coming out of you.

Then, Jisung moves his thumb off of you completely, using both his hands to push your thighs apart further. You watch as he leans down, nosing your panties, and then laps at your clothed core.

"Mmm," he sighs. His fingers hook through the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips up to help him pull them off completely.

Jisung has barely thrown them to the side before he is on you again, using one hand to pin your hips down while the other spreads your legs open.

The first touch of his lips on you has you choking on a moan. He presses a light kiss against your folds, smiling slightly when you squirm underneath him.

"Please," you pant when he continues the chaste kisses. "More—"

He moans against you as your wrap your fingers in his hair, urging him forward, and it seems that is enough to encourage him.

His tongue licks a long, wet stripe before pushing into you, moving against you in a way that has you letting out a string of breathy moans. You were right—he eats you out the same way he kissed you: wet and messy, with his entire tongue.

It almost seems like he is eating you out for his own pleasure rather than yours; his mouth remains everywhere but your clit, sending shockwaves through your system while also leaving you desperate for more. The few stray bumps of your clit with his nose have you jolting under him, but you are pressed firmly in place by his hand against your hips.

"O-Oh," you moan, your eyelids sliding shut.

His tongue pulls away, giving him enough room to hook one finger up inside of you. The sensation has you whimpering under him, immediately clenching down.

"You're so tight," he groans pushing the finger in and out of you slowly.

"Feels good," you whimper, looking down at him through lidded eyes. He looks so hot like this, his mouth wet and his lips swollen, his eyes blown out.

A moan gets caught in the back of his throat and then his mouth is on you again, moving fast and sloppy against you. The sound of it fills the dressing room and your grip on his hair tightens.

You pull when his nose presses hard against your clit, which only causes him to moan again and move even faster against you.

And then, his mouth moves from your hole up to your clit. You almost sob when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly. Two of his fingers push into you again, rubbing upwards at your g-spot.

In turn, your fingers tighten even more in his hair, and you aren't sure whether to pull him away or push him down further on you.

A moan builds up in your chest and your eyes screw shut.

"Oh my god, oh, I'm going to—I'm almost—"

The sensation of your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach, sending flashes of heat through your core. Only, right when you are about to topple over the precipice, Jisung pulls away completely.

"What—please—" You whine at the loss, clenching down on nothing as he simple watches. "I was so close."

Tears brim your eyes as your chest heaves, and a smirk plays across Jisung's wet lips.

"But why should I let you come?"

"You're being mean," you practically whine, feeling empty and strung out.

"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine," Jisung teases.

"Please," you whisper again, lookin up at him with desperation on your face.

"Hmmm... I think I'd rather you come around my cock instead," he says. "I am supposed to blow your back out, remember?"

You struggle to get your breathing under control as you watch him push himself off of his knees.

"Up," he motions. "I want you to watch while I fuck you stupid."

You scramble from your position in the chair, your legs almost giving out as you push yourself onto your feet.

"Bend over," Jisung says. His eyes are on the vanity, and you are so desperate to come that you don't hesitate in pressing your chest down on the counter, rolling your skirt up as high as it goes before jutting your ass out in his direction.

You watch through the mirror as he unbuckles his pants pushing them down only far enough for him to pull his dick out. From this angle, you can't see much, obscured by your body, but you notice the way he wraps his hand around the base as he pulls out a condom.

You almost whimper when he rips the foil open with his teeth, and you clench around nothing at the sharp inhale he takes when he rolls the condom onto his length.

"You ready?" Jisung asks then, one hand wrapping around your hip.

You nod quickly, desperately. His face is flushed and his dick is hard when he presses it against your back. The feeling of him, hot and heavy, only makes you wriggle your hips towards him.

He clicks his tongue at you, a firm hand pressing against your ass.

"Please," you breathe. "Want to feel you."

"So impatient," he rolls his eyes, but you don't miss the hunger in his gaze as he stares down at you.

Then, before you can complain more, the head of his cock is at your entrance. He pushes it slowly into you, groaning at the feeling as you suck him in.

You both exhale when he is all the way in, his tip kissing your cervix.

"You're so big," you whimper, and he lets out a small groan at your words.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jisung pants as he pulls out slowly, moving his hips in small and shallow strokes. "So hot and wet and tight."

"Faster," you whine, moving your hips back in an attempt to feel his dick deeper. "Please, I need more."

You crane your neck to look at him, and the hand on your hips moves to push your head forward, pressing your cheek down against the vanity.

"Watch yourself," Jisung pants, rutting his hips faster. "Watch as I fuck you stupid."

Your eyes glance up and you see your expression: eyes glazed over, face flushed, mouth parted. You look the picture of debauchery, thoroughly and completely fucked out. And behind you, Jisung looks just as far gone.

His face is screwed up in pleasure and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth

"Oh my god," you pant, your orgasm building again inside of you. "You feel so good inside of me, Jisung, oh my god. Your dick is so perfect, filling me up, holy shit."

You words pull a whimper from his mouth and his hips stutter. You swear you can feel his dick twitch inside of you, and then he pulls out completely, his hand wrapping tightly around the base of his dick.

"What the fuck," he whines, panting heavily.

"Why—" you begin again, pushing yourself up.

Then, your eyes land on his face, where his brows are furrowed, his face is drawn taut, his eyes are squeezed shut as he tries to even out his breathing, and it dawns on you.

"Oh," you breathe, a small smirk stretching across your face.

You push yourself up from the vanity and turn around to face him.

"What's wrong, Jisung?" You ask, feigning worry.

"N-Nothing," he breathes. "Just give me a second."

"Why?" You lean in close, placing your hand on his shoulder and pushing yourself up near his ear.

"Scared you're going to come too fast?"

"N-No!" He insists, his wide eyes opening to look at you.

"Did you like me telling you how good you feel inside of me?" You ask, stepping closer to him.

He shakes his head but his eyes dart downward, unable to meet your gaze.

"I think you did," you whisper. "I think you loved hearing how amazing your pretty dick felt inside of me. I think you loved hearing how perfectly you fill me up, how amazing you were making me feel. Hmm?"

A choked whimper falls from his lips, and when you push lightly on his chest, he all but collapses into the chair behind him.

"So, Jisungie," you drawl, perching yourself onto the vanity he had just been fucking you into. "Are you going to be a good boy and fuck me the way you promised?"

He looks up at you, panting, and nods quickly.

You spread your legs. "Then come and fuck me."

Jisung practically leaps from the chair in his rush to get to you, and then his lips are on yours, pressing insistently against them as he moans into your mouth.

Below, he rubs his cock against your folds, and you clench around nothing.

"Hurry up," you chide, and he whimpers before pushing into you. The stretch has you moaning around him, and the sound only spurs him on.

The way he was fucking you before pales in comparison to the way his hips move now, rolling desperately into you. Somehow, he feels even harder inside of you, and you wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles together so that he can hit even deeper inside of you.

"Oh, just like that," you moan. "You're doing so good for me, god, you feel perfect inside, hitting so deep, fucking me so good."

The words are partly because you can't hold it in, but mostly because you are hoping it will drive him wild.

His mouth falls open as a string of moans, each one louder than the previous, escape his lips. He sounds sexy and the noises go straight to your core.

Jisung whines when you clench down on him, and his furious pace only increases, to the point where his thrusts are so shallow each one brushes deliciously against your g-spot.

"You're so-oh, s-so loud," you pant. "So desperate, hmm?"

He nods.

"You feel so good," he whines. "A-Am I making you feel good?"

"Yes," you moan. "But you're being too loud. What if someone catches us?"

His lips clamp shut, and to his credit, he does try to hold in his noises. But when you clench down on him again, this time intentionally, he can't help the whimper that slips past.

"Too loud, Jisung," you chide. Your hand lifts to cup his jaw, and he leans into your touch.

"Open," you instruct, and a satisfied smile stretches across your lips.

You push two of your fingers into his mouth and his lips wrap around them immediately, his eyes darkening.

"That's better."

The effect is instantaneous: his hips stutter as he continues to thrust into you, and he sucks gently on your fingers, moaning around them. His tongue is soft as it swirls around the digits in his mouth, and his face flushes further.

"So good," you coo. "Are you going to come for me?"

He nods.

"Good boy," you say. "Come for me, Jisungie, hmm?"

His moans devolve into sharp whines, and then with one final thrust, he comes. You roll your hips downwards, meeting his jerky thrusts as he fucks you through his orgasm, before he finally stills inside of you and releases your fingers with a pop.

"Did I say you could stop?" You ask as his face falls into your neck.

"W-What?" Jisung pants his breath still uneven as he comes down from his high.

You raise a brow. "You didn't make me come. So why are you stopping?"

"B-But—"

"Unless you don't want to be good for me," you sigh, making a move to pull away from him.

"No!" Jisung insists. "Wait, I-I can do it. Please?"

His dick hasn't softened yet, but you know it must be oversensitive from the way he winces. Still, he pushes further inside of you without another word.

Jisung moves much slower now, cringing as both pain and pleasure run through him. However, at this new pace, he is able to reach deeper inside of you, and it feels just as good—if not better.

"Yeah," you moan, "just like that."

You have been amped up ever since he denied your orgasm earlier, and it doesn't take much to bring you close to the edge.

"I-I'm almost there," you pant, clinging onto Jisung's shoulders as he whines into your neck. "J-Just a little bit more, please, so close—"

His fingers reach down in between your bodies and rub against your clit, hands jerky and uncoordinated and yet somehow just enough to bring you right to your orgasm.

With a choked moan, he pushes you over the edge, coaxing you through your orgasm with his thumb on your clit and his lips pressed against your neck.

It is only once you have finally come down that Jisung shakily pulls out, peeling the condom off and discarding it in the trash. You watch, breathless, as he tucks his softening dick away and pulls his pants up, before picking your discarded panties up.

You think he is going to hand them to you, but instead, he bends down and slides your feet through the holes, helping you put them back on. It is rather endearing, the way he helps you stand up and smoothes your skirt down, before grabbing a water bottle and handing it to you.

"So..." He begins bashfully. "Was that, uh, okay?"

"Okay?" You ask, handing the water bottle back to him after you take a sip. "Uh, I can't remember the last time I was fucked that good."

"Really?" The shy look on his face has you biting back a smile.

"God," you sigh, flopping down onto the chair in front of you. "If you weren't such a loser, we could have been doing this ages ago."

"Um, no," he denies. "If you weren't so stubborn."

"Really? You're going to argue with me when you're the one who couldn't figure out a way to prove you weren't a catfish?"

"I mean, when you put it that way..."

"Also," you pause. "Has anyone told you that you text like an absolutely douche?"

"Well..." You raise a brow and he giggles, running a sheepish hand through his hair.

"Right," you click your tongue. "It was me."

"So, um, anyways..." Jisung begins, fidgeting with his fingers. "Now that I've blown your back out, or whatever and you believe that I'm actually Han Jisung... D'you think I'd be able to, I dunno, take you on a date or something?"

"Hmm..." You pause, pretending to think. "Only if we can do that again."

if you enjoyed, please don't forget to reblog and leave your feedback/opinions! tysm for reading <3

𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 - college au american footballers!lee minho & han jisung x cheerleader!fem!reader

wc: 14.3k

cw: some boy x boy action, mc is inexperienced but a secret perv, mc is dumb and forgets what polyamory is, subsequent polyamorous relationship, reader is described to be smaller than minsung, smoking weed, getting drunk, hyunlix are menaces, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you’re not too experienced in the world of dating, parties and talking to people, but these two american footballers that you cheer for just seem to get it.

a/n: SORRY :D! as usual, smut warnings under the cut :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: making out when drunk, spit kink (a lot of it), cumplay, making out with cum involved, rimming (m rec), boys kissing, anal fingering (m&f rec), oral (m&f rec), threesome, handjob, A LOT OF DIRTY TALK, minho’s mean but affectionate, painplay, degradation, slight? humiliation, breeding kink, pet names: jagi, baby, kitty, gorgeous

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Throughout high school, and everything that came before it, you were never into sports. You were the girl that got shouted at by the rest of the team in P.E because you’d flinch as soon as the ball came near you. You had a sick note every lesson towards the end of high school. You’d walk the mile instead of run. You just weren’t cut out for physical activity.

It was the same reason you’d been so unpopular in school. Popularity went to the athletes, the girls who were svelte and toned, and although your mother would swear you were beautiful, you never had much luck making friends or getting boyfriends growing up.

Of course, when you came to university, you chose a non-bodily exhausting major. Fine art was a fair bet for you since you’d always been good at drawing, and you decided you could go for something you were skilled at so you could still enjoy the university experience. It was a win win. Then, you’d surprisingly befriended Hyunjin, an ethereal man with the beauty of a model out of a magazine - and then came along Felix, his other best friend who studied computer science. They’d actually helped you lose your virginity with your first - and thus far, only - one night stand. Although the experience was less than enjoyable, more awkward, you were still thankful.

It was a month later that they told you they were both cheerleaders for the American football team. You grinned and said how cool it was. They’d asked you to join. You said no. They were popular, too - always going to parties and events, and you considered that would be your fate if you joined. It was terrifying. This went on for the rest of your first year. The trauma from high school P.E lessons prevented you from even considering it, even while they told you that it wasn’t really that tiring. Cheering was still a sport, and that’s what kept you back from joining.

Until you finally gave in.

“I don’t know, isn’t the skirt a bit… Too short?” You mumbled. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Hyunjin’s room, letting Felix fiddle with your hair and slide a red and white bow on it. It matched the rest of your uniform, a bright crimson mixed with a more subtle ivory. It was your university’s colours, and the same colours the American football players would wear. Felix was behind you and Hyunjin stood beside you - both in their matching uniforms, skirts and all.

Felix looked like he was about to ascend with the happiness on his face. You felt like you could die from the anxiety.

“It’s meant to be short, darling,” Hyunjin quipped, smoothing down the pleats on your skirt. “You need to look so good for tonight.”

You squeaked. Felix rolled his eyes, glaring at Hyunjin. He’d given away the secret. “What’s tonight?”

Felix sighed. His face appeared next to you in the mirror, half of his hair pulled up with a bow matching yours. His hands stroked down your shoulders with a soft smile, as if he was scared to release this information unto you. You stared at his button nose, covered in freckles, too anxious to look into his eyes. “So… there’s an initiation when you join. Sort of a ritual, it happens every year with the new recruits.”

Hyunjin was now sprawled on his bed, hands fiddling with some rolling papers. A baggie of weed was on his lap, over his pleated skirt. You grimaced at the audacity, despite knowing you were inevitably going to ask for some.

“It’s a party,” Hyunjin said, sprinkling weed into the paper. “It’s nothing terrifying. Just that the new recruits have to all be handcuffed to a member of the football team, and they have to play Truth or Dare to be set free.”

“Well, I just won’t play then,” You decided, nodding your head at the reflection in the mirror. Felix bit his lip, staring at you. Hyunjin’s movements paused. “… What is it?”

“We already nominated you. There’s an uneven number of recruits, too, so… you’re handcuffed to two.”

“Two?! No, you’re both deranged. It’s not happening.” Hyunjin simply raised an eyebrow at your words.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It was definitely happening. That much was clear when you all arrived at the party, adequately stoned and just as tipsy from your pregaming at Hyunjin’s. You were fiddling with your skirt, trying to pull it down just a bit lower, but Felix slapped your hand away with a playful glare. Felix pushed the door open and entered as if he owned the place. The location of the party was some massive house on campus, full to the brim of sweaty, gyrating bodies in different sports uniforms. You were out of your depth.

Felix and Hyunjin noticed your awkward demeanour almost immediately and dragged you into the kitchen. Once he’d found a bottle of alcohol, Hyunjin poured all three of you vodka shots each to drink. He was hoping it would get you out of your shell, a wistful smile on his plump lips.

You grimaced as the burn hit your throat, nose scrunched. Felix giggled, and then he spun you around, hands on your waist. “Okay, so. We’re going to steal this bottle of vodka, take it into the living room, then you get handcuffed to your American footballers of choice.”

You blinked. “Choice? Who chose?”

“Jihyo,” Hyunjin replied, appearing on your other side. He handed you a plastic cup full of a strange coloured concoction before pushing his long, dark hair out of his eyes.

You knew Jihyo, actually. She was the captain of the cheerleading team and had been nothing but lovely to you since you joined. She’d even saved you the embarrassment of auditioning in front of the vice captain, letting you just cheer in front of her alone with the routine Felix and Hyunjin drilled into you. You hoped she’d be lenient on who she chose for you tonight.

Letting yourself be dragged into the living room by Hyunjin, you clutched your cup to ensure you didn’t spill it with the jostling. It tasted bad, but you drank it anyway, ignoring the taste. It would cure your anxiety - or at least act like a placebo effect.

The living room was even more crowded than the hallway and the kitchen. It had you on edge, fingers quivering around your cup despite Hyunjin and Felix hanging off of your either arm. These were the exact types of parties you hadn’t been invited to in high school, and now you were there. Honestly? It was kind of underwhelming, despite the amount of people.

“Okay, it’s time to meet your two footballers!” Felix sounded excited, almost bouncing. When you turned to him, Hyunjin was standing on his other side with blushing cheeks and a just as excited smile. You sighed. This was going to be awkward. There was a circle of footballers and cheerleaders sitting around in a circle, an empty bottle being spun around and landing on whoever was going to be asked truth or dare. The other new recruits were already handcuffed - oh, no. Were you late?

“You’re late!” Jihyo shrieked, shooting up from her spot on the floor. That answered your question. Her skirt was just as short as yours, which made you feel better. She wore it as if it was meant for her, though. You knew you just looked weird. She flicked her short, dark red hair out of her face before pointing at two males in the circle. “You’re partnered with Jisung and Minho.”

“Who?” You whispered, before Felix giggled loudly.

“Jihyo, that’s evil. Not those two! Especially not Minho!” Felix yelled, making your jaw drop.

You were suddenly very intimidated. You already were, but now the guy you were forced to be handcuffed to was, well… you’d have to ask. “Oh, no. Is he nasty?”

Jihyo shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “Ask him yourself.”

All of a sudden, you were being pushed down by Jihyo into the large, uneven circle of people into the gap between the two football players. You could literally feel your hands sweating and just hoped to God that the two boys beside you couldn’t feel it. Felix and Hyunjin had moved to the opposite end of the room, not part of the circle but still monitoring the situation. Jihyo kneeled in front of you, fiddling with two sets of handcuffs until they were successfully attached to both of your wrists.

It was time to bite the bullet. You looked to your left as Jihyo was attaching the other end of your handcuffs to one of the football players. You were met with feline-like eyes, plump lips and broad shoulders appearing even broader with the shoulder pads from his uniform. His eyes flitted to you and he looked to be holding back a grin. Were you that ridiculous? The guy was beautiful. It made you feel slightly insecure even just sitting next to him.

Turning to your right, you saw your other assigned football player. You were met with softer features this time - round, chocolate brown eyes and a doll-like mouth, surrounded by the cutest pouty cheeks. Unlike the first guy, this one raised his spare hand with a little ‘hello!’ and you smiled, waving back. He was cute when he smiled at you, his teeth gleaming in the low light. He seemed friendly, so you introduced yourself.

“Hi! I’m Jisung, that one on your other side is Minho. He’s kinda grumpy, but he means well,” Jisung told you, making you giggle. Minho tried to reach over you to swat Jisung, but the handcuffs prohibited his movements. “Damn! Okay, okay, he’s not grumpy.”

“I’m really nice,” Minho said, smiling softly at you. You took a mental note of his cute bunny teeth. “I’m definitely not grumpy. Not to pretty girls, anyway.”

You could literally feel yourself blushing.

“Um, okay,” You blurted. Jisung choked on a laugh. “So, what’s the rules of this whole thing? How do I get set free?”

“You have to drink every time you refuse to answer a question or do a dare. Once you’ve answered five questions or when you’ve done five dares, we get set free,” When you turned to Jisung upon him speaking, it seemed like his face was closer. You blushed. His hair was long but pushed relatively back, and his red and white uniform looked to be cinched around a very slender waist. He was fucking hot. It had you imagining - would they both fuck you if you asked? At the same time? They seemed to come as a package deal. “It’s super simple. I bet it’ll only take, like, an hour.”

“An hour?!” An hour of being locked up to these two sexy men. You’d die.

“Yep,” Jihyo chirped. When she spun the bottle, sitting on the other end of it to you, it landed on you as if she’d planned it. You groaned. Jisung was pouring extra vodka into your cup. “Okay, truth or dare?”

Truth seemed the safest. “Truth.”

“Do you think anyone in this room is sexy?”

A giggle brought your attention to Hyunjin, legs splayed over another football player. You thought it was Chan, one of the Aussies that Felix was close with. “She obviously thinks I’m hot. I mean, everyone does.”

“Hyunjin, shut up,” Minho said, but he sounded fond. Interesting. So your best friends knew these sexy ass guys, and didn’t introduce you to them. How selfish.

“I’m going to have to drink, unfortunately. I don’t really want to make it awkward..” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your cup. Unfortunately, Jisung had poured vodka in it and nothing else, so you grimaced as the burn travelled down your throat. Jisung giggled again from beside you. Evil. He was evil. “Jisung!”

Jisung only laughed louder, refilling your drink after the massive amount you’d downed. Minho, however, was still staring at you with an unreadable look.

“Really?” He questioned. “You won’t even admit it?”

You blushed. “I-“

“Leave her alone, Lee Minho! If she wants to drink, she can drink,” Felix shouted to your defence. You gave him a smile, very thankful. You didn’t want to be interrogated by the exact person you found sexy. Well, one of the two.

Unfortunately, the rest of the game went quite similar to the first round. You’d be asked a personal question, or told to do a dare that was definitely too unruly for you, and then you’d drink. Always drinking the straight vodka that Jisung gave you had an impact, too - before you knew it, you were slurring your words and your head was fuzzy with the effects of being tipsy. Jisung was laughing at you, just as drunk, and Minho was looking between you two with an amused expression.

Minho being a tease was another thing you managed to work out. You grumbled at one point, yanking on the handcuffs. “Jihyo, can I be let out now? I’ve drunk more than anyone else and ‘m tipsy, please!”

Minho chuckled, inching closer to you. “You don’t wanna be attached to me anymore? That’s a shame.”

“Never said that,” You mumbled, making your own cheeks blush as you looked at your hands. On your opposite side, Jisung was just as tipsy as you and looked to be giggling at something Felix had said. All of the other recruits were free and had left, but there you were - still looking dumb sat cross legged in your little cheerleader skirt.

“Bestie, should we take you and Hyunnie home? I’m sure you can set her free now, Jihyo,” Your eyes flitted to Felix, and then to Hyunjin, utterly stoned next to him. His eyes were a hue of red and he had a permanent smile on his face. He needed food, and then sleep.

Jihyo nodded hesitantly in response to Felix, and with a swift move, she undid your shackles. You were more than thankful to be free, but - oh. You didn’t want to go. You were kind of having fun drinking with Minho and Jisung. They were easy on the eyes, and all.

“I don’t wanna go!” You whined. “Can I stay? Minho and Jisung will look after me, right?” You knew you were slurring your words, but the way Jisung slung an arm around you made you feel content. Minho even laughed, shaking his head in a fond manner.

“We’ll look after her if she wants to keep drinking, Lixie,” Minho said, his tone hushed. “You know we won’t do anything weird.”

Felix shrugged. “I trust you both. Okay, have her back safe later! I’m gonna carry this lug to get food. Jihyo, you coming?”

