myangelhaven

[myangelhaven]

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Ahaha...guys i fear this is where I've gone too far. I kept giggling and having to stop reading to get a hold of myself. Like this was too much for me 😭😭 good lord. I am gone. Destroyed. Wrecked even. This was too good. I need part 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and- this needs to be a series please 😭

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“…Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?”

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time’s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

[myangelhaven]

oop guess who just graduated 🫡

[myangelhaven]

Man I need to update the pics on my rec lists

[myangelhaven]

Hyunjin has always known how talented you are with paintings, creating stories by merging colours together, softly brushing over the surface of a canvas—but none of them comes close to the beauty of your own body. He wants to dive into you, metaphorically and literally, explore you with all his senses.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM FINDING THIS FIC AGAIN. IT WAS RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE ALL ALONG CUZ IVE FOLLOWED OP FOR SO LONG. This was wow. Once again, I want to say how amazing your writing is. I always enjoy reading your stories, and this was so gut-wrenching and lovely! Vincent Van Goat was too funny lmaooo

I have read this way back when i first got tumblr, when I didn't rb and kept track of my reads, and my god i squealed when I read the summary and realized this is the fic I've been trying to find again. Cuz all I knew was that hyunjin came to Italy and they had to be roommates cuz he couldn't find a place 😭 I also distinctly remembered lemons lmaoo. But I'm so happy finding it!!

MUDDY WATER — (18+!)

🫒 Childhood friends turned lovers turned strangers turned enemies – Hyunjin and you have been through every stage of a relationship imaginable. Never in your life you would have expected to ever see him again. But there he is, hiding between the olive and lemon trees, searching for a place to stay in the city of Florence.

"Loving Hyunjin had always come in waves and at some point you were drowning.

That was when he left."

🏛️ CONTENT INFO: hyunjin x afab reader, nonidol au, exes to lovers, angst/smut/fluff, they dated in highschool, mutual pining, slight soulmate au, author/journalist hyunjin, painter reader, reader is demisexual (though not explicitly mentioned), the story is set in Florence, Italy, and other cities are mentioned for past/future plot, they are both in their late twenties but the same age

🎨 CONTENT WARNING: reader has an obvious alcohol problem/could definitely be considered alcoholic, reader has depression and family trauma/betrayal (please seek professional help if you suffer from any of these mentioned topics), cigarette smoking, nightmares, mention of sleep paralysis, brief mention of death of family member (in the past), smut tags under the cut

🍋 WORD COUNT: 15.5K

spotify playlist; series masterlist

🌅 SMUT: slight dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv, lots of praise, slight dumbification

And then the aridity spreads throughout the whole land again—hot air lingering like a transparent veil over the city and all fields. It’s the fifth year of extreme temperatures in a row, maybe the sixth, you’ve lost count ages ago. You spend your time wondering if it’s different up in the north, the climate caged between gigantic mountains but you doubt it. From what your sister reports to you occasionally, they possibly have it worse.

But neither your sister, your other siblings nor your parents have put all their financial resources into one tiny hopeless dream—growing old surrounded by cypresses and olive trees, surviving solely on the paintings you (don’t) sell. You have grown older, yes, now at the end of your twenties, but you have grown sick, too. Sicker than you were before. The sickest you could ever imagine your heart, soul and brain to become.

But, gladly, Mother Nature donates her most precious gifts for taking care of her offsprings—the lemon and olive trees in your garden.

It’s just like they say—if life gives you lemons, you turn it into limoncello.

Well, if there were enough fruits growing on those trees but due to the lack of rainfall visiting your city, it’s impossible to make liquor out of them. So, you just stick to red wine instead—from the bottle on special occasions, from the paper box for usual days. There’s simply not enough money right now and first things first you’ve gotta pay your bills.

This used to be quite easy, since you’re not a wasteful person. Of course, it’s not that complicated to bail on taking showers daily when your depression prevents you from getting out of bed anyway. A clear win-win situation. Not really. But you keep telling yourself that.

As mentioned, it used to be quite easy until inflation hit you and your eyes couldn’t even look as fast as prices for gas and electricity climbed up that latter. It’s a good thing the house was paid a long time ago, actually, your grandmother did that for you—it was her own property ages ago since she lived in Firenze in her last years before passing.

It’s all there’s left.

The house that’s in need of renovation, your withered little garden and your roommate for now—Vincent.

Vincent, the goat.

Or Vincent Van Goat, as you like to call him.

He’s a lovely boy, driven by joy and affection, always looking after you, as far as that’s possible for an animal. But you wouldn’t be here without him. He’s all you’ve got.

It’s a shame he, as your roommate, can’t pay rent though. Vincent can’t even give you milk to turn into cheese because he is, one, a male goat and, two, therefore not having babies.

Which brings us to what’s been bothering, occupying, threatening your mind lately—the sad truth that you’ll have to look for an actual roommate sooner or later. It’s inevitable at this point and it leaves your heart filled with angst, since you’ve never been a person to voluntarily share their space.

That’s the whole reason you moved far away from your ultra extroverted family years ago—breaking the illusion of a bond that had you glued to your relatives. You haven’t spoken to them for two, three years maybe—except for your sister. Though, she doesn’t visit you either.

It’s the sad life, your sad life and you’ve come to terms with it. It’s you, the house, the withered garden, Vincent and a storage room filled with art supplies, crumpled paper and piles of dust that you’ve been avoiding for three, four years maybe.

“Y/N, are you home?”

It’s the sound of your neighbours’ voices echoing through the glassy door at the veranda on the side of your house—an entrance you’ve allowed them access to. The couple usually checks up on you, though you’ve told them a thousand, maybe two thousand times that they don’t need to. But for Felix and Emma it’s not easy seeing you like this. Sure, you’ve always been the textbook definition of mentally miserable but with all the economical changes none of you have any control over, you’re digging deeper, almost hitting earth’s core by now.

Emma usually brings you homemade pasta every second day, whereas her husband offers you brownies. He’s been leaving out the special ingredient lately, knowing it’ll only do further harm to your fragile brain.

“We have pasta… are you in there? It’s still warm, we don’t want it to get cold, do we?”

You don’t answer. You’re hiding in the kitchen, to be precise, having been busy with trying to drink a glass of water for the last ten, maybe fifteen minutes. It’s like you’re stuck, like autopilot isn’t working anymore, just an error 404 being sent through your synapses without a sign of reaching their destinations.

“We brought wine.”

Felix’s voice is so quiet, so distant and he curses himself for speaking those three words knowing that they will work magic on you but at the same time cause the action they’re providing further harm. You shouldn’t be drinking, but he knows you do nonetheless so it’s better to drench your body in alcohol while you’re in company. Besides that, it’s already past twenty and you’re proud of yourself for getting through the day without a single drop of the red dopamine.

“What kind of pasta did you guys make?”

“Spaghetti alla puttanesca”

Ah, yes, the whore of pasta dishes. At least that's what the name translates to. In the style of the whore. It’s your favourite after all, even though you have a hard time identifying with this style—well, not entirely by choice. It has been ages since you’ve been intimate with someone that isn’t your own hand.

“I’ll get the table ready and bring glasses, have a seat, please.”

Your friends follow your advice, whereas you’re busy rummaging around in the kitchen, searching for the supplies. “I’m coming,” you shout through the little crook between the ajar door, separating the room from the dining space.

“No worries, dear. We’re not in a rush.”

Emma has to remind you of this frequently. Maybe it’s due to your lack of social interactions in your life, but you’re the carbon copy of a people pleaser, the very spitting image of a doormat once the wrong kind of person takes advantage of it. But neither Felix nor his wife are this way—they’re everything to you.

That’s all you’ve got—your house that is in need of renovation, the withered garden, Vincent and your kind-hearted neighbours.

“You want to save some pasta for Vincent?” Felix asks, once you’re joining the others in the dining room.

“Yes, sure. But no olives, though. He hates them.”

Yes. Vincent Van Goat does eat pasta dishes. Though, he prefers pizza a lot more (as long as there is no goat cheese on it)—he’s an odd guy.

“And you love olives, you’re made for each other, Y/N,” Emma jokingly says and you would have bursted out into tears if any other person talked shit about your non-existent love life. Instead, you just shoot a scoffing glare her way and hand your friend the silver cutlery.

As usual, the meal is excellent and besides the fact you have trouble swallowing any type of food these days, weeks, months—Emma always manages to make things easier for you and the fact her and her husband keep you company, checking in on you every day, means the world to you.

It’s like a poem on your tongue. The different flavours igniting and pleasuring your taste buds so perfectly makes you forget all the troubles in your little world for once. As if the composition of oil, garlic, fresh basil and capers, floating around with the handmade spaghettis and home grown tomatoes, evaporating inside your mouth with the delicious anchovies and olives, helps you visit that cloud nine for once.

You may have given up on love—but you’re one hundred and ten percent sure you will always be able to count on pasta.

And red wine.

Speaking of the devil, after finishing your meal you’re already halfway into the third glass of the night. Luckily, Felix has brought these five litres plastic countainers that he always uses to fill the poisonous liquid from the wine barrels in his basement straight into them. Well, not luckily for your health, but for your heart. At least for tonight.

“Do you need some help setting up the ad?” Emma is so generous, you are honestly having a hard time believing that you really deserve her friendship.

“Oh, I’ve already got an outline.”

Yes, you are surprised about yourself as well. But on the other hand, you’ve been pushing away this task for months now so it is about time to take matters in your own hand.

“Do you want to show it to us?”

You nod at Felix’s question, before grabbing your phone from your back pocket. The screen illuminates in a dim light, as your advice receives a notification saying low percentage.

“Here you are,” you say, handing the phone to the couple.

The room falls silent for a second, then half a minute, then two minutes, as Felix and Emma take their time to read the text in your notes app, probably looking for typos. It’s been three minutes now, you’ve checked by keeping an eye on the digital watch on the wall of your dining room, reading 21:09.

“Is something wrong with it?” You dare to ask now, keeping your face directed on the wooden table, fiddling with your silver bracelet, fingertips pinching the tiny olive charmer.

Y/N, they are your friends. Whatever they are criticising isn’t an attack on your personality.

“It’s just—maybe the price for the rent is a bit unrealistic,” Emma exhales, trying to meet your eyes but they are still fixated on the glittery object around your wrist.

“I know, I know. It’s too much. But less won’t be enough to cover the bills, you know?”

She takes your hand, making you stop the stimming motions. Her skin feels so soft and warm against your own that is marked by dryness. Just as dry as your lemon and olive trees.

“Have you considered… allowing more than one roommate?”

“I am already allowing more than one, don’t forget about Vincent,” you try to change the topic with a little sarcasm, as your lips turn into a forced smile, while your eyes stay the same—filled with poignancy, tears stinging at the brim of your lower lash lines and you’re sure you could use the salty droplets threatening to roll down your exhausted face to water the plants.

“Y/N…” Felix’s voice is so soft, so so soft it makes you angry. It makes you want to scream. But you can’t. You could never do any harm to this boy. “You can also set up an advertisement for turning a few rooms into private ones on Airbnb.”

You let out a scoff, as you cross your arms in front of your chest. With Felix and Emma sitting at the opposite side of the table, you look like their toddler child now—peeved and irritated but at the same time knowing they are right.

“I will consider it. Just let me try it my own way first. I don’t want to actively participate in any type of gentrification process, okay?”

Emma can’t hide the way her eyes are rolling to the back of her head—annoyed and confused you are pulling that card now. She knows you value these things a lot—it is the reason you decided to make your living by selling homemade liquor and oil instead of working at a company that offers the same goods but produced cheaply. You are an idealistic person, have always been and will always be. At the end of the day, what matters the most to you is your ability to look at your reflection in the mirror and recognise the face staring right back at you.

“Okay. We will wait three days and in case no one makes a serious offer, I will create another post, alright?”

Three days. That is enough to get at least some messages, considering you live in a suburban part of Firenze. Replies should be shooting up like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

🐐

Replies haven’t reached you. You waited twelve hours, twenty four hours and now, at forty eight hours, you are close to giving up, already dialing Felix’s number, ready to ask him for help.