When the rest of the room left, you suddenly realised that you were left with Minho and Jisung. You’d only met them that night, and in all honesty - it was kind of awkward now that it was just the three of you. Clearly you were the only one feeling the awkwardness, though. Minho stretched out leisurely like a cat, and Jisung was already in pursuit of a few ciders he found in the corner.

“So, my vote is that me and you wind down with a few ciders, and then Minho rolls us a joint,” Jisung chirped, settling in closer to you. “I’m so buzzed right now, I’m having such a good time. Hey, why have I never seen you around before? You’re friends with Lix and Hyunjin.”

“Ah, parties aren’t really my whole thing. I’m… I’m not very good with lots of people in one place, to be honest,” You felt like you were admitting way too much, too quickly, but Jisung nodded in agreement.

“I’m the same. It’s a bitch, but I’m glad you joined cheerleading. You can knock back vodka like a pro! Even Minho thought so,” Jisung points at Minho. He’d been quiet until now, but the tips of his ears burned a tell-tale crimson.

“It was quite impressive, I have to admit,” Minho nodded. “What made you join cheerleading? Sorry about the twenty-one questions, but you didn’t answer any during the game.”

“Yeah. That’s to do with the whole ‘not good at talking to people’ thing, y’know? But… Now that it’s just the three of us, I think that I’m okay,” You gushed, words slightly slurring together. The two footballers nodded their heads understandingly anyway, Jisung handing you an opened cider. You took the drink gratefully, sipping on the bitter apple taste. “Hyunjin and Felix convinced me to join, to answer your question. I wasn’t a big sports person in school.”

“Same here. I used to do boxing, but never football,” Minho leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him. Jisung still sat cross-legged, much closer to you than Minho was. “I only really took up football in my senior year of high school, because I knew I wanted to come here and they have a pretty good football team.”

You nodded, humming. “What about you, Jisung?”

“I’ve always played,” He swigged back a large amount of cider. His fingers played with a loose thread on his uniform top nervously, until Minho swatted his hand away. Jisung giggled, then carried on talking. “Me and my elder brother play. It’s kind of a family thing, I suppose. Hey, Minho, what’s the status of that joint?”

Minho groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “My weed’s in our room,” Minho’s eyes flickered between you and Jisung, and then he bit his lip. Bunny teeth dug into plush skin, and you found your eyes settled directly on it. Minho soothed the bite with his tongue, and then he nodded decisively. “Do you wanna come up and get high, watch a movie with us? No funny business, I promise.”

You shrugged. The alcohol had made you considerably less shy. “Why not? I chill with Felix and Hyunjin like this a lot, it’s all good.”

“Yay! You’re actually going to roll one?” Jisung looked elated, grinning at Minho. Minho sighed, standing up.

“Why don’t you just roll one yourself, Ji?” You elbowed Jisung playfully. You had no idea where the nickname came from, but Jisung pouted anyway at your statement.

“I can’t roll. I’m so bad at it. Do you roll?”

You tried to suppress a smile, but it was impossible around these two. “No. Hyunjin rolls for me.”

“God! You’re both like weed princesses. Like pillow princesses, but with weed,” Minho’s fake-insult made you and Jisung fall about in a fit of giggles. “C’mon. I may have something that you can wear, so that you’re more comfortable.”

You and Jisung stumbled up the stairs behind Minho, still giggling when you arrived at their room. It was bigger than you expected, two twin beds pushed apart with one side of the room reasonably clean. You assumed that was Minho’s, because the other side contained an unmade bed and rap artist posters that just screamed Jisung’s energy to you. There was quite a large TV situated in the middle of the room, between the two beds and pushed against the wall.

“Are we pushing the beds together?” Jisung asked, as if this was a normal occurrence. Minho hummed dismissively, starting to dig through one of his drawers. Jisung started moving the beds in front of the TV just as Minho pulled out a decent looking t-shirt and shorts, passing them to you.

“You can change in here, we’ll turn around. I’ve gotta roll us a joint anyway,” You nodded at Minho’s words. You watched as Minho walked over to the desk, back facing you and you wiggled out of your uniform. You had to remember to bring that home the next day - it was the first game tomorrow.

It hit you that you were in the shared room of two boys you’d met for the first time that night. Jisung was laid on the bed solemnly with his eyes shut so he couldn’t see you, and Minho was facing away while he rolled the joint. They were respectful, but nonetheless this was so, so out of character for you - you were even putting one of their t-shirts on while you were having an internal breakdown. Weirdly, you trusted them. They were open, friendly with you from the get go.

“I never do stuff like this,” You admitted, blushing. When you finally turned around, now fully clothed, Jisung was only in pyjama bottoms. You had to avoid the urge to freak out because where was he hiding that body? He was broad but lean, the hint of abdominal muscles on his tummy. He was sexy, and his waist was just as slender as you thought. You shrugged it off anyway, and Minho turned to face you, licking the joint. That almost also caused an internal freak out, because why is he keeping eye contact while he’s licking it like that?

“Like what?” Minho mumbled, staring at his work of art.

“I’m normally first to leave the party. I never stay late and chill with people in their homes. I’m just… not like that.”

“I get it,” Jisung agreed, shifting on the bed sheets. He patted a space next to him and you climbed onto the makeshift double bed obediently, laying down with your hands folded over your tummy. “It’s the people thing, right? But, you’re being bold. We’re about to get high. The most important thing is… are you having fun?”

Were you? God, you were. Two attractive men were about to smoke weed with you, one of your all time favourite pastimes to get rid of your anxiety, and you were going to chill and watch a movie too. That’s your top idea of fun. You found yourself smiling, nodding up at Jisung, to which he smiled back. He understood.

When you finally turned away from Jisung after a second too long, Minho had changed too, into some grey shorts and a t-shirt. You stared at his thighs while he cracked open a window, and then he was on the bed in front of you.

“The guest of honour should light the joint,” He mused, handing it to you. “It’s the rules.”

“Um.. I need an ashtray. Is it really okay to smoke in here, like-“

“Everyone in this house smokes in their rooms,” Jisung comforted you. After that, he was handing you a small transparent dish. “Ash it in here. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

The first inhale of the joint was delicious. You much preferred being high and open minded than drunk and open minded - it was more fun that way. You tended to just brush things off with a laugh rather than overthink them. After a few tokes, you passed it to Minho, and he asked the most important question.

“What film should we watch?” Jisung looked at you. You looked at Jisung, and then you were both looking at Minho. Minho sighed, exhaling smoke in your direction. “You’re both going to make me choose.”

“Yup!” Jisung chirped, snatching the joint out of Minho’s hand. Minho grumbled, displeased but still smiling as he reached for the remote. Within a few minutes, he’d clicked on some random comedy film on Netflix. The joint was passed around until the room was sufficiently hazy and all three of you were laying on the bed, you in the middle.

You felt a little trapped, but not in a claustrophobic sense. The boys were so, so close to you, and even though you three were all relaxed and laughing at the film, the secret pervert inside of you couldn’t help but rear its head. You could make out with them right now. You won’t, but you could. It’d be way too bold for you to do that, and-

“We should make out,” Jisung’s voice cut through the giggles. Minho swatted him, still laughing but chiding as if Jisung was a child. You, however, were wide-eyed.

“M-Make out?”

“Making out is better when you’re high,” Minho explained, his cheeks blazing red from the effects of the weed. “He always asks me to make out too.”

You blinked. Your eyes flitted between the two men, Jisung still gazing at you. “You two..?”

“We make out all the time. Sometimes we fuck, no strings attached. It’s fun,” Jisung said, shifting on the bed so that he was closer to you. “You wanna make out?”

Could you? You’d been extremely bold, and that was even further than bold. You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t been thinking of it all night, though, and if Hyunjin and Felix could see you now, they’d be so proud.

You answered Jisung’s question by grabbing his head, one hand on the back of it and yanking him down to kiss you. He squeaked in surprise, but he was quick to let his tongue press into your mouth, pouty lips wet against yours. He was half-laying on top of you, the position a little awkward but God, he was right. It felt so much better making out with someone when you were high. You let your tongue press against his, the kiss more of a sloppy exchange than a real, precise kiss.

You pulled away with a wet noise, humming. “‘S better, you were right.”

“Yeah?” Jisung asked, his eyes trained on your lips. “Again, then?”

“Yeah.” This time, he was initiating the kiss, his hands going to your waist. His touch was light, but you squirmed to feel more of his hands on top of you. You wanted more, especially when his teeth lightly nipped on your bottom lip and his lips sucked your tongue into his mouth. It was filthy, and it had something burning in your gut in the most delicious way.

“You two look fucking amazing,” Minho. You’d kind of forgotten he was there. When you pulled away again, you turned, staring at him. His eyes were dark and his cute teeth were biting into his bottom lip again, looking pillowy and plush.

“Min,” You murmured, grabbing his hand. Jisung let out a puff of air, amused. “C’mere. I wanna kiss you too.”

“You sure?” Minho asked, but he was already moving from his place on the pillows to where you were, just a bit further down. Jisung moved off of you, obediently letting Minho take his place. Minho’s hand came up to your face, one thumb swiping along your bottom lip. It was still wet from Jisung’s mouth. “I’m not going to fuck you. You’ve had too much to drink, and smoke… But I’ll make out with you, is that okay?”

“Mm, yeah. This is super bold for me,” You giggled. In the same breath, you took Minho’s thumb into your mouth. You sucked on it, just a soft suction, but Minho still sighed deeply, eyes trained on your mouth.

“I think you’re sexy when you’re bold. You’re cute otherwise, too,” Jisung chimed in, making you smile. Before you could answer, Minho was leaning down, his dark hair tickling your forehead as he pressed his tongue into your mouth. He was more calculated than Jisung, his hand that was on your face previously now enveloped in your hair, pulling the strands just a little. It made you whine against his mouth, squirming, and he replied with a bite to your lip. “Is it good? He’s a good kisser, isn’t he?”

You hummed, still pulling Minho in for more. His shoulders were shaking as if he wanted to laugh at how eager you were, but he continued with kissing you filthily instead. When you started to squirm again, he pulled away, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down instead.

“I think you need a little more,” He mused, nose still brushing against yours. His eyes were enrapturing, as if they held a thousand secrets behind them. You wanted to know more about him, and more about the cute Jisung who was just as anxious as you. Could you be greedy and have them both?

“I want more,” You agreed, nodding. Minho hummed, and then he was collecting spit in his mouth. He let it drop into yours, and you heard Jisung whine, before he was shimmying back towards you. He gently pushed Minho out of the way, and you kept Minho’s spit on your tongue as if you knew what Jisung wanted to do.

“Oh my God, ‘s so hot,” You heard Jisung mumble, before he was pressing his lips against yours again. You felt him lick the collected spit out of your mouth, before he was pushing his own onto your tongue. He sucked your tongue again, whining into the kiss. You could feel something moving on the bed, and eventually, you worked out it was Jisung pushing his hips into the mattress impatiently. When he pulled away, his lips went to your neck instantly, sucking a deep red mark into your collarbone.

“Sungie,” Minho mumbled. “You need to calm down. She’s drunk a lot tonight. Maybe another time, yeah?”

Jisung looked at Minho with stars in his eyes. You nodded, hands gripping Jisung’s biceps. His skin was delicate, honey-toned and muscly, showing the effects of the sport he played. He was fucking sexy. You wanted Minho to be shirtless too. “Another time,” You agreed. “I want you both another time. Can I…? Is that too much, I-”

“We want you too,” Jisung turned to you, his forehead pressed against yours. Now that he was closer again, you let your legs spread, welcoming him to press against you. He was hard, solid in his cute pyjama bottoms, and you wanted to whine. “We want to have you. But, tonight isn’t the best idea. You may regret it.”

“I’d never regret it-”

“Gorgeous girl,” Minho cooed at you, soft as he pressed a kiss into your hairline. They were both enveloping you, warm, soft bodies that were just as toned as they were delicate. Your heart rate was so fast you were convinced you could die. “Gorgeous fucking girl. We’ll take you another time, yeah? Not tonight. You can sleep tonight.”

All of a sudden, sleep sounded amazing. You let yourself hum in agreement, and Jisung moved off of you, curling around your side. “‘M actually quite sleepy, yeah.”

“Thought so,” Minho chuckled, sidling up to your other side. He let you wiggle closer, head on his chest, and Jisung followed you, his chest pressed up against your back. It was comfortable, cosy on the two beds pushed together. “Go to sleep, gorgeous. We’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You woke up delirious. You could feel your head pulsating with the beginning of a hangover, and you were just so confused - where were you?

It only took one look at Jisung, lips parted and soft snores coming from his chest to remind you. Oh, yeah. You looked towards your other side, seeing Minho stretched out and full, heavy breaths reverberating around the room from his deep slumber. You’d made out with them both. You didn’t feel any regret, either. You’d done something that was so unusual for you, and it had worked out brilliantly. You’d had the best time.

You knew you’d be embarrassed when they woke up, though. You managed to detangle yourself from the two boys, wiggling out of the makeshift bed and finding your uniform quite easily. You’d tried to make as little noise as possible, but the sound of sheets rustling from the bed caught your attention.

“You’re leaving?” Minho. You turned around, blinking at him. He looked almost insecure, leaning up on his hands and tilting his head at you in question. “Do you… regret what happened?”

Shaking your head quickly, you moved back to the bed. You let one hand caress his cheek and he leaned into the touch, eyes soft and bleary from sleep. “I don’t regret it at all, Min. I had the best time. I just… I need to get home, and see Hyunnie and Lix, you know? But, um…” You felt awkward, anxious again. One look at Minho convinced you that you didn’t have to be. “I want to see you both again. Is that… a little weird? I just, I really enjoyed, and I-”

“Absolutely,” Minho agreed. He moved to sit closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “Give me your phone.”

You blinked. Where was it? Digging through your uniform, you found it tucked into one of the inside pockets of the skirt, and you triumphantly handed it to him. You watched him make two contact names, and send both a quick ‘hi’ text so that they had your number, too. It was still shocking. You couldn’t quite believe it. Could you be greedy, and have both? Jisung was still asleep and snoring, and you found yourself smiling at him. He was bundled up in the blanket like a little burrito.

Minho handed your phone back, kissing your forehead. “Let me know when you get home safe.”

You practically ran out of the house, in all honesty. You were still dressed in Minho’s clothes, and once you’d slid your shoes back on, you started to walk back to your own home. You were pretty sure it wasn’t a long walk, and it wasn’t, all things considered - you were back home within five minutes, and you swung the door open.

Wait. It was unlocked? It was unlocked the whole night, while you’d been out acting like a fucking celebrity, and now someone had probably broken in, and-

You tiptoed into the living room, almost terrified, and then you saw Hyunjin and Felix. Both were eating cup noodles, staring at the TV where some random drama was on. Do hangovers just not exist for those two? Why hadn’t they even text, to see how you were? What the fuck was wrong with them?

“You’re home!” Felix said, cheerful as always. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring between the two. They have their own homes. Why were they there? They were showered, wet hair visible and with fresh clothes on. Your clothes, you noted. The t-shirt was a little too tight on Hyunjin’s shoulders.

“Why aren’t you at your own fucking houses, guys?” You scoffed, sprawling on the sofa. Your head landed on Hyunjin’s lap, and he spoonfed you a serving of noodles. You chewed it happily. You did love them, deep down.

“You’re confident after last night,” He mused. With his spare hand, he yanked down your - no, Minho’s t-shirt, and you were too slow to stop him from seeing it. Bright as day, the mark that Jisung had sucked into your skin was darkening as the time went on, a perfect giveaway of what you’d been up to the night before. “Oh my God. Felix, look!”

Felix leaned over, the three of you intertwined like a pretzel, and then his jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Who- which one was that?!”

You felt almost smug as you sat up, pulling the t-shirt back into place. “That was Jisung.”

Hyunjin gasped. Felix was grinning, wide and blinding. “That leads me to believe you may have had fun with both of them, right?” Hyunjin giggled, poking at your side. You scoffed, kicking him in the leg.

That brought back your anxiety, however. You’d had fun with both of them, made out with both of them, and they were both fucking gorgeous and so, so kind to you. They both seemed interested. They had to be, or why would they both kiss you? “Um… Yeah, I did, but… I want to see them both again. I can’t, though, like… it’s not logical.”

Felix tilted his head to the side. “Why not, sweetie?”

“Because there’s two of them? Like, what kind of a question is that-”

“What kind of a person are you if you’ve never heard of polyamory?” Hyunjin berated you through a mouthful of noodles. Your eyebrows raised in shock. He had a point. That had never even crossed your mind. “I mean, they have their own thing going on. They’re soulmates, everyone knows that.”

“But.. they’re not together. Sungie told me it was just a no-strings-attached type of thing-”

“Sungie?!” Felix squealed. “That’s so- so cute!”

Hyunjin glared at Felix, trying to get him to shut up so he could speak. “They’re soulmates, but they’re not together. It’s like best friend soulmates, except they make out and fuck sometimes. It makes sense for them both wanting to date the same girl is what I’m saying,” Hyunjin shrugged as if you’d thought of this before. You felt dumb. Why hadn’t you thought of that, actually? “The game’s tonight, too. You’ll see them again.”

“So… I should go for it?” You asked, feeling slightly insecure. You’d gone for it last night, and nothing ended badly. Could you do it again, though?

“Absolutely,” They both agreed, literally at the same time. You sighed, before nodding. You could do this. But you’d forgotten to text Minho, so that had to happen first.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[11:31am] Minho: Looking forward to seeing your ass in that skirt again tonight.

That text had been running circles in your head all day. Felix and Hyunjin had screamed when you showed them what he’d said. If anyone asked, you’d never admit that you’d put on some nice pink lace underwear underneath your skirt just in case. You felt a blush spread across your face as you reread his text.

A feeling of anticipation spread through you as you waited for the game to start. Cheerleaders were meant to take to the field first, and then the footballers would come on afterwards. It wasn’t a serious game, just one of the preliminary ones against another university team that could be considered as amateur. You could still feel your heart rate picking up as you all flooded onto the field, Felix dragging you along with his arm wrapped around yours comfortingly. The pom poms were literally almost slipping from your hands with how nervous you were, clammy and hot under the stadium lights.

As it wasn’t a serious game, the stands weren’t that full, which made you feel a little more relaxed. Jihyo had chosen this game for you to start for a reason, clearly. You were still yet to get used to having eyes on you, eagerly awaiting a cheer to sprout from your mouth. It was anything but ideal, and you would have rather been anywhere else at that moment.

Thankfully, your cheer routine to introduce the game went without a hitch and Hyunjin high fived you afterwards. When the subsequent clapping and cheers from the stalls died down, you nervously anticipated the footballers’ arrivals. They were like kings in your university, after all, and now you’d found yourself embroiled in something sexy and almost… heartfelt with two of them. You felt a little bit silly. You were definitely reading too much into things too quick.

Then, the captain arrived. Chan was someone you were vaguely familiar with, since he was extremely close with Hyunjin and you’d actually seen him the night before. He didn’t spare any of you a second glance as he bounced onto the field, the cheers starting back up again, but you hadn’t expected anything different. In all honesty, you’d expected Jisung and Minho to ignore you all, too, because it was game time. They needed to have their game faces on, quite literally. Waving at the cheerleaders would distract from that.

You could literally hear Felix and Hyunjin both snickering at you as your two love interests bounded onto the field. You elbowed them both sharply, making Hyunjin groan and attempt to fight back before Felix was yanking him back by his hair.

Surprisingly, Jisung halted on his journey across the field. He was almost directly in front of you. You stared at him with a confused expression while he used his hand to cover the massive lights dotted around the university stadium, spinning around in a circle until he saw you. Your expression quickly morphed into shock as he dropped his helmet on the floor, grabbing Minho by the arm and bounded over to you.

“You left before I woke up,” He pouted, out of breath from running. Minho was just snickering beside him, arms crossed over his chest with his red helmet still in hand. You gaped, jaw dropped.

“I- Jisung, you have a game to play,” You hissed, pom poms now dangerously close to slipping from your sweaty hands. Jisung simply laughed, inching closer to you.

“Don’t care. Can I come over after the game? Minho’s busy with an assignment, he’s such a smarty pants,” Jisung reeled off statements, each one as quick as the last one. Minho just watched him, staring at you both with an amused look. You just stood there, staring at Jisung. Felix and Hyunjin were giggling. You could hear them. Pricks. Everyone on the stalls had started to murmur amongst themselves, wondering why two of the star players were talking to some random cheerleader. “Oh my God, I know I’m being weird but stop staring at me. I promise I’ll shower before I come over.”

“Jisung! Yes, you can come over but people are starting to stare, please go to your team-”

“Alright! See you later,” In the most shocking turn of events to date, in all of history actually, was that Jisung pressed a sweet peck to your lips and skipped back to his team. That was bad enough. What made matters even worse was Minho kissing you, too, just as chaste as Jisung’s kiss. He ruffled your hair and followed Jisung off to the other end of the field.

“Well, that answers our question,” Felix said, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re all dating.”

Hyunjin swatted Felix, still staring in the direction of Minho and Jisung. “Don’t say that. They need to actually ask her first. She’s not settling for less than that, you know?”

Unsurprisingly, the boys won. Minho and Jisung were grinning at you when the score was official, 22-16 to your university. You watched wordlessly as they bounced towards the locker room, everyone cheering and slapping each other on the backs. You knew what would happen now. Jisung would shower, and then he’d wait for you outside for you to get changed, too.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“I got loads of sweets from the vending machine,” Jisung babbled once you reached your front door. You had wondered what the plastic carrier bag in his hand was, slapping off of his jogger-clad leg while you walked home. “I wanted to show you this super cool documentary I found. It’s about this really small cat, but it’s really brave. Minho liked it.”

He was so fucking endearing. He was still going on about the documentary as you just smiled and nodded, leading him to your room. Your room was slightly embarrassing, something you noted as he stepped inside of it. It was very pink, very girly and the double bed had multiple cute pillows scattered all over it. He picked up a heart shaped one anyway, sprawling on the bed with it clutched tightly to his chest.

“So,” you began, throwing yourself onto his bed next to him. You were glad you’d taken comfortable clothes to change in after the game - you still had the nice underwear on, y’know, just in case. “Tell me more about this little cat.”

“Oh my God,” Jisung gushed, thrashing around as if he couldn’t handle how cute the cat was. You giggled, grabbing his arm to stabilise him. “It’s this little cat. He's so tiny, but he’s really brave. He’s all spotty too, like a little leopard. He’s so cute but he’s really daring. It- it kind of-” Jisung trailed off, staring at the wall.

He was getting shy. You rubbed your hand over his arm, smiling softly. “Kind of what, Sungie?”

“Kind of reminded me of you,” Jisung mumbled. His hands clenched around the pillow. “Like, it was really cute, but so brave. I showed it to Minho this morning, and - he agreed. It’s like you. You’re so brave, and cute, and you’re quite small, too. Smaller than us, I mean. You were really brave last night. I could tell you’re kinda shy, but you still spoke to us, and opened up to us. It was nice to see. I’m- I’m interested in you. I like you, I guess, we both do. I know it’s early, but-”

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, he was wide-eyed, fingers tight on the pillow. You smiled, nuzzling your nose against his. “I am shy. But I don’t feel that shy around you and Min, because… I guess I like you too. I enjoyed last night way too much to be healthy. It is early, but I’ve decided I don’t care.”