The half empty second bottle of the night is sitting in front of you, waiting to be swimming down your throat, the red liquid looking even darker in the dim lights. You have decided to spend your evenings in candle light—it both lets you save some money and creates a fake romantic atmosphere. Great.

You are so deeply lost in your own tragedy, close to giving up, getting a bit lightheaded due to the alcohol—you are almost considering setting up that Airbnb website on your own…

Until– ping.

You don’t dare look at the notification on the upper part of your phone screen now, as usual the lightning is reduced to the lowest possible and you would turn it even darker if it allowed it.

Then another message hits you—both from the apartment renting app.

user_hhj2003: Hello! I am very much interested in renting that room. I can pay the money reliably since I have a stable source of income. I couldn’t find something regarding gender. I am a man, though. I hope this is not a problem. Have a nice day!

Hm. You’re unsure if it's scam. You kinda regret now putting your address in the advertisement—what if you decline and he’s a weirdo, a creep, a stalker, still visiting your house?

user_hhj2003: (attached file) Those are copies of my bank statements from this and last year, please tell me which further documents you need. I spontaneously agreed on a job offer in Firenze, which I will be working part time for. So, in case you need more money than the mentioned amount—also regarding rising electricity and gas prices—tell me please.

You don’t know what it is—maybe it’s the lack of actual strangeness in his words, maybe the fact he showed you an evidence of his income, maybe your intoxication or maybe your desperation (spoiler: it’s all of the above!). But you decide to schedule an appointment with user_hhj2003, telling him to meet you tomorrow afternoon.

Luckily, he is free, currently staying in a hostel. You wonder what he is like—if he is more of an introvert like you, what he does for a living, what age he is. God, you hope the 2003 in his username isn’t his birth year. This would mean he is almost ten years younger than you and probably still in a time of his life in which he values partying a lot.

But the mysterious, rich stranger is the only chance you have got. Even though a few more people have sent messages to you throughout the day, none of them were even close to being legit.

The time of the scheduled appointment reaches you faster than you realise and when user_hhj2003 texts you he is here, you walk out of your home and towards the gate that connects your lot with the street. You should have brought an umbrella with you, but who would have expected that rain would finally visit the city of Firenze?

Tiny steps hit the muddy ground, as you rush over the grass, wanting to welcome your guest that has been patiently waiting for you in the driveway of your house.

You finally reach the stranger.

Just one closer look.

This can’t be– this is impossible–

He is standing there—in the pouring rain, his wet hair sticking to his face. He cut it short, bleached it and dyed it in a silvery shade. Nothing similar to the long, black strands he used to have in school.

That’s when you first look into his eyes again. Those dark, mesmerising eyes. He is still wearing the dark leather jacket he used to always have glued to his figure when you were younger. It is the same model, maybe even the exact same jacket from back in the days.

Your parents had never approved of him. He was, is, your first love and you’re afraid he will be the only man you will ever be able to love that much. So much that it could kill you.

It killed you. Kinda.

Loving Hyunjin had always come in waves and at some point you were drowning.

That was when he left.

Your parents had never approved of him—and you learnt about the reason for their disliking the hard way when he disappeared. Turned into a ghost. Nowhere to be found. Nowhere to reach. Just nowhere—everywhere.

Never in your life you would have expected to ever see him again. He has always been as reserved as you and didn’t even attend the school meeting every five years with the people you graduated with—neither of you do. His parents were always considerate, but just as reserved too. It felt as if they wanted to get closer to you, allow you to become a part of their family but something was holding them back. As if you had a confession of committing a crime tattooed on your forehead.

But at the young age of eighteen, you didn’t question anything further. You were, are, head over heels for him.

He is Hwang Hyunjin—two sides of a coin.

He is artistic, understanding, warm-hearted and egoistic, vicious, cold-hearted.

Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t care about the consequences of his own actions.

Maybe that’s why he agreed on the appointment—there is no way he didn’t witness your full name when applying for your offer.

Some seconds pass by, some minutes add onto it. It’s an odd scene. The both of you just standing there in the middle of the withered garden—staring into each other's eyes, waiting for the other to let out a single word. But you can’t, your tongue feels paralysed.

So, he takes the first step, literally, by approaching you all carefully. Out of reflex, you walk two steps back, hitting your ankles on the staircase that leads to your front porch.

“You’re bringing the rain with you, Hwang. It rarely rains here,” you exhale. Your voice is quiet, so quiet but Hyunjin still manages to hear you.

“The lemon trees need it.”

His sentence comes out meaner than he intends it to. Fuck. He has already messed up. There is no way he came all this way, finally found you just for the plan to blow up into tiny thousand glassy shards.

“The lemon trees need you to piss off like you always do, Hyunjin,” you spit, catching onto the tone, imitating the melody of his words.

He has fucked it up, indeed. Wow. That is a new highscore even for a vivacious spirit like him.

“Why did you plant lemon trees at all? Aren’t they a typically Sicilian thing?”

Hyunjin is trying his best to switch topics—while miserably failing at it. How can someone like him be a successful journalist but all his manners and social skills get thrown out the window once he has the chance to be near you again?

“I wanted lemon trees.”

Well, thanks to climate change the air temperature these summers is high enough for them to feel comfortable and allow themselves to grow. It’s the rain and therefore water that’s lacking.

“Still such a dreamer.”

Hyunjin, fucking stop right now.

“Hm. You made me. By believing your bullshit.”

And that’s when you storm inside the house again—your mood sourer than any of those lemons.

But Hyunjin is persistent—not in a way that it’s disrespectful. He makes sure to wait outside, not even placing his foot on the porch. Instead, he messages you over the app again.

user_hhj2003: I understand you are mad at me and for that I apologise… I should have told you

You sigh, heavily. The second guesses can’t seem to escape your mind—what if he’s actually sorry?

user_hhj2003: But can we maybe talk for a second? I really do need a room to stay… I promise I will find something else asap

The door swings open, after you circle your hand around the knob.

“Two weeks. And I want double the amount of the rent we agreed on.”

This is your last chance to get rid of him.

But something—your heart—tells you that you want him to stay.

“Is that a problem? I am sure you can pay, I know from the copies of your bank statements.”

Hyunjin rapidly shakes his head, “Not at all. I’ll do whatever you want.”

🐐

The first few days were bearable—Hyunjin is mostly working. Remotely though, to your disliking. But he doesn’t take up much space, stays in his room and always offers help when it comes to cooking and housework.

Unfortunately, he does get along with Vincent very well, Which is a bad sign. Well, it’s a good sign since animals tend to be able to peek behind possible staged veneers, inviolable when it comes to lying and faking. You trust Vincent a lot—he has always been there for you, treating you like the most precious creature on this planet since you rescued him.

He is forever thankful for you and you feel the same in return for the silly little goat with his spotted fur, making him look like a dalmatian dog. A bright soul, a cheerful persona—getting along with the person you detest the most in your life.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. You do hate your family more than Hyunjin. But the fact your mind and body are constantly distracted, chasing after the answer why he left, why he pissed off, why he let you alone, why he became a ghost, why–

“Y/N?”

Your gaze immediately switches its direction, darting upwards Hyunjin now. As you’re still seated at the dining table, answering some customers’ mails, the blonde must have sneaked into the living room. Or, more likely, you were so caught up in your daydreaming, your overthinking, that you didn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you. I am about to go to the supermarket, do you need anything?” Hyunjin asks, always keeping a considerate space between the both of you. His fingertips brush the mahogany table, while he is searching for your eyes.

But you make sure to keep them fixated on the dim screen in front of you—yes you use the nightmode option on the lowest lightning level at any time given for all your devices—not being able to look right back at him.

“Oh. Yeah. Actually, there are a few things—can you bring a big bag of lemons as well as olive oil and some spices? I will have to get an order ready online and replenish my supplies for my customers.”

Hyunjin corrects his posture, tilting his head in the process. “You buy the lemons and olive oil in the supermarket? I thought the products you’re selling are home grown.”

It is ironic, isn’t it? You are against renting Airbnb apartments because it will add to gentrification processes but sell cheap products as organic ones. Y/N “hypocrite” Y/L/N.

Well, there is no ethical consumption in this capitalist society anyway, like you always remind yourself of.

You chuckle, quietly but it’s still audible for him and Hyunjin could smile right back at you, so happy listening to that cheerful sound again. He has missed your laugh the most over these past years—as well as the way your eyes turn into little crescents, the tiny dance you always do with your hands when taking the first bite of your spaghetti alla puttanesca and, most importantly, the way your eyes flicker to his own, when the both of you are talking. You have finally managed to make eye contact with him. And Hyunjin would pay even three times the rent just to see you smile at him again.

“Do you really think enough lemons grow here for me to make a living out of the limoncello they give me?” You asks now. Your little giggle wasn’t some approach towards him, Hyunjin realises now. It was a sarcastic scoff instead.

“So you lie on your product description? Can’t you get sued for that or something? You should be more careful…”

“It’s a win-win. I won’t have to pay taxes in jail,” you answer, keeping that harsh tone.

Well, Hyunjin dearly wants to turn that conversation around. Make it a bit warmer, sprinkle in some affection without any ulterior motives—solely to be kind to you and gain some trust again. But you interpret every little breath he takes as the worst form of provocation.

So, instead he decides to laugh about your joke but you’re faster to add, “Also—do us both a favour and don’t pretend to care about me, yeah?”

🐐

As evidence you are in fact having a roommate now, you have invited Felix and Emma for dinner tonight. Of course, your friends believe you but when you mentioned that the new roommate is none other than your ex lover from high school, their warning bells started to ring.

You reassured them—everything is fine, Hyunjin will be gone in less than a week anyway, just like he always does. But something about his presence, his general behaviour tells you that he wishes to stay longer this time. You’re part of the problem here too—the blonde has tried talking to you, has made some approaches and has generally been nothing but kind to you.

Emma says he’s trying to make up for the lost time and is just being considered, absolutely thankful you are offering a room to stay.

Felix says there’s more behind it, that Hyunjin maybe still feels the same for you like he used to.

You say, he’s just here to break your stupid little heart again as if it’s an Olympic sport and he’s rooting for winning that gold medal.

“They will be here in a few minutes,” you histerically say, staring at the farfalle that is swimming in the boiling water—pretty much everything but al dente.

“Don’t worry—I can take care of the food while you open the–“

The ringing bells interrupt his words, making the both of you snap your heads towards the source of the noise.

“…door. Go on. Don’t worry, yeah? They are your friends and I promise to be a decent human being.”

The last part of his sentence makes you want to rip your heart out of your chest. Hyunjin has never behaved inappropriately in gatherings—but your parents used to make him feel that way. You want to apologise, want to take the blame for something you didn’t do.

But there’s simply no time right now, not even a second to think about it. You walk towards the door and welcome your neighbours instead.

“We met in Bardolino on a wine tour,” Felix tells your rommate. The pasta tastes out of this world—actually a thousand times better than when you follow your grandma’s recipe. Hyunjin is good at everything, isn’t he?

“And I have been annoying him since then,” Emma jokingly adds. Felix squeezes her hand tightly, adoring the way his wife’s face is glittering in the dim candle light. You both wish to have someone to look at you the way he does and be looked at like her.

What you don’t notice is the way Hyunjin’s eyes are glued to your side profile, observing you as if he has never done this before. Emma notices—that woman notices everything. Felix does, too, but he is a lot worse in hiding it, giggling to himself but you don’t seem to catch up on it.

Of course, your best friends know everything about the background of the Hyunjin era of your life. But they have always felt as if something was missing, like an episode explaining why he left. Emma even suggested that he was maybe made to disappear but you dropped that idea quickly.

“Five years,” Felix whispers proudly, showing Hyunjin the ring on his finger. The latter exhales a small ‘wow’, his eyes glued on the shimmery accessory.

The sad truth is—Hyunjin had everything prepared. A ring with a little gemstone in a dark green colour—he remembered asking for a nephrite, since it’s your favourite one. It has always reminded you of olives and your dream of a little garden somewhere in the suburbs.

Of course, it wasn’t his intention to propose to you back then, not exactly after leaving school. But he wanted to be prepared. He even had it planned out perfectly—a chill afternoon spent at an art gallery, followed by a painting course (even though he knew no teacher could live up to your skills) and a romantic dinner. He would have dropped the question later, when the two of you would have been alone.

Up until this day he is sure you would have liked it, maybe even said ‘yes’ to the engagement. But that’s not what Hyunjin has ever cared about, he only wanted to be with you, really. It’s a shame he was made to not keep that promise.

And it’s a bigger shame, now that he’s finally in your life again—he’s so sure you won’t believe him anyway, dare even forgive him.

“The guys can do the dishes tonight,” Felix offers after dinner and Hyunjin instantly agrees. You want to hold them back, not wanting to have your guest clean the aftermath of this delicious meal but there’s no way to decline Felix Lee and his kind offers.

“Just let them,” Emma says, suggesting to sit down on the veranda instead. She’s possibly just wanting you to take a break, maybe let the guys have a few minutes to themselves—after all they have gotten along at the dinner table pretty well and maybe want to catch up on those many hobbies they have in common but didn’t want to annoy Emma and you with.

However, Emma—the observer—took notice of her husband's aura. She knows there’s something more behind it and she can read him like an open book after all. If Felix thinks as positively about Hyunjin as she does, he will probably try to find out more about him and his mysterious disappearance—which, on the other hand, encourages the thesis she has had about him all these years despite not knowing your past lover.

“How are you feeling, dear?” She asks, once you’re both seated outside, your elbow placed on the little table that’s separating the chairs from one another.

Emma rummages in the pocket of her jean jacket, fishing a small box out of it.

“Can I have one?”

Your friend immediately regrets picking out the cigarettes in front of you. Not because she doesn’t like sharing—she would give you everything without a need of you even asking for it. But she knows it’s not good for you.

“How many glasses did you have?”

“I don’t know… two, three, maybe?”

Emma sighs, letting her head fall back. “Are you sure?”

Your teeth catch your lower lips, biting into the soft flesh. “Maybe four, five.”

“Are you drunk?”

You scoff, “Because I had five glasses?”

Your best friend corrects her posture, shifts in her seat until she’s able to get a closer look of your visage. Sometimes you hate her motherly attitude—but it’s what you need all the time in the state you are in.

“Y/N… I don’t want to accuse you of–“

Being an alcoholic.

“Then don’t, okay?”

You know what she’s trying to say. You should get help. You should stop for a few days, maybe a week. But you’re too afraid, practically frightened at the sheer thought of your mind running free once you’re sober for too long.

And you’re not even drunk yet. Tipsy, maybe. Your body and mind have developed some kind of tolerance when it comes to the poisonous liquid that is currently flooding your veins.

“Here.”

Emma offers you a cigarette now—she can’t be mad at you for too long. Especially not when you behave like a toddler. Felix and her should get the adoption papers ready, for God’s sake.

You mumble a muffled thank you, bringing the thin object between your lips. When Emma positions the lighter at the tip, the orange glow starts illuminating the porch. You take a deep, deep breath, making sure the smoke fills your whole lungs, before you inhale once more and then finally allow the molecules to exit your body again.

“I needed this.”

“How are you, then?” Emma repeats the question she asked when the two of you started this mess of a conversation. You haven’t forgotten about it—you’ve simply been pushing it away just like all the things that are bothering you in your life.

Such as—bills, fights, the message of your sister you have left on read, more bills, Hyunjin…

“Okay,” your friend starts again when you don't answer. “How is it with… him?”

“You can say Hyunjin.”

Emma nods, taking a drag from her own cigarette.

“How’s it… living with Hyunjin?”

You take a last deep puff, before stubbing out the gasper.

“Actually… it is… less worse than expected.”

Oh, God. You can already feel the impact that stupid tobacco has on your level of intoxication. It makes you lightheaded—absolutely dizzy and confident.

“You know,” you continue, “I’m glad he is here. This sounds stupid and you’re definitely gonna scold me because I have complained about him disappearing back then but it’s– deep down I’m so happy that he’s back? And I haven’t felt happiness in a long time.”

Emma looks at you. Mouth agape. Tears stinging in her eyes.

Your hand reaches for the cigarette box, “Can I have another–“

Your friend shushes your hand away. “Y/N,” she sighs.

“Sorry,” you answer sheeply like a child that has been caught doing something forbidden.

“No– not for that. It’s– you are gonna scold me too because–“

“What is it?”

“I think… it’s good that he’s here. Your feelings are valid, even the bad ones you have about him. But maybe there’s more… to it. You should talk to him eventually.”

—

It has been an hour since the couple has left by now. You’re sitting on the spacious couch, your wine glass in one hand and your phone in your other. You chuckle to yourself, looking at funny goat memes on your dim screen, as you take the last sip of your drink du jour.

Hyunjin is still busy cleaning the kitchen—even though he’s finished that with Felix hours ago—possibly gathering up enough courage to approach you. But he doesn’t want to invade your space, especially after all the alcohol you’ve had and don’t seem to stop having.

But he’s got an idea, an idea that will hit two birds with one stone.

“Could you give me your glass?”

You chuckle, looking up from your screen as you hand him the object that’s entangled between your fingers.

“The gentleman wants to bring me another red wine?”

Hyunjin takes the glass, his hand softly brushing over your own and you can feel your heart skip a beat at the slightest touch.

“Actually… I was about to clean that one for you,” he explains with a small voice.

“Hell, nah. I appreciate it but I am not done yet with drinking,” you counter, getting up from your seat on the sofa, almost trembling over your own feet.

Shit. You have underestimated how drunk you are. Luckily, Hyunjin is fast to prevent you from falling, as his long arms catch you quickly. Now his heart is the one to echo in his ears—and right under your fingers. You keep holding onto him so tightly, as your hands are laying flat against his chest.

“Wow, Jinnie, you’re still so handsome,” you hiccup, grazing over his covered upper body with your fingertips, brushing his arms next.

“Y/N, you’re drunk… you should stop drinking…”

His voice turns even quieter now, before he positions you differently—grabbing your upper arms which leads to a shiver running down your spine and he is now able to find your eyes with his own but yours keep drifting away when his words click in your head.

“This is none of your business, Hyun. Nothing is, okay? I’ve told you before—don’t pretend you care about me.”

Well, that was an absolute one hundred and eighty degrees turn here.

Emma’s words are pricking at the back of your mind, tingling your thought process and begging to be let free. But you’ve crossed the stage of a happy tipsy one. You’ve evolved into the emotional, frustrated drunk now and not even a compliment accidentally slipping out of your mouth will change anything.

But there’s no need to fight those thoughts further—when Hyunjin starts the exact conversation you have in mind. He’s witnessed it—the way your mood gradually became worse throughout the evening. It’s not as if you’re ever in a good mood, but tonight seems to be especially bad.

And he is taking the blame for it. Not for your depression per se, but for the extent it has developed to by now. He’s sure it would have been evitable if he didn’t disappear…

“Listen… I should have been there for you. The signs of your depression had already been there when we were eighteen but it’s– God, you will never believe me but it wasn’t my decision to make when I left.”

He wants to lay the cards on the table so desperately. Just show you the truth, make up for it. It’s up to you to decide if you want to believe him—but he won’t give up without trying.

“That is absolutely ridiculous,” you scoff, letting go of him, as you start walking around in the living room.

“Can you bare with me for a second, I can explain what–“

“I hate you, Hwang Hyunjin.”

You don’t. You’re drunk. If any, you still feel quite the opposite about him—even after all these years. But sometimes hate and love work as synonyms, they gradually vanish together, merge into another until they become a big lump of confusion. Especially for someone like you, who’s been in love with the same person for over ten years now and someone like you, who has red wine and nicotine flowing through their veins instead of blood.

“That is progress, Y/L/N.”

“Why on earth would that be progress?!”

You can’t seem to follow his thought process. Well, you can’t follow your own at this point. You can’t even follow the path your feet are taking you.

“Hate is a feeling. I’ve never expected you to develop feelings for me again.”

You scoff. The audacity. But Hyunjin has always been someone to provoke you in a fight, knowing exactly you will react with your inner truth that way.

“You’re delusional.”

Well, maybe not all the time. Maybe this doesn’t work anymore now that you’ve grown older.

There’s fury in your eyes—absolute anger and Hyunjin wishes once again to be able to turn back time. He’s come in here to talk to you, maybe explain a little about his background of the story and now everything is against him.

You take a last look at his face, your legs already bringing you closer to the staircase that leads to your bedroom.

Fuck what Emma said. Fuck getting better. Fuck all those stupid thoughts in your head. Fuck his attempt to apologise.

“You built me up as if I was made of fucking lego just to crash me to the ground. I hope your feet hurt when you stepped on those plastic stones.”

“Y/N– I–“

“Just quit it, okay? I will go to bed now. Good night.”

🐐

“Ms Y/L/N, I am afraid we can’t do much more. You are allowed to remain silent until the legal process starts. I hope you have a good lawyer.”

“What about Hyunjin? Where is he? Where did you bring him?!”

“Mr Hwang? He had never been here. He left you like everyone else in your pathetic little life did.”

“What– I– what about my family?”

He scoffs, “What family? You are the biggest disappointment, don’t expect them to ever call you again.”

You wake up from your own crying and screaming then. Drenched in your sweat. A cold breeze hits your coated back, making you shiver, freeze almost. Your eyes are red and your heart is as heavy as plumb.

Your bedroom door shoots open, revealing a worried Hyunjin. His hair is disheveled, his look confused and concerned, as he makes his way towards you. Carefully, really carefully. Scaring you any further is the last thing he wants.

The blonde sits down on the edge of your bed and you can feel the mattress shift under his weight. Hyunjin reaches over your fragile figure, turning on the nightstand lamp. The LED is shrouding the cold bedroom in a dim, yellowish tone.

“What happened, angel? Bad dreams again?”

This isn’t some cheap ploy to seduce you or, even worse, make fun of you. Hyunjin has always called you by this nickname whenever the nightmares have possessed your body and mind again, creeping into the deepest angles of your dreams, ruling and reigning over them.

So, your head slightly moves, not enough to be considered a nod but enough for Hyunjin to witness the little motion. Your past lover instantly knows what you need—he softly lays your hand on his own, pressure shooting through your fingers when he carefully squeezes them and entangles them with his.

“You’re with me, yeah? You are not alone, Y/N.”

Fuck. Does he know what your dream was about?

You don’t even know what it is—the overwhelming situation, emotions overflowing, him speaking the exact words you are longing for, that your desperate little heart needs.

But you pull him into a hug. More than this. It’s like two marble statues sticking together, created out of the same lump of stones, truly belonging to each other, destined to survive eternity. His quick heart beat is pounding so fast, synchronising with the pace of your own as if it’s the only song you only want to ever listen to again.

“You’re with me, baby… you’re with me. It’s okay.”

Sniffles fill the room then and you can’t differentiate if they are your own or Hyunjin’s. His bathrobe is soaked in the salty droplets by now, the remains of your makeup turning the white fabric into an ashy gray.

“Do you know where the word nightmare comes from?”

His question is sudden but it fits the situation—Hyunjin has always tried to make you feel a bit more comfortable by sharing random thoughts coming to his mind with you.

He isn’t crying anymore—at least he hopes so. Hyunjin slightly, carefully pulls away from you. Your swollen eyes hit his own, his plush lips look even fuller now.

“No, what’s the origin?”

The blonde positions himself a little differently—so that it’s easier to sit comfortably without stealing too much of your personal space.

“Actually—it’s even more interesting in German,” he begins and his mood has shifted. It’s typical for him whenever he talks about something that captures his mind. And it’s contagious, so contagious. You have almost forgotten about the bad dreams.

“You know, I studied the language along with Italian a few semesters in Vienna and I had a roommate there—Seungmin—he used to have pretty bad nightmares, similarly bad as yours.”