“Yay,” Jisung mumbled, and then he was kissing you again. He threw the pillow to the side, hands enveloping in your hair and pulling you closer. Kissing Jisung was like heaven. It just felt right, and it felt like a reward both times you’d done it. You wanted to do it a lot more. When your thigh shifted to get closer to him, to feel him more, you felt a solid obtrusion in your way. You blinked, forehead against his so you could stare down at his pants.

“You’re hard..?” You questioned, staring at the sizable tent in Jisung’s trousers. He blushed crimson at your statement, and yanked on his trousers to try and cover it.

“Yeah, I’m hard because you’re fucking hot,” He mumbled, looking up at you with dark, round eyes. You tilted your head, confused.

“I’m… hot?”

“You’re even hotter because you don’t know it!” He huffed, finally giving up on hiding it. He sprawled back against your bedsheets, hair fanned around his head. Now that he’d stopped moving, you could really look at it. It was clearly hard, length pressed tightly against his joggers and a spot of precum leaking through onto the grey fabric. “I came over just to talk to you, just to chill and tell you about that cute cat, and now… my dick is fucking hard.” He sounded distraught, and you giggled. Time to bite the bullet, yet again.

“Want me to help?” You asked, shifting so that you were on top of his lap. He jolted, hands coming to grab your hips with wide eyes. He moved so that he was leaning up against your pillows, and his t-shirt rose a little with the movement, exposing that delicious honey toned skin. Your eyes were fixated on it immediately. “I want… I want to fuck you, so bad. I can ride you. If you want.”

Jisung huffed again, blowing hair out of his face with the puff of air. “We can’t. Minho will want to be here the first time all three of us fuck properly.”

“Oh?” That was cute, actually. It was nice knowing that he did like you as much as you liked him, this quick, after just one night of chatting and making out. You were all down bad, all three of you. “I can jerk you off though, right?” You were talking a lot of smack for someone who’d never actually jerked off a guy before.

“Oh God, yes, please,” He whimpered, and you rolled your hips down on top of him teasingly. It made him gasp, before he was pushing you off, yanking his joggers down impatiently. You almost choked on air in shock - no wonder you could see everything, the fucker had gone commando after his post-game shower. He gripped his cock, a tight ring around the base as if to show you just how hard it was. When you looked at him, now positioned on his thighs, his eyes were watery and pleading.

“I… I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to guide me. Tell me what you like, ‘kay?” You ordered, and Jisung nodded, releasing his cock so you could grab it yourself. The head peeked out from beneath his foreskin, wet with precum and dripping onto the smattering of pitch black hair at his base. It was thick, not overly long but a perfect length, actually. It had you dripping into your nice panties, and you internally grimaced. They’d be ruined after this. You wanted him to see the effect he had on you, and you gripped his shaft tightly, pumping experimentally.

“Oh,” Jisung whined, “tighter around the head. And- and, please, spit on it, make it wet, I-” You obliged, spitting on the head and wrapping your fingers around it just a bit tighter. It was noisy after that, making a slick noise every time you got to the head and pulled a bit more. His hips were kicking up, fucking up into your fist as he let out unabashed whines.

“You sound so pretty,” You admitted, kissing his cheek. He managed to catch you in a kiss, whimpering as your tongue swiped over his. His eyes were even glassier when you pulled back, clear tears adorning the dark chocolate colour. “I want to fuck you so bad, Jisung.”

“Yeah? You do?” Jisung asked, his hands reaching out to grab your wrist firmly. You barely managed to continue pumping past his tight grip, grinning when you saw the head of his cock get wetter. You gasped as you felt his grip on your wrist tighten even more, the pleasure-pain radiating through your body. You felt an electric shock when you felt his breath on your neck, his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses as you continued to pump his erection. You watched his thighs clench, partially obscured by the fabric caught beneath you, and his eyes shut as he let out an incoherent moan. “I’m- gettin’ there. Gonna cum soon, gonna-”

It was sloppy and messy, but you didn’t care. You felt yourself getting wetter the more you pumped, and Jisung moaned in response. His thighs clenched and unclenched as he got closer and closer to orgasm, and you knew he was about to cum. All of a sudden, you had a wanting inside of you to taste his cock, and you shifted down his legs to engulf the head in your mouth. It had a slight salty taste, not unpleasant but unfamiliar. The look on Jisung’s face was worth it. His eyes were wide, jaw dropped as you swirled the tongue over his head.

“Oh, yeah, look at me,” You obliged, looking up with doe eyes as you sucked harshly on his cockhead. You used your hand to continue pumping, and as if it was unexpected, he gasped and let out a loud whine. “So beautiful, what the fuck? I can’t handle it- oh. Oh, I’m cumming-”

The taste flooded your mouth, hot cum hitting your tastebuds. Again, it wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. You had many plans to get used to the taste. Jisung’s hand clutched your head as he writhed throughout his orgasm, deep sighs and pants coming from his lips. You ran your tongue around him one more time, before pulling off and smiling at him.

“Jeez, that was- what? You swallowed?” You nodded. Were you not meant to? You thought you were. Jisung whined, covering his face with his hands. “That’s so sexy. You’re so sexy. Can I eat you out, please?”

“Is that… will Minho be okay with that?” You replied, but you still let Jisung push you back into your sheets. Jisung nodded, yanking down your trousers. You’d almost forgotten about the underwear. The second delicate, pink lace met Jisung’s eye, his jaw dropped, and he was gasping as if he’d only just finished his match.

“Is it… does it match?” Jisung asked, and you nodded. You hesitantly grabbed your shirt, yanking it up to show the pink balcony bra that matched your thong. Jisung looked like he’d seen God, eyes wide and almost comical with the way his soft cock was pressed against the sheets. He was looking at you like you hung the fucking moon. “I gotta FaceTime Minho. Can I? He’s gonna fucking die if I show him this.”

“Woah-” You jolted as Jisung reached over, grabbing his phone from the joggers at the end of the bed. You got a nice view of his ass as he bent over, peachy and with a cute little hole begging to be teased. Okay. You’d need to address that mentally later. “You can call him, but isn’t he working?”

“Yeah, but he’ll wanna see this,” Jisung mumbled. You watched him flick through contacts until he was phoning the other counterpart to your love triad, and it only took two rings for Minho to answer. “Minho. Look.”

You wanted to hide, exposed with your top pulled up above your tits and your core clenching around nothing. Jisung hadn’t even given Minho a chance to speak, but you could hear Minho’s sharp inhale of breath through the phone.

“You better not have fucked her, Sungie.”

“No, he- we didn’t have sex, Min, promise,” You said, urgently trying to make sure the other man wasn’t angry at you. Jisung flipped the camera around again, nodding solemnly at him. “He- he wants to, um…”

“I wanna eat her out, and I’m going to. You wanna see, hyung?” Jisung was cocky when he said it, waiting for Minho’s reply with a raised eyebrow. You were baffled - you could’ve sworn you’d never heard Jisung address Minho like that. Perhaps it was only a bedroom thing? Minho obviously gave his affirmation to seeing you, because Jisung handed you the phone. You were kind of hazy from the whole conversation, and you looked confusedly at the camera when it showed you and not Jisung settling between your legs.

“Hey, gorgeous. You look tasty,” You giggled at Minho’s words. He had glasses perched on his nose and his hair was pushed back, a casual grey hoodie over his shoulders. He was so fucking cute. “Wanna turn the camera so I can see Sungie eating that pussy?”

“Mm, yeah, okay,” Jisung was nosing over your underwear when you flipped the camera around, and you obediently kept it at an angle where Minho could see your tummy and your lace-covered core. He groaned when his eyes focused on the expanse of your skin, soft under the lighting of your bedroom.

“Sungie’s really good with his tongue, gorgeous,” Minho said, and you hummed. You’d never been eaten out before and you were on edge, thighs shaking. On Jisung’s phone, you could see where the camera had started to shake from your nerves and Minho’s hand had crept into his trousers.

“Min, I wanna see you,” You groaned, head falling back against your pillows. Jisung snickered between your legs, and then he was hooking his thumbs into your underwear, pulling them down. Minho shook his head, groaning at the sight of your swollen clit pressing against Jisung’s lips.

“You can see me another time, I need to see that pussy. Is she wet, Sungie?”

Jisung ran his tongue through your folds and you jolted, legs automatically spreading wider. The sensation was so intimate, so personal and so fucking hot. “She’s fuckin’ soaked, hyung. Tastes amazing,” Jisung murmured. Then, like a man starved, he was diving into your folds. His tongue drew zigzags along your slit, licking up the accumulated slick and letting it lube your clit when he got to it. Pouty lips wrapped around the little button and sucked hard, and you whined, hips bucking into his mouth.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Minho asked, and you hummed, eyes fixated on the mop of dark hair between your legs. Jisung looked up at you, eyes round and blown with lust, and you felt yourself gush onto his tongue. Minho groaned, clearly feeling the effects of seeing Jisung’s eyes so dark. “Tell me how it feels, jagi. I want to know what he’s doing.”

Jagi? Oh God, you could die. “It’s- he’s licking my, um, hole, and then he’s licking my clit, and it’s- ah, ‘s so good, so good, never had this before, I-“

“No one’s ever eaten that sloppy cunt before?” Minho questioned, and you moaned, letting out a small confirmation. Jisung was ravenous, head bobbing as he let you ride his tongue with the bucks of your hips. “That’s a shame, jagi. You’ve got us now, yeah? Jisung loves eating pussy.”

“I do,” Jisung added, pulling away. Then, two fingers breached your entrance and Jisung was curling them up, rubbing right against your g-spot. You hadn’t even managed to reach this spot when you were alone, let alone with the one guy you’d slept with, and you let out a squeal, almost dropping the phone. Jisung hissed, kitten licking over your clit. “This pussy’s tight, hyung.”

“Yeah?” Minho’s voice was strained all of a sudden, and you watched as he threw his head back against his computer chair. “I can’t wait to fuck you, jagi. I can’t wait to fuck you, and I’m gonna- gonna fuck you raw, and-“

“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum if you keep talking,” You whined, thrashing around on Jisung’s fingers. He didn’t pump his fingers, only rubbing his fingertips against your g-spot and sucking over your clit. It was like he knew your body, playing it like it was an instrument until it made the most beautiful noise.

Minho groaned, and Jisung had the biggest grin on his face as he watched you get closer to your climax. “Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking you raw? Maybe- maybe I’ll fucking breed that cunt, yeah?”

“Oh, fucking- shit, shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna- hnng, Ji, Sungie, please don’t stop, I’m gonna-“

“You’re kinda dirty, y’know, about to cum to the idea of hyung breeding you,” Jisung mumbled, but the look on his face signified he knew what he was doing. You clenched on his fingers and let out a stuttered breath, just balancing precariously on the edge of your orgasm. “Maybe I’ll fuck you raw too. Then you can have both of our loads dripping out of this cunt, yeah?”

That did it for you. The idea of them both taking you raw, fucking you until their cum spurts inside of you, both loads of cum - you wailed, sent headfirst into your orgasm. You had stars dancing all over your clenched shut eyes, the arousal leaking over Jisung’s fingers in the most powerful orgasm you’d ever had, including when you’d make yourself cum. Oh, well. You’d just have to come back for more.

When you opened your eyes, Jisung slid his fingers out of you with a wet noise, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean. Heavy breathing directed your attention to Minho who still sat on the call, but now with his chest heaving and cum splattered on his hoodie. He grimaced, looking down at the fabric.

“Oh, no,” Jisung whined, staring up at you. You raised an eyebrow in question. “I didn’t even get to take your bra off!”

You giggled, kicking him playfully. “Are you a boob guy, Sungie?”

“Yes! Minho likes ass, I like tits. That’s why you need us both.”

You rolled your eyes. “I guess I can’t argue with that reasoning.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your life was turning out to be a fairytale.

You hadn’t seen the boys for a week at that point, the night of yet another party. You insisted you weren’t going, but of course Hyunjin was Hyunjin and had roped you into the tightest skirt you owned and made you come. It was only made relatively comfortable by the fact you, Minho and Jisung had been texting in your recently made groupchat, and they’d be attending the party too. You could hopefully sneak away from the party with them, since you knew it wasn’t Jisung’s preferred scene either.

You pulled at the hem of the skirt, reminding you of the way you had behaved the night you first met your love interests. Hyunjin swatted your hands away this time, and Felix threw a pair of fishnet tights at your head.

“Put these on,” He commanded you. “Minho will go insane.”

He did, when you’d arrived. Felix and Hyunjin had made a beeline for the kitchen when you got to the massive house - which you now knew was Minho and Jisung’s, along with the rest of the football team. You’d wanted to psych yourself up a bit, get yourself ready to see the boys, but you’d come face to face with them as soon as you’d entered the room.

“Oh,” Jisung blurted, eyes trained directly on your thighs. Minho was engrossed in conversation with Chan, but when Jisung grabbed him by the arm to turn him towards you, his jaw dropped. His eyes scanned down your body, completely bypassing the skirt and fixating on your semi-exposed legs.

It had you staring at him, too. You had Jisung in a sexual context, but you were yet to see what was hidden between Minho’s legs. They were both dressed in tight leather trousers, Jisung pairing his with a sleeveless black blazer and nothing underneath. Minho, however, was in a sleeveless khaki tank top, and you thought your heart had stopped. You needed to take it off. He looked built underneath, now that you weren’t seeing him in his baggy football jersey or a comfy t-shirt.

“Oh,” You returned Jisung’s statement. Minho had tits, built pecs that deserved your teeth sinking into them. You couldn’t believe you were being such a pervert, but when you finally looked up at Minho’s face, he was smirking.

Jisung giggled. “Okay! I think we need to get you two upstairs. Lovely to see you, Hyunjin, Felix,” You watched Jisung nod at the two in greeting. The two bastards you called best friends were grinning, elbowing each other in glee as Jisung linked arms with you and Minho. You let yourself be dragged upstairs, and it took everything in you not to fall over drooling at the sight of Minho’s thighs in those tight trousers. When you arrived at their shared room, Jisung shut the door behind you, before staring at you and Minho with an incriminating look. “Are you two in fucking heat or something? Like, damn- oh. Okay.”

He was cut off by Minho throwing you against the wall, one hand yanking your hair back to force his tongue into your mouth. You whined, letting him dominate your lips with his own, and your hands came up to grip his biceps.

When he pulled away, you chased his lips only for him to reach up with one hand and wrap it around your throat, pinning you back to the wall. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me,” You huffed, eyes flickering to Jisung. “Both of you. I haven’t drank anything, you stole me before I could.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re a brat,” Minho retorted, his nose nuzzling against yours as if he was about to kiss you again. He didn’t, only a teasing brush of his lips. “I’ve already got one bonafide brat to deal with.”

Jisung gasped. “Hey!”

Minho shrugged. “It’s true,” His eyes turned back to you, blown with lust. You could see his erection pressed against his pants, and you fixated on it, licking your lips. He chuckled. “Alright, gorgeous. I’ll be nice to you today. Get on the bed.”

You blinked, moving over to the makeshift bed. They’d pushed them together again, and you weren’t sure if they’d just left them like that after last time or if they’d done it tonight. Either way, you were pleased at the idea of you all curling up and sleeping together again.

“Sungie, c’mere,” Minho mumbled, and then in a scene that could have only come from your wet dreams, he was kissing Jisung. His hand was on the back of his head, and the other rested on his waist, pulling him close to kiss him deep and hard. It was filthy, and you squirmed against the sheets, pouting. You wanted to kiss Jisung too.

“Me next,” You blurted. Jisung pulled away, giggling, and then he was climbing onto the bed to loom over you.

“Greedy. I told you I like it when you’re bold, ‘s so sexy,” His lips met yours with a wet noise, tongue automatically pushing into your mouth. The way Jisung kissed always enraptured you - dirty, filthy and open mouthed always, whereas Minho was more precise. You liked the way they balanced eachother out.

“Sungie, you can fuck her first. I want to find out what she likes,” Minho commanded, joining the two of you on the bed. He managed to position you so your back was to his chest, and Jisung was in between your legs, crotch pressing against yours in those fucking leather pants. “I’m guessing you like me talking to you, gorgeous.”

“Yeah, ‘s hot,” You replied, shifting so your hips grinded up against Jisung’s bulge. Jisung sighed, moving to join you in the teasing push and pull. His shaft brushed up against your clit, and you could feel everything from his base to his cockhead. Even just dry humping him felt fucking delicious.

“She likes the idea of being filled up with cum,” Jisung contributed, his lips moving to suck marks into your skin again. He seemed to love doing that.

“My question is, do you like it rough? Would you want me to slap you around a bit, hurt you?” Minho said. His lips were brushing against your earlobe and you whined, bucking up into Jisung sharply.

“I dunno- I dunno, I’ve never tried it,” You admitted, and Minho hummed. Then, with a swift move, his hand was coming down to smack sharply onto your thigh through your fishnets. You gasped, and a gush of wetness flooded your panties. “Oh.”

“She liked that, I fucking felt it,” Jisung mumbled, hair floppy over his eyes. His lips were wet, and you grabbed his head and traced the pouty flesh with your tongue. His hands went up to your top, pushing it up and exposing your bra to both of the boys. Minho was helpful in unclasping it and dropping it from your shoulders. You felt like a doll, lying there surrounded by them both while they touched you all over. It was worth it for the look on Jisung’s face when he saw your tits, and then he was sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

You were so on edge it didn’t take long for you to babble. “Oh, fucking God- Ji, Sungie, harder, suck harder, bite them-“

“Bite them?” Minho scoffed. “You do like pain, huh?”

Jisung’s teeth nipped at your bud teasingly, and you squealed, chest arching to meet his mouth. He pulled away, grabbing both tits in his hand and burying his face in between them. “These are magnificent.”

“I’m really happy for you that you like them, Sungie, but I think she might die if she doesn’t get anything inside that cunt soon,” Minho sighed, and you wanted to kiss him in gratitude. You really were about to die.

Jisung nodded obediently, and then he was giving Minho another chaste kiss before inching your skirt up your legs. He struggled with the tight material of it, before he finally got it situated at your waist, and then he couldn’t get the fishnets down. He was struggling, you could see that, and Minho reached over with a sigh and positively ripped the fishnets open.

“Jesus, Minho! They were Felix’s!” Minho shrugged, and then he took the extra, most annoying step and ripped the lace of your panties open, too. Jisung sat there slack jawed, palming his erection over his tight trousers when your pussy was revealed to him, glistening wet in the light.

“You’re soaking, my baby,” Jisung murmured, eyes fixated on your folds. You wiggled eagerly, making Minho pin your hips down. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes! Wan’ it, wanted it since I saw it,” You whimpered, and Jisung grinned. You watched as he yanked his blazer off, revealing that tiny waist, and then you moaned when he pulled his trousers down and his cock sprang out. It was leaking for you once again, hard as a rock and he pumped it twice, moaning. “Stop teasing, Jisung.”

Minho leaned over, running two fingers through your slit before humming. “Jisung, fuck her. She doesn’t need any prep.”

“You sure, hyung?” Jisung looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

The way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there had more arousal burning in your gut. Minho just grinned, pinching your thigh again just to hear you squeak. “I’m pretty sure the pain will only make it better for her.”

Jisung nodded, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your entrance. You were wet, embarrassingly so, and he teasingly rubbed his cock against your slit a few times. “You still want it raw?”

“Please, oh my God,” You simpered, whining as his tip breached your hole. It was a stretch, but you loved the feeling of it, the large vein on his cock providing the best friction you’d ever felt. The hair on his pubic mound grazed your clit once you’d bottomed out and you gripped Minho’s forearms from where he sat behind you.

Jisung immediately started thrusting feverishly, his hair hanging over his eyes as he felt your drippy hole clench around him. You could feel yourself gushing, covering his pubic hair and his shaft with an embarrassing amount of wetness. You whined when Minho pinched your nipples, his chuckle shaking his chest where it pressed against you.

“Look at my greedy kitties, huh?” Minho cooed. Jisung whined in response, leaning down to suck more marks into your neck. You arched your back, trying to get more friction on your tits. “Fucking each other so desperately like that. It’s so fucking cute. Should I play with these?” He brushed his fingers over your nipples again, and you nodded eagerly, jolting when his fingers pinched the buds meanly.

“Hyung, ‘s so wet, oh my fucking God,” Jisung’s voice was high pitched, his eyes rolling back into his head. “You’re gonna fucking die when you get inside, I can’t- can’t handle it, I-“

“I think you’ve driven him pussy drunk, kitty,” Minho mumbled in your ear, making you giggle. “Is it good for you?”

“Hnng, yeah, he feels so thick,” You were sure you had a permanent, blissed smile on your face while you let yourself get fucked up into Minho. Minho grinned back at you, kissing your hairline. Jisung was drooling into your neck now, thrusts uneven but still feeling so, so good inside of you. “Mm, I want it deeper, please, Ji.”

“D-Deeper? Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you baby,” He nodded, pushing your legs up against your chest. “Hyung, hold ‘em. Please.” The ‘please’ seemed like it was added as an afterthought, but Minho chuckled and held your legs up anyway. You felt a bit disappointed his hands weren’t on your tits anymore, but when Jisung began to thrust again, it hit your g-spot incessantly with his quick pace. You whined, throwing your head back against Minho. The jolt of ecstasy that you’d felt when Minho slapped you was something you were absolutely desperate to feel again, however.

“I- I wanna be slapped again, please, Min-“

“My hands are busy, filthy girl,” Minho hummed. “Jisung. Slap her across the face.”

“The- the face?! Hyung, oh my God-“ Jisung looked wide eyed between you and Minho, but you didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the bed sheets next to you.

“Slap me, Sungie, please. C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you, I know you want to-“ You were cut off with Jisung’s hand raising and slapping you clean across the cheek, and then you were cumming. You gushed around Jisung’s cock, wondering why it felt so, so wet all of a sudden, and Jisung let out a deep moan.

“You are a fucking menace. Greedy, filthy, oh my God, squirted all over my cock, like what the fuck?” Jisung whined, and you lifted your head up, looking down. You had, actually, and you’d had no idea. “I’m going to cum. ‘S too wet now, hyung, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum then,” Minho sighed. “But you better be eating that cum straight out of her pussy and letting her taste.”

You whined, nodding, and then Jisung was cumming. His hips stalled as he came, one long, drawn out moan falling from his pouty lips. You felt the warmth fill you up, and you looked up at Jisung with doe eyes. He pulled out, his cock softening, and you expected Minho to let go of your legs - he held you further up, instead, baring your gushing hole to Jisung’s mouth when he shifted down to stare at it.

Then, his tongue was licking through your hole with intensity, scooping up his own cum and holding it in his mouth. He leaned over you, and you let your tongue loll out of your mouth to accept the mixed flavours of you and him. It was so fucking dirty, but you could feel your pussy getting wet all over again. Just when you thought you were meant to swallow, Minho was pulling you back by your jaw and kissing you filthily, swallowing the taste of yours and Jisung’s cum. You moaned, shifting to move onto Minho’s lap and straddle those beautiful fucking thighs.

“Need you, now,” You murmured against his lips, licking along the seam of them. Minho smirked, before he was pulling your head back by your hair.

“I think I decide what you fucking need, don’t I?” He replied, eyes dark and staring into yours. Jisung snickered from next to you, sprawled leisurely and with a now-hard cock again. What the fuck? Did his refractory period not exist, or?

“You’re in for it,” Jisung chirped, and you blinked hazily.