You are not surprised he took a double major in both Italian and German literature—after all, Hyunjin went to a German speaking kindergarten back in Bolzano. He has always been a little bit more interested than the average person when it comes to languages and the beauty you can create by sticking syllables onto another. Even though you grew up there, too, your parents didn’t raise you bilingually.

“So we both dug deeper and the German word Alptraum meaning nightmare has a folkloric background which amazed me.”

You listen to him carefully, watching the way his lips are moving when the words spill from them. It’s as if you are in a dream again but this time it isn’t a nightmare—luckily.

“So the part traum means dream but the prefix Alp is the name of a mythical creature. But Alp isn’t a cute elf or something—he’s an evil demon, you know? He visits people’s homes that are sleeping and sits on their chest so that they can’t breathe anymore. This will cause them nightmares. And the word nightmare originates from a synonym for this—Nachtmahr—which roughly translates to night elf as well.”

“This sounds similar to what sleep paralysis feels like.”

He’s had this idea as well, especially since his roommate Seungmin suffered from those, too.

“Practically, yes. I’m sure there's a connection to that.”

Hyunjin hesitates, then. You can see it in his eyes that he wants to do something, say something but is so afraid to cross your boundaries. Still, he decides to push these concerns aside and just speak what’s on his mind.

“I am here now. I am protecting you from all those evil demons, yeah?”

Your face softens, even a little smile creeps into your mimics there. Unbelievable.

“Will you stay here, Jinnie? I will be unable to fall asleep after that horror story.”

This isn’t some cheap ploy to seduce him or, even worse, make fun of him. You have always called him by this nickname whenever you truly needed him.

And he even giggles a little, when he realises how ironic it is that he has just told you all those scary stories after finding you frightened by your nightmares. Hyunjin crawls under the blanket with you, as he keeps you tight to his body.

“Okay.”

You feel so safe now—the fight from earlier is almost forgotten and Hyunjin doesn’t even blame you. He deserves the anger, even if it wasn’t his choice to make. But he’s got you now. Well, at least he’s made sure you’re okay and that’s all that matters to him.

🐐

When you wake up the next afternoon, sunbeams hitting your face, Hyunjin isn’t there anymore. Nothing unusual, after all. But for some reason you wish he would have stayed.

You take your time, gradually sitting up in your bed, the duvet covering your fragile body—the longer you’re awake the more you physically feel the aftermath of last night. Once you tilt your head a bit, eyes darting towards the clock attached to the wall, the time already reads 17:26.

Fuck. That was a long night. Filled with ups and downs like a rollercoaster.

You reach for your phone first, searching for your charger and plugging it in. Once you open your eyes again and turn to the other side of your bed where the nightstand is located, you are greeted with a fresh glass of water and a note reading ‘Whenever you’re up, come downstairs’ with a little heart attached to the message.

It takes you some time to actually place both your feet on the wooden floor. You make sure to chug down the whole glass, before eventually getting up and toddling towards your wardrobe. Your feet feel heavy, but at the same time so wobbly, as if they’re made of jelly. Rummaging through the darkest corners of the furniture, you go for some simple band shirt and sweatpants, before you search for your slippers next.

Once you’re dressed, about to grab the glass of water, you decide to check your phone first, realising it’s been bombarded with messages. You sigh, before opening the first one from your freckled friend. He has left six in total.

So, you start reading, needing that extra time to wake up anyway.

Lix [02:38]: Y/N!!!! THANK YOU for the dinner it was delicioooouus you should marry that Hyunjin guy he cooks like a five star michelin

You can only get three stars, can’t you?

Lix [02:40]: if you don’t want him I will marry him I am sure Emma is fine with it

Lix [02:40]: that was a joke!!!1!1!1 don’t tell her ok!! I love that woman

The messages make you chuckle. Even though there might be more behind them.

Lix [02:41]: no seriously… I think Mr Hwang likes you and you like him back hehe

Yup. There is more behind them. Great. Now Felix, Emma and you are shipping yourself with Hyunjin.

Lix [02:49]: It’s Emma. I’m sorry. Felix is drunk. But drunk words are sober thoughts, aren’t they? Love you, make sure to drink enough water and sweet dreams <3

This message makes your heart warmer but also increase its pace—shit, she’s right about it. You know it. It’s just a matter of time.

Lix [13:04]: I hope you’re okay. sorry for the spam… I was drunk hihi. but I still mean what I said!!! xoxo

You sigh, playfully, rolling your eyes at the last sentence. Now, it’s really time to get up. You grab your glass and walk down the stairs, meeting Hyunjin in the kitchen. Of course, he’s not suffering the same pain as you do—instead, he’s busy cooking something.

“Good morning,” you exhale, your husky voice being the evidence of last night.

“How are you feeling?” He tilts his head towards you, ignoring the pot on the stove for a second.

“Not so good… I need…”

“Another glass of water. You have a hangover, obviously. I’ve made some soup, too, and prepared some fresh fruit juice. You’ll need some vitamin C.”

You do as you’re told, following his huge list of advice. It’s as if you catch a glimpse of the old Hyunjin again. The old Hyunjin you fell in love with. The old Hyunjin that had always cared for you. The old Hyunjin that left you–

Slowly, a wet hot tear is crawling down your puffy cheeks—face still swollen from the gallons of poison your fragile body was exposed to last night. The back of your hand is quick to get rid of it, making it seem as if it never happened.

But still, somehow, in the corner of his eyes Hyunjin notices there’s something wrong.

“Are you alright? I mean– despite the hangover. Were there more bad dreams?”

You’re fast to shake your head no, as a slight smile creeps upon your face, giving the blonde a small amount of reassurance. At least enough for now.

It’s a real dilemma you’re in—caught between physically trying to pump out all the toxic substances out of your system while trying to fight the torture your mind is putting you in.

Talk to him.

Let him finally speak what’s on his mind.

Ask for the explanation.

Why did he leave?

Why did you leave, Hyun?

Jinnie, why–

Alone—lonely, you left me there alone with them– why did you–

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring you some soup, hm? Be careful and no rush, yeah? You need to get lots of rest.”

Once again, you do as you’re told and take the tiniest steps towards the dining table. Sinking down on the soft cushion of your favourite chair makes you feel both so weak and warm.

“Jinnie?”

Hyunjin spins his head around, looking for you.

“Yeah, what is it?”

You don’t even know why you called out his name. It’s like you’re hallucinating—probably an attempt of your body trying to abandon all the faux serotonins turned into a blockbuster horror show.

Fuck those nightmares.

Fuck those sleep paralysis demons.

They feel like a bubblegum birthday party when your actual life is a carbon copy of the most forlorn funeral.

“The soup is almost done, okay? Try some of the  juice. It’s made of blood orange, lemon and grapefruit,” Hyunjin comforts you.

The cold glass feels good entangled between your fingers, but it’s as if you can’t hold it, afraid to spill the sunset-colourd liquid all over the mahogany surface.

“Here, use a straw as long as you’re so shaky.”

He was correct. The fresh beverage is like a miracle on your tongue, sliding down your throat, reviving your soul from the inside.

The soup, too, helps your body immensely, once you finally start slurping the steaming broth. Your body is thankful for the help it gets—a few litres of water, fruit juice and soup later, you can slowly feel the hangover saying goodbye to your not so fragile statue.

“Why did I never think about simply drinking water and getting some soup when having a hangover?”

There’s no hint of sarcasm in your voice. Of course, you’re not able to deal with your hangovers, when the purpose of getting drunk wasn’t any act of self-care in the first place.

You simply don’t know your limits.

Well, you do know them. You tend to ignore them.

Though—that’s an understatement.

You kick your limits to the ground just like yourself.

“What do you usually do instead? Like, not only when having a hangover but in general?”

Get drunk again?

“Take six hundred milligrams of ibuprofen and a glass of red wine if it’s just a headache, the whole bottle if it’s life.”

He’s in shock. More than that.

Though he’s not surprised. Hyunjin has been here for almost two weeks now and he can’t recall if there was an actual occasion of you being completely sober. Except—well, last night until now.

“Y/N… you know you shouldn’t mix medication with alcohol…”

He doesn’t want to argue. It’s the last thing he wants—especially now that you’re finally talking to him again, now that you’re finally getting closer. When Hyunjin woke up this morning next to you, your body being entangled with his own—he thought he was waking up from an endless series of dreams.

He’s just worried—simply worried.

But, again, he doesn’t want to argue. There’s so much pricking on the tip of his tongue, so many thoughts that he’s in need of turning into syllables, then into words and after that into sentences, hoping you can translate his emotions and connect them with your own.

Oxygen fills Hyunjin’s lungs, until he’s able to breathe and slowly, also, to speak again, when the molecules shoot out of his body.

“You need help, Y/N.”

It’s no new information for you. He’s certainly not the first person to tell you this. But for some inexplicable reasons, his words cut the deepest—like a knife that you turn inside yourself.

“Since when do you care?”

You say it as if it’s the biggest lie.

You know he cares for you. Maybe even more than Felix or Emma. Or even Vincent.

“I have always cared, all these years, angel.”

There’s no stopping now. No escape. No exit. No secret portal that will lead you far away. No hidden spot in the ground for you to dive down deep into the earth’s mantle.

But you have to get up, somehow. It’s like your feet are making you stand up, guiding you towards the big sofa.

Hyunjin is hesitant—afraid to make a wrong move but he still follows you. Guardedly. Carefully. Respectfully.

You’re stomping towards the soft cushion and right when you’re about to sink down, relax on top of the pillows and allow all those tears to run down your cheeks—finally—your mind shorts circuit, making you spin around instead.

You want to be respectful. You don’t want to shout, don’t want to even produce a single decibel of verbal harm.

But on another note it’s been ten years.

Ten years of wondering, of worrying, of waiting.

You deserve a little vengeance even towards the person who’s been the reason for you to hold on to life for so long.

“Then why did you piss off, Hyun? Why did you do this to me?”

You’ve envisioned this situation countless times in your head. While waiting for the pasta to get al dente. While taking a steamy hot shower that is burning your skin. While waking up screaming from dreaming. While downing the rest of the nth bottle of red wine.

It has always been the same scene in front of your eyes again—you, sitting or standing there, shouting at the top of your lungs, the piled up frustration kicking him in the face even more than any slap ever could.

All these paths were filled with anger. With frustration. With fury. With rage.

But now…

You’re as small as your voice. So broken in and out. So desparate to find out the truth. To forgive and forget everything that has ever happened.

Hyunjin already wanted to tell you yesterday. He wanted to tell you the past week he’s been there, when he first took a step on the withered garden. Hell, he even wanted to tell you back then and all these years that have passed.

“Can I finally explain everything to you, angel?”

His voice is still so soft.

You might have been too drunk yesterday—probably also on the other nights. But you’re sober now, staring at him with awaiting eyes. There’s no going back now for either of you. He has to come clear now.

So, you nod.

“Maybe we should sit down,” Hyunjin suggests, leading the both of you onto the couch.

You sink down on the soft cushion simultaneously and Hyunjin takes his time to make himself feel comfortable enough to start speaking.

He’s finally got his one chance.

He has to take it.

Hyunjin has to explain everything to you and not watch you slip through his fingers a second time.

All these years of self-development, of gathering up enough money, of searching for you without any signs.

It has to be worth it.

But judging the awaiting look on your face, your eyebrows rising up, a soft smile decorating your visage, your eyes filled with something that looks like love—he feels hopeful for the first time.

So, he begins.

“Your family– they– it’s so ridiculous–“

His own tears cut right through his sentence like a sharp knife, making him hiccup in anxiety.

But you’re faster than his second guesses, laying your hand in his, hoping the connection will grant him enough courage.

You’re here for him—just like he’s for you and you’re not surprised with the slightest that his explanation starts with your relatives.

“Take your time, yeah? I already have my suspicions on what the reason was anyway.”

You’ve never spoken it out loud, hell, even clearly thought about it, trying to pick the pieces up and puzzle them back together.

But… the fact that not even your closest sister has visited you in all those years…

They must be the ones hiding something. But it has always been easier to blame it on a young, rebellious Hyunjin.

Just how–

Just how your parents always described him.

Bad influence.

Dramatic. Disobedient. Dreamer.

And in addition—though you’ve never asked further, not even after ten years—the fact they had some feud going on with his family.

You feel so stupid. So incredibly stupid. But your mental fragility—or rather life—has been keeping you from fighting for him.

Just lies. Lies everywhere.

But not anymore.

Hyunjin is done with pretending, done with running away, done with letting you slip through his fingers.

“They made me cut contact with you. They had something on me– me and m-my family and they threatened…”

Jackpot.

“They sent me off, made me leave Bolzano and… sent me to Verona.”

You scoff.

All these years.

All these years for nothing.

All these years for everything.

Your life has been a lie but also it hasn’t been. You should have connected the dots quicker.

“Verona? That is both the most ironic and stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hyunjin sinks his head, his hand abandoning yours to catch his puffy face. The tears streaming down his cheeks have turned into a tsunami by now.

Oh, if he was able to water the withered garden with those salty droplets of sadness.

Once his lungs have learnt how to welcome oxygen again, he lifts his head back up, until his eyes meet your own.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

In an attempt to reassure him, you find his hands, entangling his fingers with your own. Your thumb slowly, so softly caresses his skin.

It isn’t stupid because you’re doubting his words—the fact your parents made him move to Verona, the city of the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. This is a whole new level of fucked up. But again, nothing new for your family.

His chin gets caught between the fingers of your unoccupied hand, directing his gaze towards your visage.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you start again, correcting your posture. The distance between the both of you shrinks down to a few centimetres of air separating you.

“I’d believe you telling me that grass is purple instead of anything truthful escaping my relatives’ mouths.”

And there it is—a relieved smile appearing on his puffy face, overtaking his whole expression as you witness him sighing peacefully.

“Angel– I would have never expected you to believe me… all these years… I’ve gathered up all the money just to find you and– I never stopped looking. I really am the luckiest man on earth. Fuck.”

Hyunjin wants to hold back but there is no reason for that anymore, isn’t it?

The hug feels warmer than any sunbeam hitting your skin on a summer midday. His chest crushed into your own, his hand holding the back of your head, his heartbeat’s rhythm synchronising with your own like the sweetest melody.

“Thank you for never giving up on us, darling.”

You pull him even closer, until your breath lingers in the crook of his neck and a tiny tear crashes down on his skin.

“I’m just mad that we wasted so many wonderful years…”

Hyunjin slowly strokes your hair, placing the sweetest kiss on the top of your head.

“Baby, it’s okay. Even if it took me fifty years, I would have never stopped searching for you.”

That’s right. He will tell you all those details later but it’s no secret anymore that Hyunjin spent the last decade earning money while desperately trying to find out where you are—the fact you’re the most reserved person with no connection to social media and such made this way harder, even for a successful journalist like him.

You’ve practically barricaded yourself in this old house and cursed yourself for never telling Hyunjin about the building that once belonged to your dearest grandmother—the only family member that never let you down.

“But I… I always thought you left me on purpose a-and I treated you like the enemy when–“

“Shh, it’s okay, angel. It’s okay. Totally understandable.”

His mouth feels so soft against your cheek and the sensation manages to complete you, to fill that void deep inside your soul.

Hyunjin disconnects his plump lips from you, directing his gaze towards your eyes instead, looking for any last signs of hesitation.

That’s it, that’s the moment you have been waiting for for ten years, you both think simultaneously.

He’s the faster one, taking the initiative, as he catches your face with both his hands, before his mouth smashes into yours. It’s like you’ve finally become one again—your other half completing you. His lips are laying against yours and for a sole minute it stays that way, until he starts moving against you. Like on autopilot, your mouth opens, welcoming his tongue in.

Everything is happening so slowly and in the blink of an eye—there’s no need to rush through things and there’s no need to wait any longer.

You swear, you can taste a salty tear on your lips but it’s hard to differentiate whose it is. But you don’t care anymore—all that’s occupying your mind right now is Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

The way he is kissing you, the sensation of his tongue circling around your own dancing, his hand gripping your hair in order to get you even closer, his hot breath lingering all over your face whenever he disconnects his mouth from yours for a brief moment.

Sooner than you’re able to realise he’s already towering over you, never interrupting the smooth make out session that turned as hot as asphalt during the afternoon sun of Firenze.

Decorating your neck in a painting of heated kisses—prettier than any artwork you’ve ever designed throughout your whole life—his face simultaneously wanders south, creating a path towards your chest.

His mouth hovers over your skin, until it comes in contact with the fabric covering your upper body. The blonde’s eyes flicker up to your own—finding you already burning in anticipation, ready for his next move.

He’s definitely able to read your mind—at least you think so, when he catches the collar of your shirt between his teeth, shoving it downwards. The fabric doesn’t stay the way it is that long, Hyunjin is already busy expertly shoving it over your head, until you’re completely helpless underneath him, your breasts only separated from his eager hands by the thin material of your lingerie.

Well—that barrier changes its status rather quickly, too. Especially, when Hyunjin sneaks his fingers under your bralette, exposing your tits to the dim lights of the living room like the prettiest landscape view.

Hyunjin has always known how talented you are with paintings, creating stories by merging colours together, softly brushing over the surface of a canvas—but none of them comes close to the beauty of your own body. He wants to dive into you, metaphorically and literally, explore you with all his senses.

And never let you go.

His eyes find your own, an image of glitter and shooting stars in excitement enlightening inside the dark brown colour. Hyunjin’s fingers are squeezing your breasts, eventually pinching the hardening buds between his index and middle one.

That’s when the first moan slips from your lips and it’s the most melodic sound the blonde’s ears have ever come to witness. You sound the same. You sound different. Still so passionate, but more intense. Way more intense. As if the vibrations from your voice hover to his body, taking over all his instincts.

“I fucking missed you, baby.”

He can’t hold it back anymore and there’s no need for it, really.

“Jinnie– please, I need you.”

As if you have put a spell on him, his hand creeps south, brushing the hem of your sweatpants.

But—for now at least—he’s playing with you. Riling you up. Preparing your eagerness like an appetizer on a silver plate. Luring you with his oh so soft touches just for you to fall for him within seconds.

And you do.

As if he’s put a spell on you now, your body gives in when you part your legs for him—better access for his hand to sneak between them, adding light pressure on your upper thighs.

Until they graze over your clothed cunt—two barriers as smooth as his touch separating you from what you have been longing for. You can feel yourself become wet, embarrassingly wet, but it doesn’t surprise you.

Hyunjin’s lips are on your neck again, the kisses synchronising with the rhythm of those slow stroking motions, before he stops for a second to look at you.

“I also missed fucking you, not gonna lie,” he makes you chuckle with his words. His own face is decorated with the evilest smirk, eyes turning into dark crescents.

There’s no need to be afraid of the demons anymore when Hyunjin is there—turning that term around by one hundred and eighty degrees, changing the semantics completely.

His hands are on your body again. Unable to decide where to go next and what to touch after but by now one of his hands is touching you between your legs and you are sure you must be soaking through both your underwear and sweatpants.

“Is this really okay, baby? You’re sure you’re in the right state of mind?”

The tone of his words is so opposite to his eagerness—soft, slow, patient.

“Hyun, I know it’s unbelievable but I’m sober.”

He giggles at the joke you make at your own expense, “I know. I meant physically, considering the hangover.”

What hangover? You must have totally forgotten about it. Which is not surprising.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. You took such good care of me.”

That’s all he needs to hear to transform that shy laugh into a mischievous one again.

“Hm, want me to continue?”

You don’t understand why this becomes the moment for you to shy away, but you can sense your face heating up.

“Just relax, yeah? Let me make you feel good, angel.”

It’s as if Hyunjin took all the pent up frustration from all these years, all the anger, all those question marks flying above your head and just turned them into the utmost form of comfort, of safety, of completeness. Not an ounce of bad blood is left—simply relief.

“Should we go to my room?” He proposes then and you catch yourself nodding hastily. It makes him chuckle like a teenage boy, looking the same way he used to after your first ever kiss you shared so many, many years ago.

Still a gentleman, Hyunjin gets up from the couch and reaches for your hand. Toddling beside him, you follow the line to his room and for some reason this feels more intimate than the option of your own bed. You don’t know what it is—maybe you connect it to commitment that Hyunjin, the reserved introvert, allows you into his private space (inside your property, but still) and is the one to suggest it.

But your thoughts get cut off, once you enter his personal area and Hyunjin is doing a little spin so that he is now standing in front of you. His lips crash into yours again, moving in the most passionate rhythm to ever exist and you feel your heart pound in anticipation.

And then it definitely skips a beat when Hyunjin guides you towards his bed so smoothly, his hands laying on your hips, drawing soft little circles with his thumbs. Until—thud—the back of your knees hit the wooden furniture, causing you to sit down on his bed in the process.

In less than a few seconds, Hyunjin is towering over you, like a hunter finally catching his prey and you’re ready to surrender. His eyes meet your own for a second, just to trail down your curves, his kisses following the path he is creating.

Your cheek. Your ear. Your neck. Your collarbone. Back to your neck again. Your tits. Oh, your tits—how much he’s missed them.

You don’t even know where your bra ended up. You could swear you were wearing it a minute ago—but then again, you’ve been on a hypnotising journey since Hyunjin’s first touch.

His hands are on your thighs now, softly stroking the flesh through the fabric, before they wander upwards again—finding you absolutely drenched.

Hyunjin lets out a mischevious chuckle and you would scold him for it but you simply can’t. You’re not able to do anything else than to be defeated by him and give in.

Especially, when he turns this into a game of torture by gracing over your covered wetness, before he murmurs, “Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

Of course, you do as you’re told, as you adjust your position. Hyunjin is busy playing with the hem of your sweatpants again, just to slide them down in one swift motion a few seconds later.

“Wow.”

It’s almost inaudible but you still manage to catch the small word, more of a breath—warm and eager against your lower stomach. He hums against your clothed core, again, before his lips find the inner sides of your upper thighs.

His fingers are back at his favourite place—softly squeezing one of your breasts just to wander down between your legs. Slow stroking motions, only separated by the thin material of your underwear, make you fall your head back in unstoppable pleasure.

Hyunjin wants to wait. Really. He has expected himself to be a little more patient.

But why should he?

Sure, he doesn’t want to rush things but once he’s done with you, he can just start all over again and again and again.

At least that’s the reason he needs to pull down the last fabric covering your precious body. You don’t even care about the fact that he is still completely dressed—it rather adds to the atmosphere that you’re craving more of.

A kiss on your mound, his fingers carefully pushing your pussy lips apart and a long, sensual stripe is all it takes for you to let out a high pitched noise followed by a moaned out version of his name—way louder than you have anticipated.

“I bet none of all those other guys you have been with the past years could make you scream like that.”

Hyunjin has never been the jealous type but the sheer thought of another man touching, coming in contact with your skin, feeling how wet you are, plays evil games with his mind.

And, oh, the irony behind his words.

“There weren’t… that many.”

Hyunjin adjusts his position, shooting his gaze upwards now to get a closer look of your face.

He feels a bit relieved about your confession even though it doesn’t make a difference to him—it just makes him feel so special.

It is true and not a secret, really. The reason for it isn’t even the fact you haven’t been in that many casual encounters or serious relationships but besides that—you haven’t felt the need to be intimate with someone all these years.

And you don’t know why—maybe it’s the fact he’s laid all the cards on the table and you want to join him with your own pure honesty, but there’s something you have to get off your mind first, before you’re able to continue.

“Actually—sex has always seemed like a task for me–“

“Then we should stop.”

“–except for when it was with you.”

That’s nothing but the truth but for some reason your heart is beating faster than lightning speed. You take a deep breath.

“Because I’ve always loved you… and I think it requires me to love the person… that I am intimate with.”

You feel drunk.

Drunk on love.