“Are you going to be mean to me, Min? Haven’t even seen your cock yet,” You pouted, and Minho laughed, shoulders shaking. That answered your question.

“Why don’t you take it out then? Have a look at it, kitty,” He laid back, and you nodded. You felt a little silly, fishnets ripped all over, tits out and your skirt in a strip of fabric around your waist, but you didn’t care. Minho was looking at you like you were the best meal he’d ever seen. You shifted backwards, undoing his trousers and trying to yank them down his thick thighs.

Woah. That was the first thing you thought, looking down at the massive bulge in plain black boxers with a small amount of precum leaking through. Fucking big. Thick. You wanted to make grabby hands and throw a tantrum, but you held onto the last bit of dignity you had and pulled his length out of his underwear. Fuck. His shaft was flushed, long and thick, with a perfectly shaped mushroom head leaking small pearlescent drops all the way down onto the shaft. The dark, coarse hair was perfectly trimmed above his length as if he'd planned this. How could his cock be pretty too? No wonder he walked with such an air of confidence.

“I’m g’na sit on it,” You blurted, staring at his length. Jisung chuckled, and when you turned to him, he was pumping his cock again. Seriously, what the fuck?

“You’re going to do what I fucking tell you to do, kitty. Face down, ass up. Put your head by Jisung, c’mon,” Minho commanded you. When you moved to get up, you watched him rip the rest of his trousers off and pull his vest top off, exposing the expanse of his body. He was ethereal - dusky pink nipples on built pecs, and his arms were so fucking big when paired with the rest of his slight frame.

You flipped over nonetheless, trying to calm the panting breaths flooding from your lungs. Jisung spread his legs and let you rest your head on his thigh, only a few inches from his cock. Oh. That’s why Minho wanted you like this. Jisung grinned down at you, and when you tried to get his cock in your mouth, you were alarmed by the sensation of Minho’s cock pressed against your hole.

“Ready for me, kitty? Are you ready for me to breed this slutty fucking hole? I am going to be a little mean to you, you know,” Minho said, his tone low. You nodded, nuzzling against Jisung’s thigh affectionately. He returned it with a soft scratch to your scalp, one hand still pumping his cock. You watched the muscles of his tummy clench as he did so, humming in appreciation. They were both so sexy.

“Give it to me, Min, I can take it,” You murmured, and then he was bottoming out. He was longer than Jisung, hitting your g-spot with minimum effort from the position you were in, and you whined out, legs thrashing.

“I thought you could take it,” Minho scoffed. “You’re talking big for someone with such a tiny little fucking hole, huh?”

“I can take it-“

“Occupy your mouth with something else instead,” He interrupted you, and then he pointed at Jisung. “I don’t want to hear you whining, either. Legs up.”

Jisung’s eyes went wide. “Hyung-?”

“Do you want to make your Sungie feel good, kitty? It’s not fair he has to jerk off while watching his two loves fuck, right?” Minho cooed. His hips were slapping against your ass, making you gush and moan around him. You hated the way he sounded so unaffected while you were struggling to put sentences together. “There is something he really likes.”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I wanna make him feel good-“

Minho rewarded you with a slap to your ass, before yanking your head up by your hair. “Jisung. Legs up.”

Jisung obliged, pulling his legs up and apart. From this angle, you could see his hole, fluttering around nothing. It was as if he realised what Minho was planning the same second you did. “Oh, a-are you gonna lick me there, baby?”

“Mm, I want to,” You moaned, trying to escape Minho’s firm grip on your hair. “Min, can I?”

“Good kitty for asking,” He dropped your hair, moving his hand underneath you to rub your clit in precise circles. It heightened the pleasure tenfold, and you gasped, pushing your hips back against him. “That’s it. Fuck your hips back on my cock and lick his hole, fucking slut. Our slut, yeah?”

“Your slut, both of you,” You confirmed, nodding, before your head was delving between Jisung’s legs. He squealed as soon as you licked over his hole, something you’d wanted to do since you saw him grab his phone in your room. You let your ass bounce on Minho’s cock, his hand slapping your flesh every now and again and the other massaging your clit.

You realised very soon that you were going to cum for the second time, and you broke away from Jisung’s ass to look at Minho with pleading eyes. “Please, please, Min, m’close, need it…”

“What do you need, kitty? Do you need more?” Minho asked. You nodded, laving your tongue over Jisung’s balls and making him whine. You felt his hand move from your asscheek to trace his thumb around your second hole, making you jolt, until you were closing your eyes in anticipation. Minho chuckled. “Oh. You want this?”

“I- I’ve never…”

“It’s fuckin’ amazing. Hyung, finger her ass. She’ll love it,” Jisung contributed, and when you looked at him, his hand was pumping his cock again. You let your head delve down to lick over his asshole once more, with renewed fervour this time, and you giggled when Jisung moaned loudly. You were glad the party was still going on, music drowning out any noises that could fizzle from the room.

Minho slid his thumb into your ass, and you felt your legs tremble. Being filled like this was insane, his cock still bullying into your pussy and you couldn’t help but imagine it being the both of them - Jisung in your pussy, Minho in your ass, or vice versa.

“God, we’ll have to both fuck your holes at some point,” Minho grunted. The noises from your pussy were erotic, slapping wet noises and keens coming from your mouth, too. “That ass looks so fucking tight. Would you like that?”

You nodded, whining. “I want you both to cum in both holes, fill me up- oh, oh my God, I’m gonna cum, Min!”

“Ah, really? You want one of us in each hole? That’s fucking dirty, kitty,” Minho’s hand slapped your clit, one, two, three times, making you gasp and lean upwards to suck on Jisung’s cock. It made him jolt, and he pushed it into your mouth, groaning with a tight grip on your hair. “C’mon, then. I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock like this, huh?”

You let yourself pop off of Jisung’s length, drooling on the tip. “T-Thank you! Thank you, Min, I’m gonna cum so hard, for you, for you both-” The orgasm exploded in a more full-body sensation than your last one, but you could feel your wetness leaking all down Minho’s shaft. It still pistoned in and out of you, lengthening your orgasm and making you squeal in delight. It felt like you’d been coming for about ten minutes straight, until Minho was leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back. Jisung was pushing your hair out of your face and still pumping his cock steadily, staring into your eyes.

“I’m gonna breed this fucking hole. Such a slut, letting me go raw,” Minho mumbled, almost to himself, hips making you shift up the bed. You took Jisung’s cockhead into your mouth again, sucking hard, and then he was jolting. “Cum in her mouth, Sungie. I’m going to fill up this fucking pussy, so perfect for me, molded to my fucking cock…”

You moaned when you realised you’d be taking two loads that night - probably even more from them both when the party was over - and then Minho was bottoming out, filling you up. It dripped out around his cock with the sheer amount of it, and when you caught sight of him over your shoulder, his ears were flushed a crimson red and his lips were parted, letting out a deep sigh. He looked gorgeous.

Unshockingly, Minho wasn’t at all talkative after he came, and he collapsed on you with an ‘oomph’, cock still inside you. He watched you jerk Jisung’s cock, and chuckled when Jisung whined and his toes curled.

“Need’a cum again,” Jisung moaned, his chest dewy with sweat. “Fuckin’ need it, hyung, baby, shit, please help me, I need more-“

In another brief moment of confidence, you kept pumping Jisung’s cock and sucked one finger into your mouth, slipping it into his hole beneath heavy balls. It only took one, two thrusts of your finger before he was gasping, and cum spurted out like a fountain over your fist. After you kept pumping steadily, he pushed your hands away with a whine from the overstimulation.

“That was…” Jisung spoke, chest heaving. “Jesus. So good.”

“I loved it,” You cooed, running your hand through Minho’s hair where his head leaned on your shoulder. “Minho, your mouth is fucking dirty, you know that?”

“I wish I could talk like that in bed. I get too shy, I just blabber,” Jisung admitted, and when you looked at Minho, his cheeks were burning the same shade as his ears. His eyes were flickering between you, and then he bit your shoulder softly, playfully.

“You’ll both learn!” He chirped, pulling out of you and walking over to get some towels from the shared wardrobe.

“C’mere. Cuddle time,” Jisung chirped, and you giggled, sidling up to his side with your head on his chest. He still had cum on the bottom of his tummy, and you still had cum dripping out of your pussy onto the bed, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care you were still in most of your clothes. Minho did, however, and he groaned in exasperation with a white towel in hand when he turned around and saw you two.

Minho crept onto the bed, wiping your folds and then Jisung’s tummy. You both giggled when he kissed both your foreheads before tossing the towel onto the floor, cuddling in behind you. You were in the middle again - just the way you liked it. Minho ripped your fishnets the rest of the way off and somehow managed to get the skirt detangled, leaving you in just your top, now rolled down. You shifted onto your back, letting them both cuddle into your chest.

“I get too shy too. I just beg, apparently,” You murmured. “I wish I was better at talking. Inside the bedroom and outside.”

“Do you ever wish… that someone could fix you? Like, fix what’s wrong with you?” Jisung asked, eyes staring at the ceiling. “I always wished someone could fix the way I am. How awkward and shy I can get, and stuff.”

“I don’t want someone who’s going to fix me,” You said, head falling onto Minho’s shoulder. Jisung stared at you attentively, eyes wide. “I just want someone who’s going to hold my hand while I try to fix myself.”

Jisung looked at Minho. It was like two seconds of unspoken conversation, then he spoke up. “How about two people?”

Right, that’s what you’d wanted to ask.

“Guys, I wanted to ask… are we… dating, like all three of us?” You mumbled, twiddling your fingers.

“I thought we were, yeah,” Jisung responded quickly, kissing your cheek. Minho scoffed.

“I want to ask you both properly. God knows neither of you are going to ask me,” Minho pulled you both into him, and you turned over and sidled up to him obediently. His chest was still flushed, a blotchy rash on his skin from the intense bedroom activities.

Jisung, however, tries to push him away, resuming his position behind you. “Hey! I totally would have asked.”

“No you wouldn’t, and that’s okay,” He kisses Jisung’s forehead, and then yours. “I like both of my shy babies.”

OH MY GOD pillow humper thoughts idk im insane

this pic screams needy pervy boyfriend hannie 😵‍💫 you’re watching a movie together and maybe a sex scene comes on? or even just a kissing scene lmao…. it makes him needy and you’ve been together for so long now that he’s not even embarrassed about it anymore, he just puts a pillow over his lap and starts grinding against it while you’re busy holding the popcorn bowl.

“hannie really? there’s like… 30 minutes left! can’t you wait?”

no he sure can’t! if you don’t scoot your sweet little ass over to him and give him a hand he’s going to cum in his pants right here right now.

omg omg i saw your post abt wanting asks and was like um?? yes?? i love talking to everyone hgsgfs so i wanted to say hi and cAn i have some jisung x reader crack texts please and thank you 💞💞💞🩷🩷🩷🌸🌸🌸

boyfriend texts | han jisung x reader

heheh I hope you like these! I didn’t know if you wanted it to be boyfriend texts but it’s more fun so I did it anyway haha 🫶🏻

Saviour | bc

❝𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.❞

↳ In a post-apocalyptic world where only the toughest survive, you have a singular purpose: find the leader of the mysterious gang that took everything from you, and end him.

↳ 15.5k

↳ Bang Chan x female reader

↳ Zombie apocalypse au, mafia au, mafia leader Chan, starring skz ensemble, strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut

! Explicit content, violence, adult themes throughout, suitable for 18+ readers only !

「© May 2021, rewritten August 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

Through the crumbling remains of the once vibrant metropolis of New York, you walk alone.

Feet sore and legs aching, the pain is a reminder of how long you’ve been wandering. Your clothes cling unforgivingly to your sweat-drenched skin, every breath you rake in is a scrape of acrid air down your throat. The backpack strapped tightly around you weighs considerably less than it used to, and that’s not half the relief it should be.

Passing a destroyed shop front, the sign of which reads a faded red ‘DELI’, you spy a stack of plastic crates. With the weight of exhaustion slowing you, you pause to sit down, unlatching the clasp of the backpack. It falls from your body with a thump; your shoulders thank you for the break.

It feels like summer now. The days are longer, nights warmer. You squint and look up; the encroaching sunset stretches hues of pink and orange over the derelict landscape, what little glass remains in the skyscrapers catches sharp rays of waning sunlight. Shrubs and wild foliage sprout amongst the broken concrete, the streets and buildings long since abandoned by civilisation for nature to reclaim, perfect habitats for the small animals that dart about the city scavenging for food. In that you are not so different. Structures that still stand do so with a dark and deathly quiet, their depths inhabited by undead nightmares that human reason was forced to comprehend when the world fell. Avoiding them isn’t too cumbersome a task; keep to the open streets, travel in daylight, sleep lightly and only when the insomnia will allow (for you’ve come to learn that the brain protects the body, and if it’s denying you sleep, it’s for your own good).

With some time left before sundown proper, you take a moment. Fishing inside your backpack, you retrieve your trusted water bottle, holding it to your ear and giving it a shake; your heart sinks. Water and food now a scarce luxury, you’ve seen one too many times how strong a force it can be in driving men to madness. Friends against friends, brothers against sisters; sometimes it’s hard to tell the creatures from the humans. You’re glad to be able to say you’ve abstained from such barbaric means. Indeed, you’d sooner give up what little you possessed than resort to hurting another in the name of survival. Something of an odd take in this world, you suppose, but integrity ought to mean something still, to someone. Identity ought to be worth more, when there is so little to be owned by so few— even if it’s likely to cost you something in this world karma has long since abandoned. You’ll pay the price.

But there are those who are not so prepared to; those like him and his gang of brutes that run from camp to haven, city to town, destroying and killing as they go. You know all too well the ease with which they rob the vulnerable of whatever they may and murder the weak. You still recall the smell of the blood; the sickly tang of iron in the air that welcomed your return to camp from a scouting venture. The bodies and the destruction, unable to identify the corpses of your friends from those of the dead ones, for there was no end to the gore. Caches of weapons upturned and emptied, food and medicine stocks raided, tents trampled to ruin. Yet amongst the despair that threatened to end you—for how could you possibly go on alone now? —there lingered a shred of hope: a tag of crimson graffiti, rivulets of the wet paint running from the great infinity symbol someone had left behind. It was a distinctive mark, one that inspired recollections of whispers about a gang that left such a bold sign in their wake: as much a deterrent to those that might challenge them as an indication of their victory. Rumour had it that the members of said gang sported the symbol on their skin, inked in permanence in what surely constituted some barbaric initiation rite. The leader, you’d heard, was the worst of them all: ruthless, bloodthirsty, a charismatic predator.

In the graveyard that was once your home, you vowed revenge by every oath you knew how to make. You would end him, his gang, his spree of violence and terror if it was the last thing you ever did; and part of you was counting on that.

A capable tracker and efficient scouter, following the infinity symbols had thus far led you to the husk of New York. That, paired with the signs of their presence that ranged from bullet casings to corpses of dead ones made for an easy trail. You just needed to pick it back up.

Scanning the wide street, you wonder how to do that. On your side, to the left and right-hand, there are more wrecked shop fronts, looted and abandoned. On the opposite side is an open area that branches out to a three-way junction, the gently swaying traffic lights creaking in the breeze. Rusted, mossy cars clog the roads, bus stop shelters advertise their years-old movies. As far as anything interesting goes, there’s nothing. Just like every other city you’ve passed through.

Taking the smallest of sips from your water bottle—enough only to wet your swollen tongue—you suppose you should keep moving. Something will turn up; it always does. Screwing the cap on your bottle and tucking it away, you gather yourself. Heading down the broken street and crossing into the road, you keep your eyes peeled for a sign; for anything.

Minutes later and as the stretching shadows of the towering buildings begin to inspire concern, an oddity catches your eye. A reflection in the water-stained glass of a bus stop shelter; you stop abruptly and double back, jogging to the structure.

Sure enough, though light is failing, you see it; great infinity symbols sprayed to a row of old, chained cinema doors, four in bold succession. Above them are neatly painted words, embellished by white outline: ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’

Something always turns up, you grin.

***

“Shit.”

Boot tangled in another clutch of wild bramble, you stoop to free yourself.

A billowing breeze picks up and carries through the gaping underpass tunnel, redolent of dust and stale oil. Not the safest of routes to be taking this close to nightfall, but it’s the same reason that posed your decision for doing so; being under cover in the dark is objectively smarter than lingering on the open streets. Through the centre of the underpass runs a slowly trickling stream, the stillness of the surface eerie in presentation. No life thrives down here, in the dark, dank silence.

Untangled from the bramble with only two cuts to show for it, you start off once more, torch in hand. Sweeping it from left to right reveals the tunnel still empty; a relief. The crunch of silt and pebbles underfoot is louder than you’d like, echoed in the wide and empty space. To attract attention down here would be fatal, and so you keep your steps as light as possible, your pace steady, but not so slow. Exhaustion perches on your shoulders, weighing you down, ever the unwanted companion. You’ve gone too far to turn back; onwards you press.

And then you hear it: a singular solid thud. You freeze, breath catching, limbs seizing.

Thud. Thud.

You sink to a squat, hand smacking over the bright bulb of the torch, stunting its light as the cool sweat of terror sweeps you.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It’s coming from above; from the road. On high alert you listen as the pace of thudding quickens to rapid sprinting, like frantic drums in the deep. A shrill, blood-curdling scream pierces the silence, shattering your composure for tears to run free. You hold still amidst the dreaded panic; the underpass shakes, loose debris falls to disturb the stream. Paralysed by terror, a course of action escapes you, every contingency plan you’ve ever committed to memory slipping through your trembling fingers. To fight or flight would see you in direct danger. If you can but remain unnoticed, they will soon pass.

The banal groans of the undead bleed down from the road, the stench of rot and decay rolling with it. Interspersed with wailing screeches of the creatures that have mutated beyond any form of humanoid, you find those to be the source of your true fear; there’s no outrunning them, no fighting them off.

Gut churning an unpleasant sickness of anxiety and in such a desperate state as praying normally calls for, you end up doing just that. Closing in on yourself, cowering from the monsters, circling a prayer to any deity observing that they will simply pass you by; that all will be okay.

It’s the sickening crunch of bones breaking that forces you to see what befalls you; peering down the underpass through the dim, a heaped figure rises from the ground, silhouetted by the last touches of natural light. You watch in unadulterated horror as it shambles unnaturally into the tunnel; the right leg is broken, the wrist contorted around, the neck snapped a clean ninety degrees for the head to hang uselessly. Hiding no longer an option, you rise slowly, careful steps backing away. It has yet to see you, and with a little luck, won’t at all.

Crunch.

A sharp snapping of twigs and brambles gives you away; your heart both sinks and rears with fear. The dead one stiffens with attention, its sickly yellow eyes trained on you like round bulbs through the darkness. A second of suspended stillness—

And you run for your life.

A hair-raising wail floods the tunnel, and you dare not look behind you to check on the creature’s shambling pursuit. Adrenaline takes hold, the atavistic terror propelling your sprint through the underpass, your screams of despair and pleas for aid barely contained by willpower, for they’ll do you no good. The dead one’s banshee cry draws attention from the horde above; bodies tumble from the road over both sides of the underpass, their figures plummeting to the concrete with nauseating snaps and—in the cases where the rot is severe—soft skulls and limbs explode to gore on impact. Panic stricken and beside yourself with fear, your desperation sees a route through the creatures ahead still recovering from their falls.

Run. You pant through the burning of your lungs. Run, and don’t stop.

Approaching the border of the underpass tunnel, you make quick (miraculous) work of dodging the creatures that claw and lunge for you, their bodies broken beyond sense, teeth like gravestones gnashing furiously. Crossing under the lip of the tunnel to the street beyond where you might find somewhere to hide, hope is in sight.

Until it isn’t. A brutal impact of sudden weight crushes you from above, winding you of breath. Pebbles scrape your skin, though the creature that’s landed on you is of far more concern; it squirms and writhes monstrously, mostly intact for your cushioning of its fall. No longer able to contain your screams, you struggle against its thin and putrid flesh, hands slipping throughthe thing as you try to keep it at bay. An opaque eye hangs from the left socket, black teeth and rotten gums exposed, for the lips have been chewed away. The stench is unthinkable; of death and bile, of things too horrible to imagine.

“Help me!” you cry frantically; it never works, but what else can you do? The creature gnashes and drools, teeth clicking inches from your face.

“Please, someone! Help!”

Your arms buckle under the weight of it, your strength dissipating. Dead ones crawl out from the underpass, guts trailing across the stone in dark streaks as they make their slow and menacing way towards you.

A thunderclap of sound through the area seems to you to be a product of the imagination; sudden bright beams of light slice the darkness to blind you momentarily. An eruption of gunfire shatters the air, the creature above you explodes into a fine mist of blood and chunks of brain. Smothered in gore and retching, you’re pulled from under the thing by a figure unseen.

“You okay?”

Too dazed to respond, you smear the blood from your eyes, vision tainted. The depth of voice suggests it’s a man that’s just come to your rescue; the white lights silhouette the sharp edge of his jawline, thick hair a mass of curls. You blink to further focus, clarity returning enough that you can make out a dirty red bandanna around his head, a strong, scarred nose and plump lips. He stares at you, brows drawn together. “Did you hit your head?”

His voice is attractive; warm, yet gravelly.

“I... Maybe?” you reply hoarsely.

“Can you walk?”

You look down at your legs. “I think so.”

“That’ll have to do.”

He raises the assault rifle slung around his shoulders, directing it at the approaching dead ones shambling from the underpass, their numbers doubled. It strikes you that this exchange occurred in all of thirty seconds; it felt so much longer.

“Changbin, left!” he shouts, directed at a man several feet away.

“Got it!” Is the response, said man cocking a fierce double-barrelled shotgun, firing blasts of pellets into the horde to tear limbs and skin. You squint and cover your ears, the boom of the weapon almost unbearable.

“Out of the way, lady!”

A second voice from behind you; you watch dumbfounded as another man strides confidently between you and your anonymous saviour, a pistol in each hand. His violet hair flutters with an uprising of breeze, his smile near maniacal when he lifts the weapons and fires consecutive, steady rounds into the dead ones; they drop like dominos, one by one.

“Minho, watch the ammo!” the bandanaed man warns.

The raging gunfire continues, the man beside you picking off those that get beyond the other two. It’s a picture book rescue, can’t be real. After a while—minutes, hours? —he calls to them, “That’s good enough, we’re out!”

At his order, they swiftly fall back.

“You’re coming with us,” he says, rifle swung to his back as he wraps an arm securely around your waist.

“Wait, what—”

Too weak to put up any form of fight, too discombobulated to protest with sincerity, you’re dragged along by his side, forced to keep up with the pace of jog he sets across the concrete, towards the source of the dazzling lights. The other men—Changbin and Minho—run yards ahead.

You wonder if you’ve been somehow desensitised to the imminent danger; all you really feel is his warmth of presence. How long has it been since you felt that?

“Pick it up, Hyunjin’s waiting!” Changbin calls. Minho stops, sending shots in your direction, putting down the dead ones that have enough left of their legs to keep up.

The bandanaed man braces you firmly against him. “Almost there.”

Parked on the roadside and with headlights the strength of industrial spotlights, a military truck waits. The driver revs the engine; Changbin hops into the open back, pulls Minho up by the arm.

“Quickly!” Another man wearing a backwards snapback cap shouts from the truck, his hands cupped around his mouth. “They’re right on your fucking ass!”