Drunk on Hyunjin.

He carefully reaches for your hand, trying to ignore the pounding beat of his heart and the giggle he’s so desperately suppressing right now.

“I love you too. I’ve never stopped loving you, angel.”

A smile on your face. Another one on his own, before he seals your lips with another kiss. The motions are a lot softer now but the amount of passion stays the same. His mouth feels so good against yours and you’re afraid you’ll never be able to think of anything else again.

You’ve been dreaming of kissing Hyunjin again for the last ten years—what will a dream turning into reality do to you?

Tongues dancing together, lower lips getting roughly caught between teeth, his hand back on your hips, on your tits and between your thighs—just for him to position his face right there a few seconds later. Right where he stopped.

His tongue finds your clit again, starting with those heavenly kitten licks and you can sense your head spin endlessly. As his saliva mixes together with your precum, Hyunjin knows that you are the only taste he ever wants to allow to spread over his tongue.

Y/N, Y/N, Y/N—you are the only thought in his head right now and he prays that it will stay this way forever.

“S-So good,” you manage to let out, when he flicks his tongue over your clit again, dancing over your sensitive bud in circling motions. His hands are reaching for your thighs again, positioning them over his shoulders for better access.

He disconnects his lips from your cunt for a second, making sure you’re taking notice of every millisecond of him wetting his fingers inside his mouth in order to prepare them for you so he can prepare you for him.

And then he pushes the first one into your aching hole, just for you to immediately clench around him. Sure. It’s been some time but your fingers are nothing compared to Hyunjin’s.

Simultaneously, he continues the artwork with his tongue on your clit, licking up your juices, just to let his own saliva hit you where you need him the most.

You’re so much in trance that you almost don’t notice him adding another finger and after that a third one but your pussy walls are inviting him in, clinging around them, overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure.

“Need to spread you a bit more, baby,” Hyunjin breaths against you in a quick pause, before his plump lips connect with your body again.

And then, without a warning, he curls his fingers inside you, deliciously hitting that spot.

“Right– yes, right there.”

Slurping sounds are echoing through the bedroom, as Hyunjin continues making out with your clit. You have to make sure to grab the sheets underneath you with your hands, fingertips digging into the lilac material.

“Hyun– J-Jinnie– I–“

No words from him. Just that fucking evil smirk humming against your wetness.

Squelching noises, excessive pounding, thundering moans, passionate licks—until there’s no escape.

Blurriness. Pleasure. Satisfaction. Overwhelm.

Stars blinding your vision in front of your eyes. Gripping the sheets some more. Arching your back. Bucking your hips. Your thighs shaking. Your whole body trembling underneath him.

Until that feeling rushes over you and stays for what feels like hours as Hyunjin makes sure to help you through that intense sensation.

You’ve always known, from all the languages he speaks, that he’s talented with his tongue—but you’ve almost forgotten what language he’s best at with it. Making you cum. Hard. Over and over again.

He is, in fact, a cunning linguist.

“That was– fuck, I have no words.”

Hyunjin chuckles—of course—before his eyes meet yours, as he’s making sure to lick your liquids from his fingers right at that moment.

He looks so… perfect. You can’t even come up with a better word than that.

Just simply perfect. Unreal, almost.

“Hm, did I make you speechless, baby?”

You nod, as you feel yourself slowly coming down from your high.

And already getting eager for more again.

“But what about you?” You ask him then, playing with the hem of his sweatpants.

“Oh, you think this was for you?”

You don’t know what it is—maybe the fact you’ve finally got a taste of him again—but your whole body is burning in anticipation and your mind decides to turn all those sinful thoughts into action.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin moans out your name, when a few kisses land on his neck, right before you hover the shirt over his head.

Fuck.

He’s been the most handsome man back then so how on earth could he be even more attractive now? God seems to have his favourites and he’s on the top list of them.

That’s why it doesn’t take you long to bring your fingers down again, your hand palming his visible erection through the thick gray fabric. If the lights weren’t turned down to the minimum, you’d even notice him leaking precum, staining the material—not surprising when he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Can I…?”

“Yeah, of course, please.”

You can’t decide which Hyunjin you prefer—the one making the orders or his other side that is begging you for more.

But you pull the pants down nonetheless, making sure to do it at a painfully slow pace, all while your eyes stay on his own.

“Jinnie– I need you… need you inside of me,” you exhale, once his cock is free, the sweatpants now discarded somewhere on the floor.

Hyunjin eagerly nods, before he gives you another quick kiss and just when he wants to reach for his nightstand table, he gets reminded of something that’s missing.

“Shit—I don’t have a condom here but we can continue doing other things–“

Oh, Hyunjin could eat you out for hours and you would definitely let him.

But you’re convinced that you need him inside of you now, fully, or you might explode. Seriously.

“I’m still on the pill… if– if you’re okay with that.”

Relief spreads all over his face. “God, yeah. Of course.”

And that’s how he’s back between your legs again, placing his lower arm beside your head, as the other hand is busy pumping his length a few times. Once Hyunjin looks up to you again, he finds you staring at him, while being busy playing with one of your tits.

“Are you gonna make me feel good, Jinnie?”

He quickly nods, again, as he positions his cock between your legs, the leaking tip slowly gracing over your clit and you let out a moan at the sensation.

“Of course, baby, so good. Everything you need.”

Your hand seizes around his neck, pulling him a bit closer, so you're able to fully look at him.

Hyunjin immediately gets the hint, as he kisses you all whilst pushing his cock inside you. It takes some time and he’s more than patient to wait. Once you’re getting used to the feeling, you let him know and he starts moving.

His thrusts are slow and short in the beginning in order not to hurt you but once you start moaning his name, begging him for more, he goes deeper and picks up his pace.

Especially, when he decides to place your legs over his shoulders, basically having you in a mating press in order to fuck even deeper into you, your brain shuts off any logical thoughts that are left.

It’s like two syllables are possessing you.

Hyunjin.

Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

His lips on yours. His cock inside your wet cunt. His hands on your thighs, your ass, your tits. His sweaty forehead pressing against your own. His moans in your ears.

“Fuck– you’re so tight, Y/N. You feel so fucking good.”

You let out some undefinable noises that could be considered his name, as you’re by now already far gone. A few giggles escape your lips between moans and screams, whenever Hyunjin brushes over that sweet spot inside you again.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re so good for me,” Hyunjin reassures you, after a quick but sensual kiss as he lowers his pace.

Before he starts pounding into you at a faster speed again.

“This pussy belongs to me after all,” he says in between thrusts.

“Belonged to me when I first fucked you and still does today.”

You watch the space where he disappears inside you, where he’s bottoming you out so deliciously. It’s as if you’re made for each other—biologically, mentally, on every sphere imaginable.

“You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

You hastily nod, breathing out his name as you can already feel your next orgasm approaching and you know for sure that Hyunjin is so damn close too—judging the way his movements turn sloppier with each second.

“Are you gonna cum for me, angel? Gonna cum all over me, yeah?”

That’s exactly what you do, without a warning this time, creaming around his cock at this second high—even more intense than the first one and for a moment you believe you will black out. But you don’t.

Hyunjin is holding you so close, all whilst trying not to trigger his own orgasm when he feels your tight walls clenching around him but there’s no escape for him. Not when you’re looking at him like that—even now begging for more, your fucked-out figure underneath him, your doll-like eyes staring right into his soul.

At the least second, he manages to pull himself out of your warm hole, giving his cock a few last strokes, before his hot white spurts of cum land all over your stomach—some of them on your tits.

He collapes down on the bed beside you, making sure to give you a sensual kiss on your swollen lips.

“I love you so much,” he says then, smiling at you.

“I love you too, Jinnie.”

🐐

When you wake up in the middle of the night and shoot a glimpse out the window, you are greeted with something your eyes have never dared to ever see again—little droplets increasing in density, hitting the glassy front and outside stone wall of your house, some of them finding their way down to the ground, probably dancing on the lemon trees’ leaves.

And, so, it is finally raining again. Actually raining.

Once you get up from the bed, toddling towards the opened window, Hyunjin is already fast asleep. He’s cuddling your pillow, possibly assuming it’s you and you could melt at that sight.

A fresh breeze enters the spacious bedroom, letting the nightgown you’ve thrown over your body dance around all prettily, as if you’re a princess. A princess, finally together with her long awaited prince.

By now the lemon and olive trees are soaked in water, almost unable to hold the raindrops, letting them smash into the ground underneath, ready to meet their roots. You witness a big puddle developing beside the plants, collecting all the liquid falling from the sky, the muddy water characterising your not so withered garden.

Muddy water. It reminds you of the time when Hyunjin and you were younger, already teenagers, maybe a few months after you met and eventually became friends. It took the both of you some time, if you’re honest—regarding the fact you are both introverts until this day and therefore dispensing with any social contact that isn’t essential for surviving.

Muddy water. It gives you hope—it’s a new beginning, mostly for your plants, but also for you, for your life, for your life with Hyunjin. Also, Vincent will be hyped once he wakes up tomorrow and leaves his little shed—you can already see him dancing around in the puddles, sludge drifting around in the air, as he happily enjoys his moment.

Muddy water. The house that is in need of renovation. The not so withered garden. Your kind neighbours. Vincent.

And Hyunjin.

🐐

When you wake up the next day, the space beside you is empty but warm—just as warm as the midday sun heating up the olive and lemon trees.

“Morning, babe,” Hyunjin softly whispers, thinking you’re still asleep. He expertly maneuvers a tray filled with freshly brewed coffee, sliced apples and steaming hot marinara pizzettas—an odd breakfast, but still your favourite. Of course, he didn’t forget the olives either.

It reminds you of those childhood days when your grandmother used to bring the little bakery goods, offering them to you despite knowing your mother would scold her for it.

The tradition continued as an after school snack, almost a ritual between Hyunjin and you. You never skipped a day.

“Good morning.”

Hyunjin positions the feast on top of your thighs that are covered by the blankets, before crawling under the duvet next to you.

All without spilling the food.

And it leaves your taste buds speechless. The exact same flavour they used to have ten, even fifteen years ago when Hyunjin brought them with him to school in a little paper bag—an offer of kindness, a bond of friendship and more, destined to stay a lifetime.

After eating, Hyunjin makes sure to lay the tray aside, scooting a little closer to you. His arm is pulling you to him, his heartbeat echoing through the room.

“You know, I had an idea,” Hyunjin proposes—he is done playing around and filled with fear of losing you again, in case he is too slow.

“We can turn the garden into a plantation—I will do some more research, yeah? You can fully focus on painting again.”

Wow.

Shock.

Surprise.

You name it.

You have been hopeful, sure—especially after last night—but this is like a dream come true.

Some may say it’s a bit rushed, too fast even. But time doesn’t exist anymore when you have been waiting for each other for so long, impatient to be on each other’s side until the end of eternity.

Still, you get hesitant. You need to stay realistic since you can’t feed your family—Hyunjin, Vincent and you—with air and love. You wished you could but you can’t.

“But, Jinnie… this won’t be enough. And I, the dreamer, am saying this here and besides that–“

He cuts off your words, “I have got a job offer. From Il Tirreno.”

The newspaper Hyunjin always wanted to work for?

The newspaper he has been mentioning since he was fourteen and wanted to become a journalist?

The newspaper he applied to back then but got rejected?

“I am starting on Monday,” he continues. “I have to drive to Livorno once a week but it’s like an hour each way.”

It is, in fact, nearly one and a half hours but you are ignoring the driving style Hyunjin has had since getting his license.

“Oh, that is– wow. God, congratulations, baby. It has always been your biggest dream to work there. But so soon? Was it a spontaneous idea?”

You’re basically bombarding him with questions whilst hoping it doesn’t come off as rude. Maybe just an odd way of yours to show empathy and joy.

“I had an interview in Livorno some months ago but they didn’t reply until two days ago.”

This means he has known before… the incidents the day before yesterday and still decided to help you first, to solve your troubles first.

This is your Hyunjin.

He’s there.

He’s back.

He is with you.