You’re hauled into the vehicle by the waist when you’re close enough; you grab the steel bars and pull yourself the rest of the way in, arms protesting the strength required.

“Hyunjin, go!” the bandanaed man commands as he dives inside, narrowly avoiding the lunge of a swift dead one. The snapback-clad man shoves his boot into its face, sending it sprawling to the ground.

“Han Jisung!” Minho swats him. “How many times have I told you not to—”

“Not to go near the dead things, yes, I know. Yo, I was helping! I helped!”

The truck shudders and roars amidst the cry of the blonde driver: “Let’s bounce, baby!”

Tyres screech against concrete, thick smoke of burning rubber pluming from the heavy wheels. Vehicle in motion, it tears off down the dark street, the horde gradually diminishing from sight. It’s only when their ghoulish groans die out and the stench of death gives way to fresh night air that you realise your state; trembling, aching, struggling to breathe.

The click of a pistol’s chamber sounds off beside your head; if you weren’t so thoroughly drained, you’d probably react.

“Minho, Jesus.” The bandanaed man rises quickly from his crouch. “Put that damn thing down.”

“Who the fuck is she?” Minho says calmly.

“How could I possibly know that? Put the gun down.”

“You’re the one that picked her up.”

“She needed our help, I made a call.” He steps forward, eyes darting to the gun. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

Minho’s jaw ticks, but he concedes, lowering the gun and clicking on the safety, an elaborate twirl back to the holster strapped at his thigh. The other two present watch, but say nothing.

The bandanaed man crouches before you. “Are you alright?”

You nod.

“No bites?”

You think about it, then shake your head. You don’t feel like you’ve been bitten. The man rakes a slow, assessing gaze over you, as though uncertain on the matter of trust. Valid, you suppose.

A moment passes, and he sighs. He holds his hand out for you to take, a warm smile offered. Something in your gut clenches; nobody’s smiled at you in years.

“Bang Chan.”

***

“Hey...”

A careful touch cascades over your arm.

“Wake up.”

Never truly capable of falling asleep, the instruction is no task. You crack your eyes open to hazel flecks and a smile of dimples.

“We’re here,” Chan says softly.

With his help, you rise from the bed of the truck, a litany of aches and pains immediately apparent. The brief rest you’d taken—on Chan’s advice and for your own sanity—seems to have made things distinctly worse; now you’re stiff and overtired.

“Where are we?” you ask, looking up at what appears to be some sort of vast hangar, long abandoned. From behind the filth encrusted windows is a dim glow of firelight, the impression of warmth from within.

“Headquarters,” Chan answers. “You’re safe here. Don’t stress.”

He climbs off the truck with ease and turns back, hands outstretched to help you down. You take them, glad of the aid in your fragile condition, yet when he opts instead to hold you by curve of hips and lower you slowly, closely, there’s an altogether different state of mind that’s inspired. Chan’s hands are steady, his physique strong; it’s entirely foreign to be touched so brazenly, but you can’t deny how nice it is. He settles you, and the seconds for which your bodies remain close is painfully brief.

He steps back, heads off towards the hangar. “You must be starving.”

You hadn’t noticed it with everything else going on, but now that you think about it, your stomach growls.

“I could eat.” You shrug.

Inside the building, you’re positively floored. While you’re unsure what a military operation or any such professional camp would even look like nowadays, this is about as close as you imagine it might get. Caches of guns are stacked in organised rows; weapons racks sport a range of perfectly maintained firearms from pistols and bolt-action rifles to semi-automatics. Ammunition cases are labelled appropriately, heavy padlocks and chains strapped to everything. Plasterboard has been erected to create sectional rooms, long, heavy curtains of mismatched patterns hung up and over the gaps in the name of privacy. Movie posters—both legible and not—are pasted to the steel walls amongst licence plates from various states and a collection of polished, painted hubcaps are arranged in a circular rainbow swirl; very art deco. Oil lamps perch on rudimentary shelving, open drums with quietly crackling fires lit inside them warm the hangar through. Aged dust holds in the air, the tang of petrol and old gunpowder lingers. In the centre of the space is a square metal table, foldable telling from the joints in the centre. Spread out on the surface and held down by sealed tins is a map of New York, its surface marked with blue and red ink—some circles, some scribbles—and pins of various sizes.

Chan observes you quietly as you take it all in, lips upturned in a smirk. When you remember how to blink, he gently nudges your elbow.

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

You follow him into the depths of the hangar until the smell of industrialism is diminished. He pulls aside one length of a paisley double curtain and gestures for you to enter; stepping inside what looks like a rudimentary mess hall, you’re once again surprised by the level of domesticity. A rectangular makeshift table constructed from timber is draped in a paisley cloth, smooth benches cushioned with foam at its either side. Plastic knives and forks are stuffed into metal mugs and presented centrally, alongside mismatched salt and pepper shakers and a blue porcelain vase of plastic peonies.

“Sit down,” Chan says. “I’ll just be a second.”

You comply, taking up residence at the table, the foam soft to sit on. Nice. Chan disappears to the back of the room, behind another curtain, and you indulge in a rolling of your shoulders. They ache dully, as does every part of you, and in raising your arm to stretch above your head, you’re subsequently hit with the wicked stench of body odour and grime; you gag unceremoniously, quickly lowering your limb. Your shirt is stained beyond salvaging, your hair matted beyond repair. A fine state to be in when meeting the first man worth looking at in years.

Chan returns moments later, a tray of bread, warm beans and tinned hotdogs in hand.

“Sorry it’s not much,” he says as he puts it down in front of you, yet the way your stomach growls in anticipation betrays your delight.

Chan grins. “Go ahead.”

Requiring no more than that, you invade the tray, an involuntary groan of relief slipping from you when the first mouthfuls of real, edible food warm you through. You can’t bring yourself to much care that Chan takes the opposite seat, that your voracious feasting is done so under his quiet, curious observance.

With hunger lessened and the last few crumbs marking the tray, sense returns to you. Dirty sleeve swiped over your mouth, you clear your throat to speak.

“Thank you.”

Chan blinks slowly.

“For this,” you clarify. “For saving me, too. I’m grateful.”

He shrugs gently. “Just tried to do the right thing. You needed help.”

“I know, but... there’s not many people that do that anymore. Help.”

“There’s not many people full stop.”

You nod heavily. “Right.”

“I know what you mean, though,” he sighs. “People are either out for themselves or their loved ones.”

You fiddle with side of the tray. “Which are you?”

Chan puffs a gentle breath. “Life’s not worth living alone,” he says. “My team comes before anything. I’d die for them.”

“And for a stranger, apparently.”

He smiles softly, irreverent hazel eyes finding yours. “You seemed worth it.”

And just like that; there’s a singular thump where your heart exists, an ache wildly unlike the others you’re so plagued with. You swallow dryly, tongue feeling too big for your mouth. Palms suddenly clammy, you drop his gaze.

“Can I ask what you were doing out there?” he eventually asks.

“Trying to find somewhere to hunker down for the night,” you reply, a morsel of the truth. Saviour though he may be, he’s still a stranger.

“In that part of the city? It’s overrun with dead ones.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“This is your first time in New York?”

You nod. “Passing through.”

“There are safer routes to take.”

You eye him dubiously. “Is there any such thing anymore?”

“Sure,” he drums his fingers on the table. “We made them.”

“You and your... team?”

He nods. “Establishing safe routes into the city was one of the first things we did when we settled here. We cleared the dead ones from main roads and the surrounding area, keep it that way with regular patrols. We aim to expand, of course. The more we can reclaim of our city, the better. That’s actually what we were doing when we came across you; we heard the commotion. Haven’t seen a horde that size in a long time.”

“So I’m incredibly lucky then, is what you’re saying.”

“I mean; someone had to be watching over you,” he laughs gently.

A moment of silence passes; Chan fidgets in place, on the cusp of asking something you’re not sure you’ll like.

“What is it?”

He grimaces. “You were really just passing through?”

You cross your arms; you didn’t think you were so easy to read. Perhaps he just has a knack for it.

“Don’t trust me?” you challenge.

“Just covering all my bases. I have people to protect.”

“Because I’m such a threat?”

He rubs his forehead over the dirty bandanna. “People are a threat.”

You take a deep breath, uncrossing your arms. If assuaging him will deter his pestering, perhaps it’s better to be somewhat transparent.

“I’m looking for someone.”

He quirks a brow, intrigued.

“A gang, more specifically, though it’s their leader I want,” you explain.

“What for?”

You swallow thickly, an anxious churning rising in your gut. “They took something from me. Something that can’t be replaced.”

Chan’s face falls. “Raiders?”

You nod. “My camp, my friends. The only home I had since the world went to shit. They destroyed it all.”

Amid your voice breaking, you pause, blinking away the sting onset by vivid recollections of who you once were, what you once had. You breathe in through your nose, collecting yourself.

“So, I’m going to destroy them,” you say sternly. “Make it right.”

Chan shakes his head. “That’s a suicide mission.”

Your silence speaks to your acceptance of that fact. Alarm sparks in the man’s kind eyes; he leans towards you in earnest. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you, but I guarantee it’s not worth throwing your life away over. Revenge isn’t what you need.”

“You don’t know me even nearly well enough to say that and mean it.”

He reaches across the table, hand hovering near yours. “I don’t need to know you to convince you that what you’re doing is foolish. Won’t you let me change your mind?”

And in the subsequent seconds where your gazes hold—sincerity meeting uncertainty—part of you wishes he would. In cementing the point, his hand lowers on yours, warm and strong. Another thump in your chest aches pleasantly; if he were to ask you to stay, to join them and find a new purpose, you might consider giving up your mission and seeking peace. You might, if only it didn’t mean that everything you’d done thus far would be for naught. If only it didn’t mean that the blood of your friends would go unavenged.

You withdraw your hand from under his slowly. “I have to do this.”

Chan huffs softly. “Alright. Then, we’ll help.”

“Wh—”

“Help with what?”

The question comes from a deep, gravelly voice; a man with silver hair cropped short enters the mess hall, his stature lean and slim.

Chan glances over his shoulder. “Felix, your damn hearing is out of control.”

“Yo!” Another voice shouts, this one you recognise from the rescue as belonging to Changbin. Now that you see him in proper light, he’s bulkier in physique than the others. He follows Felix, throwing a muscled arm around his shoulders. Strapped to his back is the same shotgun from earlier; a security blanket, you quickly consider.

“What’s up boss?” Changbin beams, the two men taking up casual seats at the table.

“My blood pressure,” Chan sighs. “I thought you were on watch.”

Changbin shakes his head. “Jeongin took over.”

“By himself?”

“No, man. Minho’s with him. Relax.”

And Chan does, visibly. Changbin unhooks his shotgun and slings it to the table, the carelessness of the motion setting you on cool edge. Felix drags his fingers down the polished barrel, eyes trained to you.

“Did you actually need something?” Chan asks.

“Just scoping things out,” Felix muses. “This the stray you brought back?”

“I have a name,” you quip.

Felix smirks. “A stray with claws. Nice.”

Changbin cranes awkwardly over the table, his sleeve rolling up as he outstretches his hand. “Welcome to the gang, dude. We wear pink on Wednesdays.”

You stifle a laugh, reaching out to take and shake it, eyes naturally dropping to the skin of his wrist exposed.

How funny that a second changes everything.

Inked on Changbin’s wrist in clear, onyx black is an infinity symbol.

In the moment of realisation, everything stops; your breathing, your heart, your ability to think rationally, despite what rolls around in your screaming mind. Changbin’s brow furrows; he follows your gaze to his tattoo, confused. Snatching your hand from his leaves him dumbfounded; even more so when you rise from the bench in a panic, stumbling back from the table.

Chan rises immediately. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“Don’t!” you cry when he steps towards you. “Do not come any closer!”

He lifts his hands in defence. “Okay. I’ll stay right here. What’s going on?”

“Show me your fucking wrist.”

“What?”

“Your wrist!” you yell.

Chan glances at Felix and Changbin; the former is still seated, the latter standing and primed for action.

“Okay,” he says softly, lowering his arm and peeling back his sleeve.

And it’s the same as Changbin’s; inked with infinity. Despair curls around you, so concentrated it’s enough to outweigh the rage you had hitherto nursed so well in preparation for this very moment. They killed your friends. They destroyed your home. They left you with nothing.

The moments that follow are an adrenal blur; you lunge for the shotgun on the table, mere milliseconds quicker than Changbin in retrieving it. A brief fumble with the weight of it—you’ve never handled a gun like this before—and you point the barrel at them, braced firmly.

Chan strategically (unconsciously) positions himself in front of the others, arms once more raised. His eyes are trained to the shotgun, then to you in all your distress.

He calls your name carefully. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. Would you tell me? Talk to me?”

“Talk to a liar?” you seethe. “To a murderer?!”

Chan balks. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!”

“I really don’t. You’re the one with the gun, nobody’s pretending here.”

Changbin strides forward, past Chan. “Put my fucking baby down!”

You thrust it towards him. “Back off! Stay away!”

And Chan drags Changbin back by the shoulder, behind the shield that is his own form, the bigger man stewing in rage. Felix brings him close, arm linked tightly through his.

“You destroyed everything I had,” you exclaim. “Took it all from me! It was you.”

Chan pales, his stance faltering. “Why would you think that?”

You gesture with the barrel of the shotgun towards him; Chan tenses, eyes locked to it.

“Your wrist; the mark. The infamous fucking infinity tag of the gang that raids and kills as they please! There was a camp out west, just outside of Washington. My camp. You left that mark there like a... like a fucking victory sign for everyone to see, but the only one that saw it was me. I bet you didn’t count on there being any survivors, right?”

Weeks of wandering, weeks of nursing your hatred appear to amalgamate in a release of exhaustion so strong, your legs threaten to give out. You tremble violently, the shotgun rattling in your grip. Chan steps forward, his hands still raised. He clears his throat, his voice thick when he speaks.

“I don’t know how to explain this in a way that’ll make you believe me, so I’m just going to tell you straight up; I know which camp you’re talking about it, and we didn’t raid it. I swear to God, we didn’t.”

“You’ll say anything right now! I’m the one with the gun, and I’m not about to let you hurt anyone else—”

“We don’t hurt people,” he presses desperately. “I can’t bear hearing you say that.”

He steps forward again, dark eyes wracked with sincerity and despair. Something tight wrenches your chest; why did it have to end up being him?

“Your camp was attacked by the dead ones.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m telling the truth. You didn’t see their corpses?”

You shake your head, unable to truly recall. There had been so much death...

“We were out scavenging when we heard the screams.”

“Why would you be scavenging that far out?” you snap.

He lowers his hands gradually. “We’ve picked everything nearby clean. New York is a wasteland. The more we need, the further out we have to go. That’s just the way things are.”

And it makes sense, something within you reasons.

“We tried to get to your camp, but we were too late,” he says, jaw ticking with the memory. “All we could do was put down the dead ones and make sure your friends wouldn’t rise again.”

The sob that escapes you is entirely involuntary; everything aches. Your grip on the shotgun slacks.

“As for the supplies; yes, we took them, but only because we thought there was nobody else left that could use them.”

“I could have used them!”

Chan’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry. You’re not entirely wrong in blaming me for their deaths. If I’d just been faster—”

You can’t hear his apology amidst your own turmoil. Bracing the shotgun as best you can, you ask, “Why the graffiti? It’s not a warning?”

“No.” He swallows. “God, no. It’s stupid, actually.”

You wait for the elaboration. He scratches his nape, searching for the words, when Felix approaches his side, putting a hand on Chan’s shoulder.

“It’s a sign of respect,” the elfin man says softly. “Infinity is forever, right? In leaving our mark behind, we promise the people we’ve lost that they won’t be forgotten. That they’ll live on with us, through us, forever.”

Chan’s head hangs low. Changbin turns away, hands in his pockets. Felix drags his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo that set you to such hysteria.

“The ink reminds us of our obligation; to survive and keep fighting for the ones that didn’t make it.”

And in your heart of hearts, you know that what he says is the truth. None of these men are killers, none of their stories fabricated. Such a momentous misunderstanding cleared up should bring relief, yet you rather find that as the image of the murderous gang you’ve held central to your need for revenge melts away, you’re left with a weight of emptiness. Hunting them down was your sole purpose; without it, what have you left? A cruel, hellish world that takes the things you love and besets you with monsters.

You’re wracked with tears of the most excruciating making, the shotgun slipping from your grasp once more. Chan closes the distance, and with one hand deftly takes the weapon while the other draws you near, into chest so firm and embrace so secure. You hear rushed footsteps—Changbin and Felix? —then the swish of a thick curtain, and the tears come willingly, a surge of emotion finally unbottled for you to freefall through in the arms of a stranger that you cling to in your childlike fear.

“I’m so sorry.”

Strong hands soothe your matted mess of hair; you cry harder.

“What am I going to do?” You manage to speak in broken huffs for breath.

Chan says nothing, and holds you still, unwavering. After a suspended moment of silence, where your sobs have eased to stuffy sniffs, he allows you a little room. Searching your face, he says softly, “You should come with us on a run.”

You drag your sleeve over your sore eyes. “Like, a scavenge?”

His lips curve into a slight smile. “Something like that. It’ll take your mind off things for a little while. We can show you how we operate.”

“Would that be... okay?”

“Of course,” he draws you back into his chest. “You’ll be safe with us. With me.”

And your heart pounds despite yourself.

What does it say about the power of the man that, for the first time since the world fell, you feel able to trust in such a promise of safety?

***

“Okay, so—”

There are eight of them.

Eight men that appear to rally under the banner that Chan flies for them. Gathered around the map table in the main area of the hangar, he takes centre stage in addressing them.

“— Seungmin’s intel suggests that, aside from us, there are two other groups of major significance hunkered down somewhere in the city.” He points to a pin stuck in the west side of the map. “You think one of them is around here?”

A striking man with cherry-coloured hair nods. “That’s right.”

“So we would need to take this route to get to them.” Chan traces the map with his index.

“In theory, if the bridge hadn’t been destroyed,” Seungmin says coolly.

“Destroyed?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve blown that shit right up, made themselves a legit safe zone. The only other way through is via the backstreets, but I guarantee they’ve booby trapped those to kingdom come.”

Chan’s jaw ticks.

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Seungmin adds.

“Is it ever?” Chan sighs.

“He’s right, boss,” Jisung pipes up. “You know we’re down for a challenge but if these people have gone to such extremes to cut themselves off, you’ve got to wonder if they even want help at all. We’d just be putting ourselves at risk.”

“We put ourselves at risk every time we go out there,” Minho exclaims nonchalantly from his side. “Makes no difference to me either way.”

That earns him a pout of disapproval from Jisung, and in watching the exchange; the way they all talk to one another, it strikes you that there’s connection behind all the organisation. Strong connection. As for Chan’s apparent objective—reaching out to another group to offer them aid? —you wonder on the intelligence of it. The dangers are apparent, the rewards shockingly slight. Still, Chan appears resolute. Such is the nature of the man; to help, to heal.

“I know it’ll be dangerous,” Chan says, “and yes, from the outside it looks like they don’t want any visitors, but they could just as easily be trapped in there with nothing. What starts as a haven can quickly become a prison.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

All eyes turn to the youngest looking among them.

Chan nods. “Go ahead, Jeongin.”

He approaches the map, leaning over it to touch the marked east side. “Doesn’t it make more sense to run to this other camp? It’s easier to get to in the first instance, at least for us. I kind of think they must be more vulnerable too.” He taps a spot with his index. “They’re right next to sewers access here.”

“They’ll have secured that area, surely,” Chan muses.

Jeongin shrugs. “Maybe. I hope so. Not that they could ever totally secure the sewers though; they’re so infested it’s almost better to leave them alone altogether.”

You want to voice your agreement—the dead ones slink to the darkest and dingiest of refuges when the sun rises, the sewer system running under New York favourite among their haunts for its maze-like protection—but refrain from doing so. You’re an observer, you remind yourself. There’s still room for disdain among the group yet; you did pull a shotgun on two of them earlier.

After a moment scanning the map, then assessing the others, Chan collects himself.

“Alright. We run to this camp.”

The other men begin to shift to attention.

“Hyunjin,” Chan calls.

“Yes?” the leggy blonde responds, reclining across a bench.

“Get the truck ready.”

And he rises gracefully, offering a respectful, “Yes, boss.”

“Seungmin, Jeongin, start loading up the supplies. Medicine, food; whatever we can spare.”

The two men nod their understanding and head off across the hangar. Chan looks to his right at Changbin, the man’s shotgun cradled in his arms.

“Weapons inventory, please,” Chan says. “Load us up.”

Changbin grins wide. “You got it.”

Something about the efficiency of the operation awes you; all with their roles and responsibilities yet tethered to Chan at the heart of it all, ever calm and collected. Watching him instruct his team—people he’s spoken of as affectionately as one might family—tells of so much more than the most obvious leadership qualities. Chan is a spectacle; a rarity. A saviour in its purest essence.

With Minho, Felix and Jisung left around the table, Chan speaks to them sternly.

“You know I’ll never ask you to follow me out there. If you want in on this, it has to be your call. I’m as content as always to go alone.”

“Shut up,” Minho scoffs, “you’d crash and burn without me, and you know it. Count me in.”

Chan smiles weakly, the truth of it plain.

“Me too,” Jisung exclaims proudly.

“You’re staying here,” Minho deadpans.

“Wh— But I can help!”

“It’s not happening.”

“Minho—”

The elder then turns to him, hands gentle yet firm on his shoulders. “I won’t be able to focus if you’re there, babe. I know you want to help, but if anything ever happened to you...” He falters. “... If I couldn’t protect you?”

And Jisung weakly acquiesces, nods gently, and curls his arms around the man’s middle to hug him. Your chest tightens inexplicably; how unthinkable that love should still bloom in the wasteland.

“You’re not going without me!” Changbin croaks from across the hangar, weapon-stuffed duffel bags tucked under each arm.

“Alright,” Chan states. “Changbin, Minho and I will take point. Hyunjin designated driver. The rest stay here and hold down the fort.”

In apparent agreement, the group breaks off to make their preparations and conduct whatever rituals bring them the most peace. When alone, Chan turns to you and stands close.

“Ready for this?” he asks you quietly.

“I think so.”

“I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it’ll be.”

You shake your head, hyper-aware of and warm with his proximity. “You don’t.”

He hums, then reaches around to his back, pulling something from the belt of his jeans. When he brings it around, you’re admittedly surprised, and that must be written on your expression.

“Take it,” he urges, handing you the compact revolver.

“Are you sure?”

He reaches for your hand and upturns your palm, setting the weapon on it tentatively. The sleek metal is cool on your skin, but it’s pleasantly light. Definitely something you can handle with ease, you think.

“Better than a shotgun, huh?” He smiles.

You turn it over in your hands, checking the barrel. It’s loaded.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Looking up at him so closely, you’re struck with a giddy swoop, tingles pricking on your skin. Chan shrugs softly; he returns your gaze, holds it.

 “Hopefully you won’t have to use it,” he mutters.

You swallow dry.

“Stay close to me when we’re out there.”

“Only when we’re out there?”

Chan searches your face intently, a brief yet subtle bite of his bottom lip betraying what tension you at first thought was one-sided. Whatever lives here, he feels it too. He puffs a gentle breath, then backs away a step, his jaw locked tight.

“If things get bad, you run, and you don’t look back,” he says.

And as he walks away across the hangar, you hope he doesn’t expect compliance with the final instruction.

You refuse to run from him.

***

Hyunjin navigates the ruins of New York like it’s his personal playground, and in that, there’s something to be respected.

You’re not sure you could commandeer a truck this size slowly through empty roads, let alone at top speed through ones strewn with debris and destruction, but Hyunjin somehow manages it with envious efficiency.

The rising sun crawls over and above the jagged skyline, its early light all too welcome. The darkness peels from the streets, the shadows retreat to their derelict homes to await cover of night once more, and it feels all that much easier to breathe. Still, Hyunjin keeps the full beam headlights primed, slicing rays of blinding white through the dim that sends nervous wildlife skittering back to the safety of their concrete refuges.

Chan and Minho ride with you in the bed of the truck, Changbin takes the passenger seat. They exchange few words—the few are quiet and abrupt—and it strikes you as odd given what you’ve gleaned of their natures until you realise the silence is for Hyunjin’s benefit; he drives with unwavering focus, and they’re loath to create any such distraction.

The steady thrum of the engine is married to occasional pops of the aged exhaust; it’s worse going over uneven terrain, but for as long as Hyunjin perseveres, so does the vehicle. The morning air is still pleasant, yet to adopt the acridity of summer. It feels nice through your hair, on your skin.

“We’re close, boss,” Hyunjin calls from the cab.

Chan straightens in his seat, readjusting the rifle strap taut across his broad chest.

“Ready?” He addresses everyone.

Changbin nods and cocks his shotgun, Minho secures his thigh holsters, the safety on his dual pistols disengaged. The truck turns into a long stretch of mostly clear road; abandoned vehicles appear to have been manoeuvred to the pavements, all obstacles and debris removed. Standing from your seat and craning over the cab, a few hundred yards ahead is a sturdy wire fence. Ramshackle signs are welded to the wire, warning off intruders and looters on pain of death, which only serves to further confuse when you’re near enough to tell the double gate that should be securing it is instead swung wide open. Beyond the fence is an overgrown lawn; a playing field, you think, telling from the rusted football posts that stand tall. The building that overlooks it all is vast in length and several stories tall, its rows of windows mostly intact as they catch the first morning’s rays. While structurally sound, the exterior still leaves something to be desired; ivy crawls with abandon and the once white pebbledash browns unpleasantly, stained by weather and neglect.

Hyunjin rolls the truck to a gradual stop. “What do you think?”

“Take it slow,” Chan calls, scanning the grounds.

Driving through the wrecked gates, it belatedly dawns on you what this place is.

“A high school?” You look to Chan.

“Once upon a time,” he mutters sadly.

Your stomach twists uncomfortably as you look upon the eerie stillness of the building that now seems so melancholy. A plastic bag tumbles lazily across the deserted playing field. Minho stands close to Chan.

“Something’s not right,” he says quietly, and in voicing the obvious, Chan’s face simply darkens.

Hyunjin pulls up gently before the apparent main entrance of the school, and a tickling of anxiety spikes as Chan and the others hop down from the bed. You follow suit as best you can, glad of Chan’s hand to help you. He rounds the truck, reaches through the front window to pat Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“Leave the engine running.”

“Got it.”

As a group, the three men traverse the few concrete steps to the main double doors, Changbin with his shotgun primed, Minho with his weapons still holstered, yet on clear high alert.

“It’s too fuckin’ quiet,” Changbin grumbles. “Why is there nobody on watch? We should have been shot at by now.”

Chan turns to you, pushing his curls back over his bandanna. “Stay close.”

Taking point, Minho pushes the nearest set of double doors open, the glass frame streaked with filth. A piercing creak whines from the hinges; he grimaces (as do you) and stops, breath bated. With no responding sound, he shoves it the rest of the way, making room for all to enter.

Inside, the light reaches nothing. Darkness reigns supreme, the entrance corridor stretching out endlessly to your left and right-hand. There’s a distinct odour of damp and rot that permeates the heavy air, puddles having formed on the pale blue linoleum, the distant trickle of a leak from somewhere. Tall lockers line the walls, some with their doors open, some with no doors at all.

Minho’s hands hover over his thigh holsters as he and Changbin start ahead, their pace slow and controlled. With silence so oppressive you pick up on one another’s very breaths, you can hardly hope to control the way your heart races with nerves. Several paces behind, you stay close to Chan, his presence a welcome comfort.

“Shit,” Minho curses, having peered inside an open classroom. He gestures to Chan. “Boss.”

To you, Chan hisses, “Stay here,” and rushes to Minho’s position before you’re given chance to complain. You can only watch as the man discovers whatever Minho just did, his shoulders sagging with apparent defeat, his hands raking down his face. Changbin joins them.

“Goddamn it.”

“Looks like it goes this way,” Minho says, pointing at the floor, then down the corridor to the adjacent room. In inching closer and focusing through the dim, you realise the pale blue is stained a distinct aged crimson. Fear seizes you, heart pumping.

A brief check on your state, and Chan follows Minho along the blood trail, the former bringing his rifle around while the latter unclasps his left thigh holster, drawing one pistol. Changbin takes up the rear, and as the three disappear into the quiet classroom, your mind races. This place was supposed to be okay.

Seconds of silence feel to drag out long minutes, yet what breaks it inspires clean terror.

“Boss, no!”

A deafening thunderclap destroys the quiet as a gun fires off, a bloodcurdling scream roots you in place. Up ahead, Minho throws himself out of the classroom, landing on his spine with a hefty thud, dual pistols drawn to tear holes through the dead one that follows him in a crazed lunge. It lands atop him in useless shreds; Chan and Changbin burst from the room, the former coated in blood. Changbin yanks the corpse from Minho to toss aside, offering him a hand.

“Fuck me,” Minho curses. “That was way too close.”

You rush over to them, your focus on Chan. “What the hell happened? Are you—”

But the man simply holds a hand up, his breath coming in rapid spikes. “Quiet.”

All comply, and everything stops.

You hear it before he does; the distant droning groans and gargles stirred by the chaos, initially faint yet growing at a volume so rapid it’s difficult to comprehend. The stench of death and decay rolls through, the resounding tumble of shambling sprinting. Panic curls around you, a cool sweat of terror pricking over your skin.

“Chan?”

The corridor shakes, the linoleum under your feet tremors, and from around the corridor’s end tumble the dead ones; a dozen or more. The creatures at the front smack and collide to the wall with their uncontrolled momentum for the ones behind to bounce off, an uncoordinated frenzy that funnels them in your direction.

“Run!”

Chan’s frantic instruction requires no thought; Changbin and Minho bound off immediately down the corridor. On his way past you, anchored in your fear, Chan grabs your hand to match his pace of sprinting. Instinct takes the lead, your mind driven as singularly as the horde’s behind you; theirs to feed, yours to survive.

At the end of the corridor the flight of stairs is taken two at a time to the second floor, the frontmost dead ones tripping over themselves at the obstacle. Your thighs burn with the exertion; you’d feel it were it not for the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Down the second-floor corridor you sprint as best you can, Chan’s hand still tight around yours.

Changbin points ahead to a set of heavy double fire doors. “In there, quick!”

Slamming shoulder to the bar for them to swing them open, once inside, Minho shoves them closed, propping himself against them. Changbin joins him, bracing for the horde’s impact which follows mere moments after.

A quick assessment of the area reveals it to be a gymnasium turned living space; the polished wooden floor is still marked with the faded white paint of an old basketball court; interior bleachers are stacked along the left and right sides. A walk-in storage cupboard sits at the back, its sliding doors drawn closed. Chan rushes to a stack of broken chairs, snapping one of the wooden legs under his boot with a sharp crunch. He tosses it to Changbin who wedges it under the door bars, locking them in place against the force of the intruding horde. They bend precariously when he and Minho carefully let them go, but ultimately withstand.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” Minho exclaims, dropping to a nearby bench.

“Guess it explains where everyone went,” Changbin huffs. “Jeongin was right; those things are from the sewers.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Minho sighs breathlessly.

“You didn’t smell them?”

“They always smell that bad.”

“Man, come on,” Changbin tuts. “They were so much worse than usual. Like, real shit.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you perch on one of the dusty futons. There are several more like it strewn around, old armchairs and splintered desks no doubt repurposed from the classrooms. Moth-eaten blankets are piled near the broken chairs that Chan so resourcefully made use of. In here, the morning sunlight is free to roam as it will, the multiple skylights allowing for such a thing. Dust motes swirl in the rays, disturbed by the first breaths that have been taken here in a depressingly long while.

The empty moans from behind the doors intensify.

“What are we going to do?” you ask quietly.

Chan, who had hitherto been pacing the room for an alternative route of escape, approaches and pulls you up from the futon.

“Might not seem like it now, but we’ll be just fine. We’ve been in worse spats than this, trust me.”

“I do.”

He blinks slowly. “Good.”

“I just don’t think I’ll ever get used to living in a nightmare.”

He takes your hand gently, squeezes it. “Wouldn’t want you to. We have to hope for more, right?”

“Yo, boss,” Changbin calls. Chan releases your hand; your heart sinks just a little.

“What is it?”

At the rear of the gymnasium, Changbin points to an outcropping of ledge just below the strutted ceiling, where a slim window rests open on the latch.

“There’s our exit,” he beams.

Minho strolls over. “That?” he scoffs. “And how do you expect to wriggle your beefy ass through that tiny gap, exactly?”

“No,” Chan exclaims, “it could work. We just need to reach it and we can loosen the latch.”

He looks around the gymnasium, then strides to the walk-in storage cupboard. Yanking on the door with some force, he disappears inside, and returns a moment later wheeling out a tall, wooden gym horse.

“Minho, help me—”

Together, they manage to drag it across the dusty gymnasium, the wheels squeaking unforgivingly when they angle it beneath the outcropping.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough,” Minho pants.

“Hold up.”

Chan jogs to the broken chairs, rummaging through them until he finds one mostly intact (as far as the legs are concerned). Back at the gym horse, he balances the chair atop it, brow furrowing at the way it wobbles.

“That is precarious as shit,” Minho comments.

“It’ll have to do,” Chan says, glancing nervously at the doors that throb inwards with the growing force behind it. “We have to move. Minho, you first.”

With a deft hop, Minho springs to the top of the gym horse, the picture of elegance. Chan holds the chair legs steady as the man balances on it, reaching to the outcropping and pulling himself up with feline ease.

“Loosen the latch!” Chan calls.

“Get up here first.” Minho turns back, reaching down. “Come on.”

And with a final painful creak of bending metal and crack of splintering wood, the gymnasium doors crash open. Dead ones tumble over themselves in a bid to move as one wave of destruction, their numbers twice what they were.

“Go!” Chan shouts, grabbing Changbin and giving him a leg up to the gym horse, the man grunting with exertion when he’s then forced to balance on the chair. Minho cranes down to him, pulling him up the ledge.

Gunfire suddenly erupts; Chan rains a storm of bullets into the shambling crowd, his rifle held securely and propped against his shoulder. He picks off those closest, empty casings trickle to the ground in a steady stream, as does the blood from the dead ones torn to bits. You cower behind him in the face of it all, tucked into his broad back.

“Boss, come on!” Changbin yells.

“Her first!” He fires again; your ears ring painfully. Downing another dead one, he briefly turns to you, a gentle shove to your shoulder backing you to the gym horse. “I told you to run when things got bad.”

Run from the man that saved you? That’s trying to save you again?

A surge of defiance spurs you to action; determination to earn your place and prove that you’re so much more than a damsel in distress. You walked leagues to find this man and his crew, crossed cities and faced unthinkable danger in doing so. What happened to that girl? Where was she now?

Lost, perhaps, in the face of her turmoil. But no longer.

Gathering your courage, you draw the compact revolver from the band of your jeans, emerging from behind the man. Knocking off the safety and aiming as straight as trembling hands will allow, a single squeeze of the trigger sends a shot whizzing alongside a dead one’s rotten head.

Chan balks momentarily. “What the hell are you doing!?”

The dead one drags its feet, shambling still towards you.

“Will one of you just fucking move!?” Minho yells, drawing his pistols to fire systematically into the horde.

A second attempt to land your shot; a deep inhale and slow exhale, and a bullet straight between the approaching dead one’s eyes sends it sprawling to the ground in an explosion of gore.

“Chan, go!” You fire again, titillated in downing another. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe!”

Potentially very foolish, to stand your ground so vehemently in the face of such imminent threat, but desire to demonstrate your worth instils confidence as to your ability. You can do this. You can save him this time.

“Shit!” Chan curses with little room to argue much more, swinging the rifle to his back as he clambers up the gym horse. An impressive display of agility sees him skipping the chair entirely as he grabs for the ledge and pulls himself swiftly up.

“Alright,” he calls back, “I’m safe, now move it!”

Making a break for the gym horse, you haul yourself up, ears ringing tinny with the consecutive pumps of Changbin’s shotgun and the rhythmic shots of Minho’s pistols covering you. Dead ones drop to join the horrific mess on the gymnasium floor, one after another yet never seeming to make a dent in the horde.

Clambering to the rickety chair, it rocks under your weight. Chan reaches down from the ledge, strong arm outstretched.

“My hand, grab it!”

And you try; his hand is close, so reachable. Yet as the chair gives out beneath you and balance is lost, Chan’s outcry of panic is heard even over the wail of the dead ones.

With a sharp crack of skull and heavy thud of spine, you hit the gymnasium floor. The world spins, your head hot and vision white with the force of impact; you know you’re in danger, that you should get up and move from it, yet function eludes you.

What you think you see is Chan jumping down from the ledge; you think you hear Changbin yelling, “Yo, what the fuck!?”. Blasts of a shotgun take fleshy chunks out of the ones closest; they’re much closer now. Chan rushes to your side, gently helps you from the floor, your senses too dulled to really understand why he’s doing it.

“Get out of here, we’ll find another way!” Chan cries, arm around your waist to hike you up. You’re half-dragged across the gymnasium and into the walk-in storage cupboard; Chan settles you on a stack of gym mats and rushes back to the door to brace it.

“We...” you mumble, still dazed, “... we’re trapped?”

“We’re fine,” Chan grunts. “We’ll be fine.”

And of course, he’d say such a thing. The man who hopes for more, for better. The man who stands against the relentless gnashing of the dead ones at the door, and still maintains that everything will work out.

You might feel better if he simply blamed you.

***

Counting the seconds helps keep you awake.

Potential concussion aside, the numbers remind you that every second ticking by is a second longer that you survive; a good and bad thing in equal parts, you suppose.

The other benefit is, of course, tracking it. You’ve been trapped in the pokey confines of the cupboard with Chan for approaching two hours. The shuffling of the dead ones outside has quieted, their groans not quite so concentrated in frenzy. They’re probably wandering now, amidst the corpses and death. While the break from their onslaught is welcome, you’re by no means free from danger. The slightest sound will once again alert them.

Propped against the same stack of blue gym mats, you sit on the floor side by side. Silence has held for so long, you’re now loath to break it, but in stretching his legs out slowly, Chan does just that.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers gently.

“Better.”

“Your head alright?”

You nod, the ache now mild. You’re sure you’re sporting a wonderful bruise or two. Chan smiles, though it doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I fucked things up so badly.”

Chan frowns, brows pulled together under his bandanna. “This isn’t your fault. I should have made you go first or made that dumb structure sturdier, or something.”

“You’re blaming yourself?”

He sighs. “Who else is there to blame?”

And in a thoughtless moment with intentions of giving comfort, you place your hand over his rested on his thigh. He looks down at it, then at you, turning over his palm to link your fingers carefully. Your pulse inexplicably picks up; you swallow dry.

“I know this wasn’t the ideal first run,” he says, voice a thin rasp.

“Understatement,” you laugh gently.

Chan grimaces. “Right. If things had gone better; like, to plan, I was going to ask you to stay.”

Your chest throbs again, warm and full.

“You were?”

He holds your gaze, his dirt-streaked cheeks pinkening subtly. “I’ve, uh... never met anyone like you. Which I appreciate is probably a lame thing to say given the state of the world, but still...”

Silences becomes him, the sentiment lingers. If you could find the words, you’d tell him that it’s mutual—the gladness for your meeting, despite wanting to kill him and everything you thought he stood for less than a day ago. Chan is heart and soul amongst the cold and dark; he’s everything the evil should have extinguished. Too big a task for you to put into words the tangible gratitude you feel not just for his existence, but for his unwavering virtues that foster a sliver of hope.

Fingers still linked and Chan moves carefully; his free hand lifts to caress your cheek, the tremble therein speaking of his trepidation until the warmth of his calloused palm stills over your skin. Your face burns—you wonder if he feels it—and you hold expectantly as he tilts towards you.

When he kisses you, your heart feels like it might burst. His touch is delicate, indicative of his worry concerning your still fragile physical state, but with the way you melt into him his fervour deepens. Lips brush softly and a sigh of content emits from him; the hand on your cheek slips to your neck, his gentle hold a guide by which he angles from left to right, noses bumping in the dim. Your palm firm on his thigh expresses your wanting, the growing swell of giddy desire he so easily inspires rendering you somewhat breathless. And amongst the delight, there is pain. The surrender of adrenal tension is a knife withdrawn recklessly from your chest, for so much fear and stress suffered for so long is now integral to your soul; you have learned to love the sting of it, the weight of it. How can it be fair that it is all soothed by so simple a thing—a connection?

When he breaks from you, it’s to tears streaking your cheeks. He swipes them away by gentle thumbs and kisses you again, forehead held to yours.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he breathes.

You turn into his palm, kiss it softly, the tears dampening his skin.

“Ditto.”

***

“Boss?”

A raspy voice pierces the fragile haze of your dozing; you shoot upright, the dread of alertness returning to you.  

“Boss? You in there?”

A slumbering Chan at your side, you shake him gently. He rouses and groans a complaint, seeming to remember where he is with some disdain when he takes in the surroundings of the dusty storage cupboard.

He’s about to say something when the voice speaks again: “Yo, maybe they got out?”

Chan bounds to his feet, looking up and around until he spies a small rectangular vent in the upper reaches of the ceiling. He climbs over the gym mats and up to the mid-shelf of a rack, getting as close as he can.

“Changbin?” he hisses.

“Boss? Thank fuck, man. I was starting to stress out.”

Chan laughs low—not so much a laugh as a wheeze of relief—and promptly asks, “What’s the plan?”

There’s a second of silence, then Changbin says, “Uh, well, we kind of hoped you might have one.”

“What?”

“I suggested an all-guns-blazing approach, but Minho said we don’t have the ammunition for that. Or that was the polite version, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Another voice complains. “We have a plan!”

“Keep your voice down, dude,” Changbin warns. “We’ve been over this, your plan is dumb as fuck.”

“Jisung?” Chan chimes in. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it’s real simple; we blow a hole in the wall using that C4 we pilfered from the military base a few months ago. Get you out of there nice and quick.”

“And in multiple pieces,” Changbin deadpans.

Chan rakes a hand through his hair. “So, Felix is with you guys?”

“Right here, boss,” the low voice responds quietly.

“Alright,” Chan sighs, looking back to you from halfway up the shelf. “Give us a few minutes, then set the explosive.”

“You’re not actually considering this—”

“We don’t have much choice, Bin. There’s enough shit in here that we can barricade ourselves with. Just wait for my mark, okay?”

Hopping down from the shelf, he sets about manoeuvring equipment against the door, propping them firmly: springboards, a sturdy gymnastics vault, leather pommel horses. The speed of his working draws attention from the lingering dead ones that keep you prisoner, their bumping and shambling against the door flares up slowly. Aiding him as best you can, you drag the thick mats from their stack, supporting them between and in front of the struts of a climbing frame so it stands solidly. With eventual space made between you and the wall to be blown out, there’s a clear structure of protection: thick gym mats padded around the frame will take the brunt of the explosion, any scraps of debris should be caught by the foam.

Chan sinks between the mats, pulling you in the small space with him. Your back to his chest, his arms secure around you, he now shouts to be heard through the vent: “We’re covered. Ready, Felix?”

The door throbs with those who crave entry, thumping and groaning from the other side.

“Ready!” Felix calls back.

“Are you sure that’s secure? Man, this is such a bad fucking idea—”

“How about you leave the logistics to the demolitions expert and go take cover?” You hear Felix retort. “Jesus. I’m surrounded by divas.”

Chan casts a nervous glance at the door. “Getting hot in here, guys!”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Ten seconds!”

Yours ears are covered by warm hands; Chan hunches over you, his head tucked into your neck, his frame a solid shield surrounding your person.

“This is going to be loud,” he warns.

The seconds tick by painfully, breath held and drawn tight in anticipation, yet the thunderous boom you expect isn’t what you initially detect. It’s the shallow tearing of concrete that warps to a profound drilling crack, splitting the surface of the wall and sending shards of the structure inwards amongst billows of dust. The blasting impact pops your ears, a calamitous tremor of destruction that brings a rainfall of stone and metal, wire and mortar. A searing flash of heat scalds your skin despite the protection, and Chan tightens around you, sparing you from the singe of debris that makes it beyond the mats and padding. Dragging in a breath brings you to an instant coughing fit; the air too thick and acrid to take into lung, ears ringing and bones vibrating still.

Chan tries to stand, shaking himself free of the layer of powdered concrete that now blankets him grey. Helping you to your feet, the climb over the destruction is done in a daze.

“Come on, let’s go!” Felix cries from the other side.

Chan lifts you over a chunk of rock when your knees threaten to give out; the moment he does so, the cupboard door splinters and caves, giving way to the dead ones that so relentlessly pursue.

“Quick!” he urges.

Felix reaches through the fresh hole in the wall, your wrist grabbed when you’re close enough. Tugged through unceremoniously and out into unpolluted air, you’re left clamouring for breath on the moist grass; the rain on your skin is a relief, yet the darkness inspires dread. Nights shouldn’t be spent beyond safe walls.

Chan swiftly follows, and not a moment too soon as he narrowly avoids the lunge of a chomping dead one. Changbin—in all his bloodthirsty desire to help—pumps a single shotgun shell into the creature’s soft skull, the gore joining the mess of deconstruction.

“We should move,” he says.

Jisung helps you to your feet. “Come on.”

And what begins as a pace of walking hurries to a run as the shambling horde follows; their combined weight of impact is a wrecking ball against what parts of the wall still stand. Slabs of heavy concrete thud to the grass, the corpses that take them down falling with them.

“The trucks out front, just a bit further!” Jisung pants, arm around your waist. Changbin takes point, Chan and Felix right behind him, the former leaning on the latter in his still stupefied state. Down the length of the school the group runs, those of the emerging horde able to keep up doing just that in their wailing and gnashing. Your lungs burn with yet further exertion, the threat of death a constant incentive in willing your legs to keep pace with Jisung.

Rounding the building, the main entrance is in sight, whereby the truck sits parked with engine primed. Hyunjin, on sight of the group, bolts upright in the cab, headlights on full beam to slice through the night.

Changbin is the first to reach it, hauling himself into the truck bed to drag Chan and Felix up respectively. Jisung hands you off to the man who lifts you in with ease, darting off to dive into the passenger seat beside Hyunjin.

The truck roars to life with a veritable growl; the pursuing horde scatters amongst the blinding headlights, their screams as frantic as their contortions. With no time to turn around and in a smooth manoeuvre of reversal, Hyunjin backs the vehicle down the school driveway, past the playing field that sits in darkness. Once through the gates, he slams the handbrake for the truck to careen a clean one-hundred and eighty degrees (much to all passenger’s terror), and with a victory whoop, he tears off through the city.