An image more astonishing and realer than any painting you could ever create.

A poem more beautiful and fullfilling than every verse he could ever write.

“Jinnie… you worked so hard for this, I am so proud of you.”

🐐

3 MONTHS LATER

“Hyunjin, what is this– who is this?!”

He is standing beside a white ball of floof, as the animal is looking up at you with big doll-like eyes. Its wool seems so soft—just as soft as Hyunjin’s look on his face. You could never be mad at him.

“Oh, this is Vincent’s new companion,” he explains, “I wanted to rescue her, so I went to the shelter this morning and picked her up and… now we are here.”

Of course. A sheep standing on your veranda is the most likely thing you have expected to happen today when you woke up as late as usual. Even though the days are getting better and longer—both due to the uplifting mood in your life and summer waiting right around the corner—your sleeping schedule is still pretty much messed up. But you are doing baby steps. One at a time.

You have even sold a few paintings—mostly landscape scenes, memories you have made with Hyunjin. He is, besides his new job as a journalist, working on a book—a poem book, characterised by word plays in Korean, Italian and German. The ballads’ stories are based on the artworks you create and your ideas are highly influenced by his own.

He is your muse and you are his. You are his driving fuel and he is yours.

Just yesterday, someone bought two copies of both of the paintings you value the most—a scenery of a starry night and a café’s terrasse that the both of you went to a few weeks ago. It will be more than enough to cover the bills for the next few months.

You can’t remember the last time you drank alcohol. It seems as if you can get red dopamine from somewhere else—love. Your love for painting, your love for your friends, your love for Hyunjin and most importantly, your love for yourself.

“What’s her name?” You ask, tilting your head as you catch a closer look of the cute animal. She’s looking right back at you, awaiting and hopeful, as if she instantly likes you—animals are very truthful creatures, after all.

“Schneewittchen.”

You want to excuse yourself and ask Hyunjin if he has just sneezed, judging the syllables leaving his plump lips. You have never heard this word before.

“Sne– what? What does that mean? Please tell me, it’s not a slur… that poor baby…”

You turn towards the floofball now, gently petting her wool. She seems to enjoy it. You can tell by her smile. Schneewittchen, Vincent, Hyunjin and you are gonna be a happy little family.

“Chill. It means Snow White in German.”

Yeah, okay, that makes sense and now that you repeat the meaning behind it, you grow to like the name. She is a very pale sheep, except for her tiny feet and her face—which are pitch dark, just like Snow White’s ebony tinted hair.

“It fits her. She got rescued by a prince after all.”

Hyunjin smiles at you warmly, taking your hand in his, as his own grazes over the little olive charmer on your bracelet first and then brushes the glittery gemstone on your finger next—the nephrite still looks as beautiful as it did the day he bought the ring over ten years ago.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: gosh, thank you so much for reading this monstrosity of a story! I really hope you liked it. If that's the case, please leave a comment or reblog this post with your additional thoughts on it (anything, really. kind feedback is ALWAYS appreciated). You can also buy me a coffee here, if you feel like it. Please don’t ever feel obliged to do so, but I’d highly appreciate it! Have a nice day! <3

TAGLIST: @heelover5 @chimmycupcake @avyskai @chrissybang @svintsandghosts @hwan-g @straywrds @abiaswreck @thisisnotstraight88 @jeyelleohe @skzho @streetlight-s @knowleeknow @sstarryoong @mistlitmoonlight @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @lixiel0ver @janehrt @alyszaen

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[myangelhaven]

Bye laughing over the fact the minho fic i just read is a fratboy series of all the members THAT I HAD SAVED A LONG WHILE AGO TO READ SOMETIME....maybe this is a sign to read them now lol

[myangelhaven]

The air in the room was thick, and smelled entirely of Minho - you were covered in him. He looked like a god above you, fucking into you like it was his life's mission.

Guys im going down a rabbit hole with leeknow cuz of that one video with his stupid (not stupid) smirk and UGHHHH FUCK

Anyways I enjoyed this. I was actually giggling cuz im just thinking of frat bad boy leeknow and that ended me fr

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲 - lee minho x gn!afab reader

wc: 6.1k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: alcohol, normalisation of getting very wasted, smut (specific smut warnings under the cut, again minors please do not interact!)

synopsis: the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

a/n: part one of the fratboy series. fratboy lee minho has now taken over my entire brain, my heart, and also my life, so i hope you all enjoy. PLEASE feel free to stop by our askbox to chat to me abt him because truly, i am obsessed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: swearing, dirty talk, sexy mean minho, no seriously he’s mean, thigh riding, nipple play, begging, dumbification, degradation, penetration with a finger & dick simultaneously, talks about sex slaves (maybe only slightly serious), lovely aftercare

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

When the opening notes of Half Moon by Dean met your ears, you couldn’t help but groan. You loved the song, but it signalled an incoming call that you’d been expecting all day. You flipped your phone over, confirming your suspicions; Jisung’s squishy cheeks flashed on your screen as his contact icon showed up.

“What do you want?” you asked as you answered the call, despite knowing very well what he wanted. 

At the beginning of the semester, your best friends had joined a fraternity, Sigma Kappa Zeta. It was an absolute dream - on paper at least. You didn’t have to commit to the endless fraternity obligations, which are often ridiculous and sometimes downright dangerous; although you still had regular invites to the blowout parties, owing to your connections to Felix and Jisung. You’d attended a few of these parties and enjoyed them thoroughly. Being pretty meant you got free booze, and what could be better than getting wasted for free, with two of your favourite people? While ogling their endless hoard of stupidly attractive friends, of course.

Your taste in men could be summarised as… unfortunate. You had an affinity for frat boys, the bigger and stupider the better. Muscular guys, with stupid goofy grins and sleeveless tees, bulging biceps and empty heads. Something about them really got you going, and it frustrated you to no end. But you loved to indulge yourself, and Felix and Jisung knew this all too well. And so, they were left baffled when you very quickly stopped attending these parties. Baffled, disappointed, and worst of all, persistent.

“Hey, angel,” Felix’s voice rang out from your speaker.

“You aren’t Jisung,” you stated.

“Very observant,” he responded, leading you to roll your eyes. You didn't even bother to question why he was calling you from Jisung’s phone. “Anyways, I assume you’ll be in attendance tonight?”

You snorted. “Obviously not.” 

“Y/N!” Felix’s deep voice gave way to a drawn-out whine. “Why not?”

“Cause I don’t want to spend time in your disgusting frat house,” you huffed. 

“Not even for me?” he pleaded with you.

“This isn’t working. You can’t guilt-trip me when I can’t actually see your stupid adorable face,” you pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll turn my camera on-”

“No. Look, why don’t you and Ji come drink with me in my dorm? Like the good ol’ days?” you suggested. Good ol’ days referring to a few months ago, before they’d joined the fraternity.

Felix paused for a few moments. “Fine. Maybe. Only because we miss you!”

“Come over then. See you soon!” You hung up before he could argue any more - you all knew you’d won. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Just moments after Jisung and Felix showed up at your door, you began to consider the possibility that maybe you didn’t win after all.

“Y/N!” Jisung cried, before proceeding to push past you and collapse onto your bed. “Why do you never hang out with us any more?!” 

You turned to Felix. “What have you brought to my doorstep?”

Felix shrugged. “He chugged like, three beers before we even left.”

"I guess we'd better catch up then." 

It wasn't long before you were all feeling merry, though it would be amiss to say you'd caught up with Jisung, given that he often seemed intoxicated even when he was sober.

"I miss you guys, too!" you insisted, hushing the boys' griping. And you really did miss them. Since classes had ended, and people had limited obligations, the frat seemed like a 24/7 party house at the moment, which meant you hardly ever saw them. "I just… these frat parties, it's not really my scene."

The look Felix sent you told you that he didn't buy it, not one bit. The look Jisung sent you, on the other hand, told you that he was currently so drunk that he had a very tenuous grasp on reality, and was just happy to be involved.

"I've seen you eye up at least three guys at the frat. Not your scene? Nothing has ever been more your scene," Felix said, his tone accusatory. "I know it's nothing to do with us. So spill. Why are you avoiding the frat?"

Jisung had wandered off to the other side of your room, where he seemed to be making a concoction of different beverages. He didn't seem to be making a mess, so you thought it best to leave him while he was quiet.

You huffed. "Fine. One of your stupid little frat bro's is driving me insane. But I won't say who!" you added hastily.

Felix's eyes glinted. "Driving you insane? In what way? Like, someone's pissed you off? Or they're making you insanely horny and you don't know how to handle it."

You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "You know me too well, Lix."

Felix laughed gleefully. "Changbin?"

"Don't start guessing! I'm not gonna tell you!"

"Chan?"

"No!"

Felix paused, thinking hard. "It's Minho."

"It’s not Minho!"

He cackled. "You're an open book, it's Minho! You're horny for Minho!"

You let out a weak whimper in protest. "I just… God, nobody's ever affected me like this before, Lix! I don't even wanna be around him 'cause I know I'll say something stupid. Or maybe just start drooling on him."

Felix shrugged. "I guess I can't blame you. He is a gorgeous guy."

"Understatement of the century," you scoffed. "If I had to choose between solving world hunger and sucking his dick, I'd choose his dick. A thousand times."

Felix, in that beautiful drunken phase where everything was utterly hilarious, was clutching his stomach, in complete stitches on your floor.

"I'm not even joking, Lix! I'd devote the rest of my life to being his sex slave. He wouldn't even need to feed me, I'll survive off his cum if I have to!"

Felix wiped a tear from his eye. "Stop, stop. You're killing me." He turned to Jisung, who was still apparently playing potions with various different drinks.

"And that," Jisung said to no one in particular, "Is how you make a Hanji Supreme."

"What the fuck are you doing, Ji? Are you vlogging over there? Get your ass over here and listen to what Y/N has to say about Lee Minho."

"Okay, bye!" Jisung said, still seemingly speaking to thin air. He turned to you, eyebrows raised. "Minho? Y/N has the hots for Minho?"

"Unfortunately," you confirmed.

"We could probably set you up with him," Jisung proposed, a dastardly grin on his face.

"No," you quickly denied. "Never. Under no circumstances do you ever mention my name in Minho's presence. Got it?"

Jisung pouted. "But then your dreams are never gonna come true!"

You chewed on your lip. "I feel like a stuttering mess whenever I even think about him. I can't imagine what'd happen if I actually spoke to him."

"Wait, you've never spoken to him?" Felix clarified, and you shook your head. He smirked. "You were saying some pretty vulgar stuff, considering he's practically a stranger."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a creep and a perv. That's why he can never find out about this. Seriously," you said sternly, directing this last part at Jisung. He wasn't exactly known for keeping secrets. 

Felix looked him up and down. "I don't think he's even going to remember this tomorrow, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah," you agreed. "He seems like he's done for the night." The boy was lying flat on his back, the brim of his beanie pulled over his eyes. His phone was buzzing away on his chest, notification tone pinging every few seconds.

Felix sighed. "I just hope he doesn't get one of those second winds."

“Jisung, honey, is someone trying to get hold of you?” you asked, the chiming of his phone growing irritating. You figured he’d texted one of his many booty calls and then instantly forgotten about it.

“Huh?” he asked, clearly not really listening.

Felix’s phone began to buzz on the floor. “Someone’s trying to get hold of me.” He brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, what’s up? He's - he's what?" Felix covered his other ear. "It's really loud over there, did you say he's on the table? Christ - okay, okay, we'll be right over." 

"What was that?" you asked. "Is everything okay?" 

Felix sighed. "Hyunjin's partying a little too hard. Seungmin can't deal with him alone. C'mon, we gotta go wrangle him."

"We just went over this - I'm not stepping foot in Minho's territory, not even for a second," you said adamantly. 

"Relax, he's partying with Theta Chi Theta tonight," Jisung slurred happily, sitting upright and fixing his beanie. "C'mon, Y/N, come party with us!"

Felix looked to you pleadingly. "I can't deal with drunk Jisung and drunk Hyunjin without you. Please."