“I cannot fucking believe that worked,” Changbin emotes, sagging beside a beaming Felix.

“I told you it would!” Jisung shouts from the cab.

Chan—despite his clear fatigue—pulls himself from the bed of the truck to sit beside you. A quick once over of your state, and he puts his hand on yours in comfort.

“You okay?”

You’re not even sure where to start.

“I’m in one piece,” you acquiesce.

He smiles weakly. “Good.”

“Hold up,” Felix interjects, a dubious look cast from you to Chan, then back again. “What is this?”

Chan frowns. “What is what?”

Felix gestures between you. “This.”

A wave of mortification accompanies the heat that crawls over you; Chan’s hand on yours suddenly feels ten times heavier. You move to slide it out, but he holds it firm, unrelenting. Felix grins from ear to ear.

“Love’s young dream, huh?” he smarms.

“Maybe.”

Changbin whistles through his teeth. “Damn. You better know how blessed you are,” he directs the statement at you, his tone sincere. “This man is the best of them all.”

***

When was the last time you felt even marginally like a normal girl?

A little, perhaps, during what essentially amounted to your first kiss in the dirty storage cupboard of an overrun high school. You can imagine well enough that that feeling of floating was probably what the old love ballads sang of, what the ruined romance novels wrote of. A shame that you can only relate to them after the fact.

This moment, you think, does something rather different towards making you feel normal. A shower. Yes, it consists of intermittent sprays of lukewarm water being dumped over your head from a salvaged and repurposed copper pipe, but still; a shower.

Changing into the loose cotton shorts and baggy shirt Jeongin kindly donated to your cause, the fresh clothes feel unthinkably good on your clean skin. The shirt looks somewhat ridiculous on you—it’s so long it conceals the shorts altogether—but it’s a welcome alternative to the grimy clothes you’ve been wearing for weeks. Inspecting yourself in the makeshift mirror fashioned from car rear and side-view mirrors artfully taped together, you suppose it stands to reason that you hardly recognise the girl looking back. She’s aged. Her skin is dry and mottled from sun exposure, her tired eyes have seen things that have left marks both mental and physical. She looks somewhat lost, you think, and that would also make sense given that her purpose until now was one of bloodthirsty pursuit. Without that, who is she? What does she do?

Shaking off the existential crisis and repacking it for another day, you leave the designated bathroom and pad through the vast hangar. Passing curtained rooms as you go, you catch signs of life: Jisung and Hyunjin’s muffled laughter, the quiet crackling melody of a gramophone to which Felix hums a low, smooth accompaniment. One of the curtains is left drawn open; on passing it, your name is called.

Changbin leans against the plasterboard that makes up his ‘doorframe’, arms crossed over his bulky chest. Takes you a moment to actually register that he’s shirtless beyond the initial shock, and once you notice it, you can’t pretend you don’t. He is built.

“Can I have a second?” he asks.

“S— Sure.”

He steps out of his room, for which you’re grateful; you’d rather not have to experience being in confined spaces with him looking like that. Regardless, his expression is stern as he approaches.

“What you did today,” he says sullenly, “it was real fuckin’ dumb.”

You say nothing, swallowing hard.

“I can’t imagine you don’t already know that.”

If he’s trying to spare you the embarrassment of having to admit to foolishness, it’s not working.

He takes a deep breath. “Look; this all only works when we know where we stand. When Chan gives an order, we damn well follow it. The others had to learn that, but for him and I it was like that even before dead people started getting up.”

He uncrosses his arms and gestures for you to follow, heading back into his room. You linger at the curtain, watching as he picks something up from the bespoke bedside table. When he turns back, he hands it to you.

“The ranks might not mean shit anymore, but a soldier’s mindset won’t ever change.”

The framed photograph is grainy and faded; weatherworn and creased down the middle. Still, you can make out men and women in military uniforms, grouped together in front of a stationary helicopter, their poses relaxed and faces bright. Front and centre of the gathering—the only one not smiling but rather more reserved in his stance—is Chan, his chest decorated with medals, his rifle strapped to his side. To his right-hand stands Changbin, tucked into uniform, the man’s arm slung around the person next to him in clear comradery. Part of you wants to ask where they all are now. The realist in you knows better.

“He’s a born leader,” Changbin says quietly. “I’d follow him into hell itself.” He scoffs a laugh then. “Shit, I guess I kind of did.”

You hand the photograph back to him, chest aching anew. He takes it, puts it back on the table carefully.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that... Chan takes on a lot of responsibility; he did then, he does now. And he feels it, you know? Pulling the kind of hero shit you did today only adds to the load he carries. You forced him to go on ahead and that left you vulnerable—”

“I just wanted to prove that I could handle myself.”

“Right,” Changbin sighs, “and I respect you standing your ground, but there are other ways to do that. Safer ways. Ways that won’t make Chan feel like he has to risk his life for you.”

You hang your head. “I’m sorry.”

And Changbin scratches his nape amidst a grimace. “Shit. I’m really fuckin’ awful at this. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just... he means a lot to me, is all, and I figured you’d be sticking around now too, so you should know, like, why he does what he does. Felix says that’s called context. I think.”

A gentle hand finds your shoulder, a reassuring squeeze offered. “Just be safe, is all I’m asking. Then the rest of us will be.”

You nod, blinking away the sting that crops up in your eyes. While delivery might have lacked tact, the sentiment is clear; he wants to protect what little he still has.

“I’ll be more careful,” you vow. “No more hero shit.”

Changbin quirks a brow. “Occasional hero shit? In controlled conditions with backup?”

You stifle a chuckle of relief. “Sounds fair to me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.”

He grins, arms opening tentatively. “We good?”

And you step into them, returning the hug he offers, the warmth of his bare skin against you an inherent comfort. “Of course,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

When the hug breaks, his cheeks are a warmer shade. For all his surface intimidation and despite the jagged edges of his persona, he appears to care more than anyone.

“Chan’s in the main room, by the way,” he points in said direction as he backs up to his room, drawing the curtain.

 Feeling significantly lighter with air cleared, you head there immediately, finding the man precisely where stated. What surprises you are the conditions in which you find him; the central space is darker with lack of daylight, the oil fires in the few metal drums cast haloed rings of flickering amber not strong enough to reach the shadows that stretch across the depths of the hangar. Chan sits beside one of the drums, watching the flames, one knee propped up with his trusted rifle laid out in front of him. Approaching him feels like an interruption, but you can’t bear to be alone now.

He glances up when you’re close, the length of his gaze following your exposed legs. He turns back to the fire when you sit.

“Penny for them?” you ask quietly.

Chan sighs, the angular planes of his face lit softly. “Just thinking about today.”

You wait for the elaboration, which eventually comes when he mumbles, “I’m so sick of everything always ending in blood. Those people had a good thing; the school should have been safe, solid. Why was it overrun?”

He drops his knee, reaches for his rifle. One hand glides over the barrel to the stock, where it lingers. “Where were their defences? What was their escape plan? Did anyone survive?”

“Chan,” you turn towards him, taking his hand from the gun, “thinking like that will drive you to the worst kind of crazy.”

“But maybe if we had tried to reach out sooner—”

“Then what? You’d be down resources and they’d still have been overrun; you heard what Jeongin said, the sewers were right nearby them. No preparation would have been enough.”

He sags in place, fingers slotting to yours, warm and strong.

“You’ve done so much,” you whisper. “What you have here is incredible; these people are incredible, and they adore you. Be proud of that.”

“I am,” he stresses. “I really am. I just...”

“You can’t save everyone.”

He looks up at you, eyes dark. “I saved you.”

“Yeah. You did. I know I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

You lean towards him, cupping his cheek gently. “I owe you everything, Chan,” you mutter, “and I want to spend whatever time I have showing you how grateful I am, not just for saving my life, but for giving me a new one.”

Chan swallows, the shell of his ears pinkening in the firelight. The kiss he leans into is meant with true intention; firm and wanting against your mouth, his inhibitions slipping with the descent into intimacy. He breaks off, his breath warm on your lips when he rasps, “Come with me.”

Pulled from the floor by his hand, rifle hooked to his shoulder, Chan leads you through the darkened hangar to the row of curtained rooms. At the end most cubby, he draws back the heavy velvet draping to reveal a cosy homestead: a neat single bed against the wall covered with blankets and soft pillows, a chest of drawers sporting ornamental knick-knacks. An acoustic guitar with the strings missing is propped in the corner, and beside that, a stack of vinyl records. A hanging oil lantern illuminates the weapon rack bolted to the wall; with one hand Chan unhooks his rifle and deposits the weapon on it, tucking the strap aside.

Having yet to release your hand, he turns back to you. His palms slide over your forearms, to your elbows as he closes in. Foreheads connecting, Chan takes a slow, deep breath.

“Spend the night with me.”

You nod amidst the thundering of your heart against your ribcage, allowing the man to once more capture your lips. Arms around his neck and manoeuvred gently to the bed, it strikes you how easily the intimacy comes; it feels so natural.

His form follows as you lay back to the soft cushioning of his single bed, your throat exposed to allow his lips the wandering they seek. Each slow brush is a spark under your skin, amalgamating arousal pooling deep and heavy.

“How do you smell so good?” he whispers, the question not truly requiring an answer; he’s lost in the moment, smothering the dips of your throat and collarbone with attention. Running hot with wanting, you urge him closer still by tugging his shirt. Hint received, a hand slips under your baggy clothing, the canvas of your side and navel explored by clammy palm. The contact is enough to elicit a strained gasp; Chan recoils, concerned.

“Sorry,” you quickly reassure him, “it’s just... it’s been a while. Like, forever.”

He chuckles amidst a breath. “Ditto.”

“I mean; this is my first time. Being touched.”

And Chan searches your face, his expression unreadable. He appears to falter, and in your brief disdain you cup his face to have him heed you.

“Please don’t read too deeply into it,” you whisper. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

At that, you must resist the urge to laugh. “Regret being with my saviour?”

Chan smiles, nose scrunching, head dropping to the crook of your neck. A show of embarrassment, perhaps, but either way the desire soon flares. The hand on your stomach travels up to breast; slower, this time, to allow you to acclimate.

“So soft,” he mumbles between kisses against your throat.

A sharp tug on his shirt and you breathe, “Off—”. Chan complies, sitting back on his haunches to drag the clothing up and over head, revealing a tight six pack of abs and pale, svelte form. A second tattoo is discovered: a crest on his right pectoral of knife and gun crossed over, the wings of an eagle backdropping them. He returns and hovers above you; you trace the shape gently.

“Was the crest of my squadron,” he explains quietly. Sadly. “We all had them.”

You place your palm over it, craning to kiss him. He need not explain further, and only when he’s ready. What details Changbin gave were sparse, and one day, you’d certainly love to hear how Chan remembers them all. But that day is not today.

Your kiss is returned and what clothing remains is swiftly—enthusiastically—removed. Being naked underneath him brings a wave of vulnerability such as you’ve never felt. He shields you with his physique, keeps what lives outside this small room at bay in more ways than he’ll ever comprehend. Legs spread and hooked around him, Chan makes no rush of exploring your body. Gentle fingers at your centre ease you open, the glide slick enough that the tender stretch is bearable; a minute or two of his focused ministrations and you find yourself burning with the build of pleasure.

“How is it?” he rasps, his own arousal apparent, hanging thick and heavy between you.

“Good,” you confess, “so good.”

A shiver trails down your spine when he withdraws carefully. Mistaking your tremble for a chill, Chan reaches back to drag a blanket from the foot of the small bed, draping it over his back and thereby cocooning you when he returns. He kisses you tenderly, weight supported by arms that flex deliciously.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

You nod, finding breaths to be shorter and less effective the longer he keeps you in suspense; the occasional prodding of his length against your wetness doesn’t help matters, of course.

He drops a hand between you, angling himself just so. When his velvety head catches on you, you tense. “Might hurt a little,” he warns, and you’re glad of it when the initial breach floods your lower half with licks of muted fire.

Chan eases on a slow, controlled thrust, his length and girth seeming endless in the way you’re shaped around him. Clutching his shoulders, you breathe through the moment, seconds seeming hours long. Chan groans inaudibly, his lips parting through broken breath; he draws tight in every muscle, the strain of wanting to sink into you overwhelming him. When finally connected, he assesses you with darkened eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yeah... fuck—”

The expletive comes as he sets a slow pace of thrusting, the rhythm of the drag so unthinkably good it renders you near delirious with pleasure from the onset. You groan helplessly; Chan puffs a low chuckle, lips against your ear as he says, “Into my shoulder, baby. Curtains aren’t soundproof.”

Mouth pressed against his firm, smooth skin, it does enough to muffle the litany of whines you fail utterly to control. Chan moves fluidly, his lips to your neck and jaw, occasional sharp, deep thrusts betraying the power you know lives behind the control he’s displaying. The baser part of you wishes he’d let go.

Clawing at his muscled back now slick with exertion, Chan reaches swiftly behind and grabs the blanket, drawing it up and over to cage the two of you in. The air shimmers with heat and lust; Chan pulls back.

“Want to hear you,” he urges, “moan for me.”

“Mhm, Chan—”

He groans listlessly, veins in his arms protruding as he fists the blanket down against the pillow, drives into you so firm and thick. Ramshackle headboard thumps the wall gently, the mattress creaks in complaint of Chan’s momentum; being on the receiving end is so fucking wonderful a sensation. Curls matted to his forehead, lips swollen and indented by markings of teeth, he’s a vision of the most lustrous making. Living proof that while things outside are dire, a world of your own can exist in his safety.

“Fuck— Close—” he breathes.

Brought to the peak of your threshold by the illicit fullness of his cock, so smooth and solid, you feel to be fraying at the edges of your consciousness when your vision whites and your core unravels, white hot sparks of euphoria sweeping you. Chan slows the pace, his arm slipping under and around your trembling form to keep you close. Clutching to him while inside you’re fit to liquefy, the pressure of orgasm tightens around his length; he curses and pants, “God, baby. That’s it—”

Only when the fit of your release subsides does Chan withdraw, the motion swifter than you’d have liked for losing the completeness of having him inside you, but the reason becomes clear when he props up and strips once, twice over his slick cock, throbbing in his palm. He comes with a sharp pant of your name, blushed from chest to ear as he coats your belly with milky, warm ropes of his release.

What follows amounts to blissful aftercare; you’re cleaned up with a towel retrieved from his drawers and offered something to drink. All you truly want is the man that so defiled you back at your side, to be held until the sun comes up.

With no room allowing for separation in his single bed, Chan enacts the bigger spoon, your nakedness tucked into his under the comfort of his blankets. His warm, steady breath on your neck encourages the exhaustion that you had hitherto kept at bay; now in post-coital heaven, you stand no chance of doing so.

“You think we’d have met if the world hadn’t ended?” he asks dreamily.

“I don’t see how,” you whisper.

“Washington’s not so far from New York. We might have bumped into each other.”

You smile warmly; what a thought.

“Maybe in a coffee shop or something. I’d have bought your latte for you and offered to take you to dinner.”

"Yeah?” you laugh gently.

“Mhm. I’d have embarrassed myself trying to impress you,” he sighs.

“You wouldn’t have needed to try.” You turn over slowly, pressed close to take in the softly flushed planes of his face. “I’d have been infatuated right away. I was.”

Chan blinks slowly, his lashes thick and dark. “I know you think it was me that saved you,” he whispers, cupping your cheek, the pad of his thumb sweeping your lower lip tentatively. “I can’t help thinking that’s all wrong. Like, twisted, somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just... have this feeling; I’ve had it since I pulled you out from under that dead one. Like I can hope that everything will be okay again, and it’ll be because of you.”

You swallow over the rising lump of emotion, turning into his palm to speak against it.

“We’ll make everything okay for each other. Promise.”

“Then you’ll stay?” he blinks through damp lashes. “You won’t leave?”

You shake your head; how impossible a notion.

“Not even if the world was ending again.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙨𝙠 ♡

MASTERLIST 𖤐

note. the following stories will contain works with mature content, please do not interact, read or follow if you’re under the age of 18. remember, your media consumption is your own responsibility.

DISCLAIMER. all the stories below are a work of fiction. please do not copy, translate or redistribute my work without consent.

© lix-ables. translating and/or reposting is not allowed.

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• 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 – 30072023.

# bang chan masterlist

# lee minho masterlist

# seo changbin masterlist

# hwang hyunjin masterlist

# han jisung masterlist

# lee felix masterlist

# kim seungmin masterlist

# yang jeongin masterlist

🩰 OT8 ☾ ₊ ·

🎀 skz as types of doms

🎀 skz as types of kinks

🎀 skz as boyfriends (nsfw ver)

🎀 skz + perv thoughts

🎀 things that turn skz on

🎀 hidden kinks ft. skz

🎀 teasing skz in public

🎀 turning skz on while making out

🎀 skz as tropes : fwb & lovers | academic rivals | fake dating | forced proximity | the bet | boy next door, etc.

🥡 . TEXTING …

FWB ! SKZ TO COME OVER [HYUNG] [MAKNAE]

FELIX REPLYING TO YOUR IG STORY

BFB HANJI TEXTS [ONE] [TWO]

CONVERSATIONS WITH SKZ

July Bookshelf

fics on my to-read list:

gotta catch up on like a volcano (hannie/skz) by its-hannjisung

unorthodox (ot7/bts) by beahae

dreaming about you (jisungie/skz) by beahae

revelation (minho/skz) by beahae

faves/rec lists to read:

favourites rec list 1, favourites rec list 2 , and favourites rec list 3 by marxy-06

Jeongin: Dad, I’m hungry.

Chan: Hi Hungry, I’m Dad.

Jeongin: Did you just make a dad joke?

Chan: Did you just call me Dad?

Ex On The Beach | Part 3 (Jungkook)

Rating/genre: M18+, exes to lovers; smut 💖, fluff, angst Pairings: Jungkook x Reader(f) Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, oral sex (f receiving), JK is fucking desperateeeely in love, implied cum eating, fingering, squirting, a bit of manhandling, creampie, 'baby', 'love', 'good boy', 'good girl', 'jagi', 'fuck toy', slight mention of tears, JK is a bit more dominant than reader but no real power dynamics Word Count: 5.5k Summary: The guilt is rushing in, hard and fast. But stuck in the villa together, you can't escape how endearing (and determined) Jungkook is.

Part One, Part Two

A/N: You gotta read part one and two first! Whew, ok, here's the last part. I do apologize that it took a hella long time lol. I felt kinda of demotivated bc people were liking but barely anyone left feedback on the last part and it kind of messed with my head a little bit 🙃🙃 Anywayyyy I love this JK so much - wanna squeeze him!! - and I really hope you enjoy!

There was nowhere to go. And with the way Jungkook was looking at you, you felt too bad to shun him into the other room while you were both holed up in the villa for an hour. But really, you felt like you were going to have a breakdown and you really didn’t want to do that in front of him.

“Don’t freak out, ok?” he said as he followed you into the bedroom, naked except for a pair of boxers. Easy for him to say – he was not the bad guy here. 

“This was really stupid,” you said softly, staring at the bed, the desire to crawl into it and hide in the covers kicking in strong. But then he’d just crawl in with you and… Ugh. 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

You let yourself look at him a moment, unsure what to make of his words. The vacation wasn’t even close to being over and you two had just made the holy grail of mistakes. What was he thinking?

“Come here,” he said softly, taking a step towards you, looking a bit like a kicked puppy when you automatically took a step back, which just made you wince. 

“Sorry.” It was for moving away but you had much bigger things to apologize for, so you continued, your voice getting weaker, more disappointed in yourself. “I’m really sorry. I… I can’t believe I let this happen.” You settled on the edge of the bed, bracing yourself with hands on either side, head dropped forward in shame.

“What?” he breathed out. “Did we just experience different things? There’s nothing to apologize for,” he told you, adamant, almost offended at your treatment of yourself. 

“Kook…”

“Tell me that wasn’t good!” he added, arm flying up to point in the direction of the living area. “Tell me you didn’t feel what I felt!”

With a sigh, your head dropped further. It was so good. It was better than you remembered or had imagined or… anything. 

“Y/N.”

It took a moment but then you glanced up at him, immediately soft at the way he was looking at you, brows pushed down and together. Like he was riddled with frustration – but cuter. 

“Can you stop for one second and think that this might not be a fucking tragedy?”

It wasn’t what you had expected – a little sharper. But his face was melting into concern or worry or need or something; it was harder to read him now than ever with the fog in your mind. 

With a sigh, your elbows came to your knees, head falling into your hands. “I don’t know what to think. This whole situation is so confusing.” You were normally so good at doing the right thing. 

He was quiet, the darkness of your palms the only thing for you to focus on and you were thankful for it as you tried to take in a deep belly breath.

“I swear, I really didn’t think this was going to happen. I promised myself I would never get involved with you again so that I couldn’t possibly hurt you again,” you said after a moment of finally being able to think, voice quiet and only a little unsteady. 

“How are you going to hurt me?”

“When this doesn’t work out,” you tossed out, fearful in the way you looked up at him. “And I have to end it all over again.”

“Why are you so sure it’s not going to work out?” His voice was more strained now but not in aggression. It was more pouty than anything, his face serious while his big eyes bored into you. 

You were in a time machine, back eight months ago when he’d asked you the same question. You hated it; it made you sick. This was exactly what you’d wanted to avoid. “We’ve already talked about this…”

“I know I said it before and I know you don’t believe me but I will do literally anything to become the man you need me to be.” He came closer before bending down in front of where you sat, hands heavy on your knees, voice and features becoming more expressive with each sentence. “You said it yourself that I’ve changed. I have. I can be so so good for you.”

“Kook,” you breathed out, heading hanging forward, knowing your voice would crack if you tried to actually vocalize anything. He was being too sweet, too good. Too willing to work it all out. So much so that… you found yourself feeling like you could believe it. 

When you looked up, meeting his gaze, it was hard not to just break. But it was when he whispered a pleading little ‘baby…’ with those big adorable eyes that you felt yourself actually crumble, face scrunching up in sadness. You really did care about him so much, loved him so much. Hurting him hurt you so much more than he probably even realized.

“Hey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” he said softly, immediately wrapping his arms around you.

You sniffled into his shoulder, feeling the sting in your nose and the way his lips were pressed against the side of your head as he cradled you, making you feel calm with comfort when you felt like it should’ve been the other way around.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong? ‘Cause I’m… I’m just trying to win you back, Y/N. I’m not trying to upset you.” He was speaking more clearly now, confusion turning to determination, and that paired with the actual words he was uttering just made him sound so sure, so confident in you. 

“I just–...” you said, finally taking in a real breath around the lump in your throat. At the same time, you lifted a little, feeling the way he loosened his hold to let you sit up properly. Right away, you could see the way his eyes turned sadder at seeing the glassiness in yours. It just made you feel even worse. Damn, the two of you really were just a mess.

“Should I stop? Do you really want me to leave you alone? Because I’ll… I’ll go in the other room,” he offered, tipping his head towards the bedroom door. 

“No,” you said before even thinking, your fingers brushing over his chest, his collarbones, threatening to pull him to you. “I…” you started with a sigh, trying to buy yourself a few more seconds to find a coherent thought somewhere in your mind. 

He waited, watching you, body hovering an inch closer, seemingly drawn by your touch. 

“You really want that? … Even though I hurt you?”

“Yes,” he breathed with more conviction than you could fathom. And there it was, that spark of hope flickering behind his eyes. Terrifying and adorable. 

You swallowed, blown away by how he was looking at you – somehow still looking at you like this. It made you feel good. And loved. And lucky. 

Was it too selfish of a thing? To let this happen?

“Stop overthinking please,” he whispered, soft and clarifying like the breeze off the ocean, as he swayed a little closer, letting his arms rest along your thighs. Why was he still on the floor in front of you?

“Come– come here,” you said awkwardly, tugging him a little until he was shuffling onto the bed as well. 

But then right away, he was curling you into him with perfect strong arms, placing your head on his chest as he rested back against the headboard. 

“Kook–” You fought it for a second, about to pull away and turn to face him with space in between, but he just gently kept you in place.

“Can I just hold you for a second? I did just come inside you after all,” he threw out, letting a hint of mirth come through. 

It was surprisingly comforting, hearing something other than concern or need in his voice, and it totally worked, letting you relax back into him fully, your body suddenly tired and heavy once you let go of all the tension. 

Your eyes closed and, once again, you felt his lips pressing to your head. His hand brushed over your shoulder, down your bare arm, pushing up the sleeve of your t-shirt when it came back up. Fuck, it felt so nice to bask in his warmth for a second, the addicting feeling that you’d gotten so used to going without. 

“You feel so fucking good…” he said quietly, half-muffled. 

You let out a long breath, unable to help the way the words penetrated deep, his low voice like honey as it rumbled through his chest into your ears. “Mhm,” was all you could hum in response, not trusting your voice to sound right even if you tried to use it.

“See, you just fit right here,” he continued, so gentle, not pushy at all, letting his hand graze over parts of your body, your arm your shoulder, your hip, your tummy, getting less innocent when he ghosted it over your chest, your nipples easily reacting through your lack of bra. 

All you could do was try and breathe, thoughts racing, but you could literally feel your resolve dwindling bit by bit. Not just because he was so fucking sexy, every little touch, igniting something in you all over again, but because he was being so damn sweet at the same time. Your sweet boy.

His hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, just as his head tilted down so he could nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, close enough to your ear that when he let out a little groan, it made the hairs all over you stand on end. 

It was almost infuriating, how easily he was able to play your body. Your pussy had just been so thoroughly satisfied, once, twice, three times over, and here he was making it throb again with one little touch, one little sound. 

His hand slid up, wrapping around your throat for only a half-second before he was tipping your jaw up so he could find your lips with his. 

Really? Were you actually this weak? 

Or just this weak for him?

It was slow now; so slow that you almost had time to overthink, if it wasn’t for his hand slipping back down your body, lightly pinching your nipple. 

“Kook,” you moaned into his mouth but he didn’t stop and neither did you, tongues entering the mix, caressing each other more fervently until you couldn’t help but turn in his hold, hands sliding up his hot bare chest. 

“Can I have you in my mouth? Please? Please, please, please. Baby.”

It felt so good: him, his lips, the sound of his voice, the pet name, so easily spoken. The begging. The fucking begging. It was impossible to say ‘no’ to. 

Especially when a tattooed hand slipped between your legs, rubbing lightly over your core through the thin shorts you had thrown on. 

“We… shouldn’t…” you tried but it was terribly unconvincing.

“Wanna taste you so bad,” he breathed before sliding his tongue against yours. Damn, you really were this weak. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want.” A promise that sounded more like a plea than anything. 

You couldn’t even answer because he was manhandling you again, easily slipping out from under you to end up kneeling between your legs, mouth on yours as he so smoothly laid you down and ran his touch all over you. “You… you just came in me,” you reminded him, pushing against his shoulder enough to be able to get the words out.

“I don’t fucking care,” he whispered, kissing you deeply once more before starting to work his way down your body, ridding you of your garments like it was nothing. 

You truly felt powerless to stop him. Because even though he’d always had an effect on you, it had never been like this before. 

It was only once he was laid between your spread legs, bare pussy inches away from his wetted lips, that he looked up and asked for real: “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you whined right away, covering your face, able to feel how you were already dripping for him. One more orgasm thanks to his pretty mouth wasn’t going to change anything. “Please.”

Right away he was on you – his whole mouth enveloping your pussy in heat, sloppily kissing your shiny folds over and over as groans spilled out of him.

“Kook–” you gasped, jumping to tangle your fingers in his long strands, caught off guard by his enthusiasm in spite of everything. But, fuck, did it feel good, him licking at you with abandon, eating you up, truly proving that he had missed every single part of you. “Holy shit.”

“My favourite pussy, oh my gooood.” He sounded drunk, the words coming out slurred from how he refused to remove his lips to be able to speak properly. 

It was a lot. Messy – that was nothing new. But his tongue had gotten stronger or something, fucking into you over and over until he got distracted and refocused on your clit, swirling around it as he sucked. All the while, you couldn’t move an inch from how tightly he was holding your hips, making sure he didn’t miss a drop of you. 

“I– fuck, y-you feel really good,” you moaned, the only thing to be heard in the quiet of your villa other than the man working between your lips, breathing hotly through his nose so that he wouldn’t need to spare a second not having you in his mouth. 

He was doing something different, something he’d never done before, suctioning your clit over and over in such a way that your body was arching, pussy clenching, climax rushing at you too fast. 

“Come in my mouth. Please come in my mouth,” he begged, his drool just mixing with your arousal and making everything that much wetter. 

“Fuck, I–” you gasped, caught off guard. It was too good; you were actually going to come already. All you needed to do was…

Give in.

Your tired muscles relaxed, letting the harsh wave rush over you, hips quivering against him, so much pleasure emanating out from your core, ripples of blinding euphoria. You let out a long drawn out moan once it was no longer stuck in your chest, the sound growing weak and shaky at the end, your muscles jerking with each additional lick of Jungkook’s keen tongue.

And he groaned out his appreciation, palms rubbing up over your torso and hips, never moving his head from between your legs. Just when you thought he was done, he’d lick again, delving his tongue between your folds and dragging it up to stroke over your clit, collecting your arousal along the way. 

Each time, you’d suck in a breath, never able to get enough air before he’d do it again. A rather favourable form of torture. Still, it had you whining, your hand gripping tightly in his hair again in an attempt to earn a breather. 

He didn’t seem to like that idea. “Fuck, I missed how you taste. How you feel. So soft. Fuck…”

“I–” you tried, stuttering once more because he was already tonguing at your hole again. “Kook!”

“Stop calling me Kook,” he mumbled, bringing a hand up to be able to spread your lips manually before diving in again. 

“Mm! I– … Baby, please,” you begged breathlessly but even as you attempted to slow him down, you were already second guessing it because what he was doing felt so good you wanted to cry. You could feel your hole clenching, more wetness leaking from you each time he pressed a wet suctioned kiss to your clit. 

“Please what?”

“Please, just— … Ugh, I don’t know,” you whined, defeated. Automatically, your hand was pulling him into your cunt again, pleading for more.

Out of nowhere, he slid two fingers inside you, sending you reeling. 

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, yes. Thank you,” you said, too out of it to be surprised by your sudden onset of gratitude. 

He leaned onto one elbow, lifting up to watch his own fingers sinking into you over and over. “Aw, you’re so cute, baby.”

Even that made you clench. Every damn thing that came out of his mouth was making you clench. 

“Wanna make you come again. And have you thank me for that too,” he told you, voice dropping even lower before his tongue was pressing to your clit again teasingly. 

“Ahh–” you moaned, firmly stuck in the physical plane. 

“Ok, baby?”

You nodded quickly, making a sound that was something off an affirmation, and it just made him fucking chuckle. 

He picked up speed with his hand, able to tell so easily that your body could take it, with how wet you were, hot and gummy walls engulfing his fingers. The speed and the additional force felt so different, so much more deliberate than any other time he’d fingered you, his hand jerking back and forth inside of you so that he was rubbing incessantly against your front wall. 

Then, paired with his lips wrapping about your swollen clit, the sensations were overwhelming, borderline anxiety-inducing with the way that it was beating pleasure into you in a way you’d never felt before. 

All you could do was moan over and over, your voice wobbling with the motions of your body, energy transferring from his glistening tattooed arm straight into your cunt. “Ahh, I– Fuck–”

“You’re so good, baby. Wanna come for me?” he encouraged softly, in stark contrast to his movements. Fuck, if he didn’t stop, you definitely would. 

“Mmh– oh my g–” 

His fingers tugging inside of you got faster, jerking you to the point where you almost felt  yourself losing control of your body. He brought his other hand to your clit, rubbing quickly back and forth over it, and immediately sending you into another blinding orgasm that left you totally silent, muscles tensed so hard that your limbs were shaking. 

The feeling of release was crazy, your mind only partially registering the loud gushing sound as Jungkook worked his fingers back and forth, even once his hand was covered in wetness: you soaked, him soaked, the sheets soaked.

“Fuuuck, good girl...” he groaned loudly, the praise radiating inside of you, making the orgasm just go on and on. “Coming for me so good. Making a mess…”

That was when he decided to replace his hand on your clit with his mouth, sucking your bud while he continued to pump two fingers inside you, catching the rest of your cum in his mouth as you let out another slew of desperate moans, hips bucking. 

You choked on your breath, legs closing instinctively but they didn’t get far with him in the way. “Baby, baby, baby, baby–... Oh my god. What the fuck–”

He moaned against your mound, the vibrations nothing to your now overstimulated nerves, finally slowing his arm until it was just a slow push inside of you, caressing attentively with each thrust. 

“Goddamnit, what the fuck was that?” you asked, your lack of handle on your voice making it more of a struck whisper. 

He laughed as he lifted up an inch, finally able to look up at you so you could gaze at him astonished. “Wasn’t sure if that was going to work,” he admitted quietly, letting a terribly smug expression take over. He came up onto his knees, moving gently, keeping both hands on you, one on your thigh while the other cupped over your cunt, marginally soothing the buzz of aftershock. 

Your head fell back, too tired to hold it up to watch him. “Huh?”

“Not everyone can squirt so…”

You blinked at the ceiling, your chest finally starting to rise and fall more slowly as your body calmed. 

Shit, he made you squirt. Apparently, someone had been busy – filling out his sexual repertoire. 

“But, of course you can. Fuck, baby. You’re so hot,” he groaned again, still talking even as he leaned down to kiss along your tummy, letting practically his whole face press against your skin, drinking you in. “Ungh! …–so fucking good–”

Your eyes fell shut, focusing only on the warm then cold feeling of each wet press of his mouth on your skin as he moved up your body. The way he sucked a little upon reaching a nipple made you shiver. “Oh, yeah? You’re the expert now?”

“Mm– your words, not mine.” Then he was at your neck, sending more chills over your body as he covered you with toe-curling kisses, the final one planted on your lips, deep and long and tasting of you. 

When he pulled back, he hovered over you on a forearm, prompting you to open your eyes and take in the insanely pretty face of your ex-boyfriend that had just blown your mind.

You blinked at him, warmed by the soft contentment he was emanating, how at ease he seemed. That was truly what you wanted for him.

“Don’t overthink,” he whispered with the smallest smile, before leaning down to catch your lips again.

“We… haven’t figured anything out,” you said quietly, far less abrasive than you’d been earlier, letting your hands graze over the dewy muscles suspended over you. 

“What's there to figure out?” He brushed some of your hair back, blinking a little as his forehead threatened to crease again. “We’re so good together.”

We are. “But we still need to talk about it. You can’t just distract me with…this,” you said, slipping your hands around to his ass and pulling lightly until his hard cock was pressed against you, still straining in the confines of his boxers. 

“Mh… Ok, you’re right.” He bit his lip through a cute smile and nodded, letting the lower half of his body come to rest on top of yours more comfortably – and appealingly, much to your distraction. “I’m not trying to be dismissive. It’s just… Look, all the stuff you’re worried about, all the reasons you broke up with me…” He paused, looking away from you for a short moment. “They’re irrelevant now. I’ve grown, become more independent, gone out and ‘sowed my wild oats’ or whatever. 

“No matter what, I just come back to wanting you. I know you think I’m still immature but, fuck, I’m– I’m working on it. I’ll get there. I won’t…” He took a little breath, looking around the room before settling his eyes outside on the deck. “…cannonball into the pool.”

You smiled despite yourself, feeling your face – and your whole being – softening, every word of his making it clearer and clearer that he wasn’t being the dumb one here. You were. “You can cannonball. Just… warn me first.” 

He smiled too, tongue coming out to flick over the loop in his lip. A less wicked use of his tongue but it still had an effect on you. His eyes were shining – he knew it was all working. 

With another perfect kiss, you were dissolving, your walls, your fears. Butterflies forming in their place. 

“The only thing I need to know…” he muttered upon pulling back, letting his thumb caress your cheek where he gently held your jaw. “... is if you still have feelings for me. Like I do for you.” He spoke carefully now, as if trying not to spook you, his weight on top of you keeping you tethered but nowhere near trapped.

Was it not obvious? 

“Depends what kind of feelings you have for me,” you said, hoping the slight teasing tone in your voice would tip him off that this was in no way a rejection.

“There’s a lot of ‘em,” he said cutely, bunny teeth showing when he broke into a smile. “They, uh, didn’t really go away.”

“Neither did mine,” you admitted softly, pulling your gaze away from his lips to meet his eyes, round and beaming, as he took in your words. 

He smiled wider, if that was possible, then pressed his forehead to yours, his whole body seemingly to envelop you even more. “I promise, I’ll be everything you need.”

“Ok, but I also need to be everything you need.”

“You already are,” he whispered, ducking his face into the pillow until you were both nestled in each other’s necks, the only movable part of your body being your hands resting on his ass which you took advantage of, giving him a good squeeze. 

“You really think eight months is enough?”

His body shifted a little, fingers playing in your hair as his cock moved slightly against your core, still hard. “Um, I’ve had my fill.”

You could picture the little smirk you knew was on his lips. “Have you?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“How… how much fill?” you asked, curiosity suddenly popping up inside of you. 

“Plenty,” he said through the lightest chuckle before pressing a soft kiss to your neck. 

“Oh, really?” you asked, tapping his butt playfully, not sure if what you were feeling was jealousy or just plain amusement. 

When he lifted back up onto his forearm, he just looked so adorable, a mix of bashful and too-proud. “Yeah…” He chuckled again, nibbling at his lip almost as if to play up his innocence. “Doesn’t matter though. Just want you.”

One of your eyebrows pushed up playfully. “How many are we talkin’?” 

His return laugh was somewhere between cocky and embarrassed, his gaze falling away from you and giving him away. 

“It hasn’t been that long. How many girls could you have possibly slept with?” you teased, the corners of your mouth pulling up.

His nervous smile was stuck. “I don’t… think you want me to answer that.”

“Wow.” Your eyes trailed over the pinking of his skin, smirk punched more firmly onto your lips. “It’s kind of entertaining, honestly. How very efficient of you.”

He was flustered, a hand coming up to run through his dark shaggy hair. It simply worked to bring your attention back to his strong arm, his hardened body, his cock, still pressing against you. 

Damn, you were still craving him. How had you been fine without feeling him for so long? Denial was a powerful thing apparently.

With an endeared smile, you found his lips again. “But mine’s the best?” you mumbled against him, letting your thumbs play with his waistband. 

“Absolutely.”

“Wanna feel?” you breathed, biting your lip and looking at him teasingly when he lifted. Your hips tilted up, rubbing along his covered length.  “You’re so hard.”

“Ugh– uh-huh,” he hummed, looking down at you with sweet dizzy eyes and parted mouth. 

You pulled the elastic, letting it snap back against his skin. “Get these off.”

He didn’t respond, just rolled onto his back to slip his boxers down before re-finding his place over you, between your legs. 

“Come here,” you whispered, guiding him close until his cock rested, hard and leaking on your lower tummy. Ignoring it for a moment, you pulled him down to you, catching a pouty bottom lip between yours and giving it a little suck just as you let one hand wrap around him delicately. 

He whimpered in your mouth, a delicious sound that you thought you’d never hear again. Thank god Jungkook was as stubborn as he was. Thank god he knew what he wanted. Thank god it was you. 

“Baby,” he said, so light and airy. 

Pushing on his taut stomach, it was easy to tilt your hips a little until his cockhead was catching on your entrance, then getting slowly enveloped in your puffy cunt as he sank into you. It felt fucking good, right even, euphorically full, but the best part was watching his eyes fall closed again in bliss.

“Ughhh… Fits so perfect,” he sighed, letting his head fall forward until his forehead was resting on yours.

With that, you let your eyes close as well, honing in on the feeling of him spreading your walls open. “Don’t move yet,” you instructed, testing the control he would let you have over him. “Are you still going to be my good boy?”

“I kind of like when you’re good for me though. My little fuck toy.”

Why was that word making you clench around him again? If anything, he was your fuck toy. 

“Mmm,” he groaned at the tightening on his length, a hand coming to hold the side of your neck as he nudged in a little deeper. 

“Ah, Kook–” You wanted to reprimand him but he wasn’t having it. 

“Did your cunt miss me, baby?” he taunted, keeping his cock all the way in then swirling his hips in a way that made you lose your train of thought. 

With a little whimper, you clung to his back, starting to move your own hips in tandem with him. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“Mmh– you should,” you breathed your admittance. 

“Fuck, you like it so much, 자기. Don’t you? Being a good girl for me?”

It was annoying, in that fucking addicting way, that he seemed to not give a shit about listening to you anymore. But then again, all you’d ever cared about was his pleasure anyway. And what was hotter than him just chasing it, doing whatever he wanted, knowing exceptionally well your body and his own?

“Yeah, just like that. Grind on me, baby,” he said, moaning some more when you listened diligently, his cock keeping you filled up while his pubic bone provided some friction for you to rub against. 

“How do you feel so g–?” you muttered, letting your nails slide down his back. He wasn’t even actually fucking you, just keeping you in place as he ground his cock in, but it didn’t seem to matter. 

“Like that, hm? Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight. And you’re so wet. How am I supposed to not come when you’re being this perfect for me, huh?”

To your own ears, you sounded pathetic, whimpers and mewls that were nowhere close to words. Even though all you wanted was to tell him how good he was, how perfect he felt, how much you’d missed him. 

“Trying to make me come too quickly. Being too sexy,” he scolded, looking down at you with lidded eyes, his eyebrows pursing in that sexy pained way that only happened when Jungkook experienced good pussy and good food. “Shit. What am I gonna do with you?”

When he adjusted his angle a little, coming down to graze his teeth along your neck, it only felt better, rubbing harder against a good spot inside of you that had your whole body tensing with each half-thrust. 

“Oh my god,” you barely choked out, gripping onto him harder. The knot was twisting inside of you, curling, tightening, wringing your stomach. “Yeah– k– ahh, yes, like that. Please,” you managed to breathe, your cunt probably sending him the same message.

“Oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come, 자기. I fucking love you, holy fuck.” He humped into you a little faster, rendering you paralyzed. 

“Mh, coming–” was all you could get out before sobs took over, the band snapping, body convulsing up into him as your climax rushed through you. 

At the same time, he was shooting his load deep into you for the second time, shallow thrusts as your walls did all the work, clamping around him rhythmically. All he could do was jerk inside you a few more times, hips pressed right up against your thighs, pretty groans and whimpers meeting your ears. 

“Fuck, it’s so fucking good–” he whined, voice pitching high as he rode it out, finally collapsing on you with a shaky – and still a bit whiny – sigh.

Your breaths were loud, not quite even yet. “Ah… Good boy,” you cooed out of habit, slipping a hand into his hair to caress his scalp lovingly, knowing he loved the way it sent chills down his back. “You made me come so good.”

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly, tiredly lifting his head. “Good enough to win you back?”

You huffed a laugh at his cheekiness, feeling insurmountably happy. “Yes, love.”

He hummed his own happiness into your shoulder, nuzzling down into you, cock twitching a little with the movement and pulling out another soft moan from you. 

“Y’know, I should not find the idea of you fucking a bunch of girls to get me back so adorable. And yet…”

“And yet, here we are,” he mumbled against your skin, quickly turning his words into kisses as if to seal the deal, bind the contract. “But, umm… on the topic of winning you back…”

You watched him as he lifted to meet your eyes, settling himself back over you. 

“I should admit something.”

“Kook…” you said, trying to keep your warning tone as gentle and playful as possible. But this reckless energizer bunny of a man did not have a good track record for such statements.

“Don’t be mad,” he said softly, giving you that look. 

Apparently, it still worked on you because for a split second, all you could think about was how cute he was. 

“Your name… wasn’t actually on the ballot thingy. I could’ve brought anyone with me,” he said carefully.

But, goddamnit, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be mad.

A/N: wow this gave me such a hard time which is so funny because i just did a final edit/read through and i actually really like it now :D so thank god for that i guess! PLEASE let me know your thoughts, it's so so valuable to me, i love you, and thank you so much for reading 🥰

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Masterlist

Ex On The Beach | Part 2 (Jungkook)

Rating/genre: M18+, exes to lovers; smut 💖, fluff, angst Pairings: Jungkook x Reader(f) Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, dom!Jungkook, sub!reader or at least she tries, fingering, pool sex, multiple orgasms, slight degradation (use of term ‘fucktoy’ in reference to reader), a bit of begging, hair pulling, a bit of power dynamic struggle, semi-public sex (but it’s very secluded), a bit of bickering, pet names ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘jagi’ and ‘good girl’, mentions of blood and a very minor injury (a cut on reader’s knee), Jungkook carries reader Word Count: 7.9k Summary: Ok, fine, your ex looks really good. Like cripplingly good. But this vacation is not about him. You just want to relax. Alone. 

PART ONE

A/N: Part two of three. You gotta read part one first! 

It became clear quickly that you had no need for other people at all. You couldn’t have been happier staying at the villa by yourself, in total paradise with your own thoughts, a book and the perfect balmy breeze. 

Unfortunately, you did have need for food. And there weren’t a ton of options when it came to the complimentary food in the kitchen. Stomach rumbling, you wandered down the path all the way to the lap pool. It was the first time since you’d arrived that you’d seen other guests, a few sprinkled around the pool area or having some lunch at the bar right next to it. 

And, to your slight chagrin, there was Jungkook, sculpted arms and tattoos on show in his cut-off t-shirt, speaking animatedly to one of the resort workers: a local with a bright pretty smile. 

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Ex On The Beach | Part 1 (Jungkook)

Rating/genre: M18+, exes to lovers; smut 💖, fluff, light angst Pairings: Jungkook x Reader(f) Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, reader is a bit dominant, Jungkook is more submissive in this part, begging, public sex (but it’s a dream), reader is described as smaller and weaker than him, a bit of bickering, pet names ‘baby’, ‘love’ and ‘jagi’, they are exes but they don’t hate each other or anything Word Count: 4.8k Summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right? 

A/N: Part one of three. Jungkook is a bit aged-down in this. He’s like 23-ish. It doesn’t really matter lol. Just thought I’d note it in case anyone was curious. Reader is written to be a bit older than him but again, doesn’t really matter.

You were a genius who didn’t look up the resort before getting to the airport so now here you were, using your last minutes of precious wifi before take off to look up Moonlight Bay Resort – ‘award-winning six-star clifftop villa-style resort’. 

As soon as you read the words, you frowned and looked to the man beside you who was rifling through his bag, long dark strands falling into his eyes as he tried to pull out his headphones, cord all tangled, to connect them to his phone. 

“Did you give me the wrong name? ‘Moonlight Bay’ you said?”

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