Fuck. Felix knew you could never say no to his puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine."

Even with the knowledge that Minho was preoccupied somewhere else, you still felt a little wary as you stepped into the house. It did occur to you that you could be a little too terrified of this man, but you knew all too well that both your horniness and your stupidity were utterly limitless, which was always a recipe for disaster.

You heard Hyunjin before you saw him - "Why can't I get naked, though? It's so hot in here!" 

You snickered. He was still on the table, although he looked a little wobbly so you doubted it'd be too long until he came tumbling down. Jisung wandered off, probably up to no good, whilst you and Felix hurried over.

Seungmin breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw you. "So glad you're here. Okay, I'm off duty. Good luck." He had vanished within seconds. 

Hyunjin waved excitedly when he caught sight of you both. "Hi Lix! Hi Lix's pretty friend!" 

You laughed at his drunken boldness. "It's Y/N," you corrected him.

"I know." He grinned down at you from the table, eyes disappearing into crescents. "You're brave, too," he crooned.

"Brave?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If I was you, I probably wouldn't show my face around here until the end of the semester, at least," he went on.

Felix narrowed his eyes at the boy. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin stared at Felix for a moment. Then switched his gaze to you. Then back to Felix. Before erupting into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god, please sit down before you fall and crack your damn skull," Felix pleaded with the boy.

"Yeah, and more importantly, explain yourself," you added. 

Hyunjin sat obediently, pulling out his phone and handing it to Felix. 

"Oh fuck," Felix breathed. "I have the group chat muted right now." 

"The group chat?" you enquired anxiously. "Please tell me what's going on." Your paranoia was getting the best of you, and while you stood waiting for someone to fucking explain, you were slowly convincing yourself that you'd stolen Felix's phone and confessed your attraction to Minho in the most crass and unrefined terms.

This wasn't too far from the truth.

Felix opened up a video, skipping towards the end. You noticed Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm room, chattering away about various beverages. More prominently, however, you heard your own voice, from the other side of the room. 

“I’ll survive off his cum if I have to!”

Your heart plummets to the ground as the memory comes rushing back. Fuck. 

You grab Felix’s arm, holding on for dear life. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me Jisung only sent that to Hyunjin and no one else.”

Felix handed the phone back to Hyunjin and placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. “Look, it’s going to be okay. People say stupid shit like this all the time-”

“Oh look, Minho’s read the messages!” Hyunjin calls out.

You put a hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“He’s typing!”

“No!” you wailed.

Hyunjin turned his phone around once more. You peered at the screen in turmoil as three dastardly little letters popped up.

lol

"Oh, Y/N, you're so lucky he's not here tonight," Felix said, sounding relieved. Distantly, you felt a shred of relief too, although that was nothing compared to the complete and utter dread you were experiencing. Oh, the consequences of your own drunken, horny actions. Was there anything worse?

"Oh," Felix murmured, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. "Oh." 

"What?" you asked.

"He's calling me." 

You called out "Don't answer it!" just as Hyunjin yelled "Answer it!"

Felix accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Oh my god, I'm scared. Hold my hand." You scrambled for Hyunjin, who grasped your hand in his before giggling.

"Your hands are soft," he commented, apparently having forgotten the Minho debacle already. You swiftly hushed him.

Felix also raised a finger to his lips in a shh motion, before putting the call on speakerphone.

"Are you at the house? Is Y/N with you?" Minho’s voice came through the speaker.

Felix paused, looking at you with wide eyes. You shook your head furiously. 

"Uh, yeah," he answered, the traitor. You fought hard not to scream.

"Can you pass a message across?" you heard Minho ask.

"Sure."

"I'm on my way." The line clicked dead.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. “LEE FELIX WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL HIM I'M HERE?" 

"I DON'T KNOW, I PANICKED!" he shrieked back, sounding equally as alarmed as you.

“This is crazy,” Hyunjin commented with a dazed grin.

“You are far too drunk to understand the absolute catastrophe I’m in right now!” you accused him. “Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I need to go - immediately.”

“Not so fast.”

You spun around in complete and utter horror, terrified that Minho had somehow materialised from his other party right back to the frat. Only to find Seungmin standing before you - just slightly less threatening.

“Jisung is far too drunk, and he’s begging for you,” he explained.

“God, what is in the air tonight?” you observed. “Do you guys need to do a fraternity-wide detox?”

Seungmin snorted. “Like that’s ever gonna happen. Go on, Jisung’s in his room.” 

God fucking damn it, why were you such a good friend? You tore up the stairs, bee-lining for Jisung’s room, fully intending on hiding in his bedroom for the rest of the night. Minho wouldn’t find you in there if you locked the door, right? You were even willing to put up with your best friend’s snoring.

"Hey, Sungie," you said gently as you walked into his room. You found him curled on his bed, still dressed in his hoodie, cargos and beanie. 

"Y/N… You're finally here…" he mumbled.

"You sound sleepy. Is it bedtime?" you asked, sitting down on the bed beside him. You tugged the beanie off his head, and ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. 

"Bedtime? Hmm… No… It's still party time for now." His words were slurred, and you knew he was just minutes from dozing off - seconds, maybe. 

"Sure," you said, as it was typically better to just agree with him. "You wanna get your pyjamas on? We can have a pyjama party."

"No. I'm comfy like this." You seriously doubted it, but didn't have it in you to battle him right now.

Sure enough, he was snoring less than thirty seconds later. You wondered if it was worth shoving him a bit, to climb in bed beside him, or whether it'd be best to just run home. But you didn't know how far away Minho was, and the thought of bumping into him was too much to bear. 

You deliberated for a few moments, but Jisung's snoring was driving you insane, and you quickly realised that you weren't equipped to deal with it tonight.

You pulled out your phone, opening Felix's contact.

[10:44pm] You: lixie do u have minho's location?

[10:44pm] You: lix please please please

[10:44pm] You: felix pls i need to know how far he is

You sat on the edge of Jisung's bed, leg bouncing with nerves. Why was Felix always muting his damn notifications?

[10:48pm] Lix: idk sorry :( i think his party was nearby though

[10:48pm] Lix: look, just run to my room

[10:49pm] Lix: you'll be safe there

You weighed up your options. 

Option one: stay here with Jisung, awake all night owing to his snoring and his complete domineering of 90% of the bed space, stressing about Lee fucking Minho.

Option two: run out of the frat house, and all the way home to safety, but risk bumping into Minho on your way out.

Option three: run down the hall to Felix's room, where you can vent to him all night and then eventually fall asleep with his sunshine cuddles.

It could only be option three.

His room was just down the hall, you reasoned. You would yank open the door, tear down the hallway, and land safely in Felix's bedroom. It would be easy. 

You took a deep breath, before pulling open the door and preparing to run.

“Ah. Look who it is.” 

Shit.

Minho stood in the hall with an unreadable expression. His eyes scanned your whole frame, and he took his time with his scalding gaze. His eyes crawled all the way up your legs, lingering up your thighs. Slowly moving from your hips, to your waist, to your chest. Before landing on your eyes - that’s where his inspection burned the most. You couldn’t even breathe. 

“All bark and no bite, hm?” 

“I… I just…” you stammered weakly.

He continued to stare at you, waiting for you to finish. “You just?”

“I’m sorry!” you managed, your voice barely above a squeak.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking amused. “What, pray tell, are you sorry for? For blabbing about my dick to anyone who’ll listen? Manners mean everything, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked me nicely. There was no reason to bring everyone into our business, now, was there?”

You simply blinked at him. You weren’t capable of anything more. He was clearly waiting for a response, though, smirking over at you expectantly. “W-What?” you managed eventually.

“Or are you apologising for your dirty mouth? Honestly, I didn’t expect that from you. You look so sweet, who knew you could be so… improper.”

You felt dizzy. “Improper?”

He pouted at you, and it was dripping with condescension. “Can you speak, darling? Or are you so cock-hungry you can’t manage more than a one-word answer?”

“I-I just don’t know what to say, is all,” you whispered.

“Just give me a yes or a no,” he invited you, holding his hand out for you to take.

You gave him a slow nod, placing your hand in his shakily. He smiled as if to say ‘right answer,’ before opening the door right next to Jisung's, and leading you into his bedroom. The room was remarkably neat and tidy, and you would’ve been impressed if you could even begin to process it. All of your mental energy was focused on not combusting - or coming on the spot. 

He allowed you to step into the room before closing the door behind you. You were then quickly pushed up against it, Minho pinning you against the wood with his hips. Had that squeal really just come from your mouth?

His eyes were transfixed on your lips. You waited, heart hammering in your chest, while he had you trapped there. Until this point, you really hadn't been sure whether he was angry at you for saying such explicit things about him. The look in his eyes revealed everything - he wanted you just as badly.

He leaned in slowly. Torturously slowly - evidently, he was going to take his time with you. His lips met yours in a gentle peck, which he repeated, again and again. You sighed against his lips, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling him closer, but he merely smirked against your pout.

"Please," you breathed.

"You're so desperate," he said with a low laugh. "I could give you what you want, Y/N, but I know you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I can take it," you protested, your voice sounding much whinier than you wanted it to.

"You can?" he asked, cocking his head and looking down at you condescendingly. You nodded insistently. "Okay."

Minho picked up the pace. His lips were soft but they bit at yours harshly. His tongue entered your mouth and you savoured his taste, sucking on his tongue gently.

Your hands went to the button of his jeans, swiftly unbuttoning it. Minho pulled away, stepping back and leaving you pouting once more. He laughed, that awful patronising sound yet again, that made your palms sweat and your thighs sticky. 

"What, you think you're gonna get my dick that easily?" he asked, cocking his head at you. "No, honey." 

"Please?" you asked. It sounded pitiful, even to you.

You watched as he went to his neatly made bed, tugging off jeans and laying back. "Come here," he instructed, lounging back against the wall. "Take your clothes off for me."

"T-Take my clothes off?" you asked meekly. It sounded pitiful even to your ears.

The look he gave you was scathing, although he did seem rather amused by the pathetic show of stupid desperation you were unfortunately displaying. "Well you can't expect to stay fully clothed if I'm gonna fuck you, right?"

You nodded, standing in front of him and looking down at your feet. "I… I feel shy all of a sudden."

"You feel shy? I don't know if you'd make such a good sex slave after all." He laughed before growing serious. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll look after you, if we do, but the choice is yours."

His kinder tone set you at ease, and made you realise that you really wanted this, you were ready for this. It also brought about the realisation that you much preferred it when he was mean. You didn't want to dwell on what that meant, though. 

You gathered your courage and slowly pulled your clothes off, standing before him in nothing but your underwear. Minho said nothing, but you felt as though you were on fire under his gaze. 

He wasn't the only one who was enjoying the view. Your eyes traversed his toned thighs, mouth watering as you thought about how it'd feel if he were to press one between your legs. He wore plain white briefs, and you couldn't help but stare at the prominent bulge inside them. Even semi-hard it looked huge. You noticed it twitch ever so slightly, as he looked over your exposed body.

Minho spread his legs slightly, before tapping his left thigh. "Come on, darling. I know what you want."

Was he a mind reader? You wasted no time, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thigh and beginning to slowly grind. He tensed it, so firm and strong beneath you. The perfect platform for you to drag your clit across. 

Minho's hands went to your waist, holding you gently, guiding you as you rolled your hips.

"That's it, baby, there you go," he encouraged you. The friction was enough to make you sweat, the pleasure overwhelming you. He was right - maybe you couldn't handle this. You couldn't even imagine how overwhelming it would be to actually feel his hands on you, feel his dick inside you. 

His dick.

You could see it growing harder in his briefs, a small damp circle near the head where precum had leaked. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer; your hand reached out almost involuntarily, cupping his bulge gently. It was firm, and warm, and growing bigger seemingly by the second.

Minho took your hand, instantly re-directing it. "No, no, don't touch. Not until I say you can."

"But I can see how hard you're getting," you said. "You want it, Minho!"

"Unlike you, I know how to restrain myself." He patted your waist gently. "Keep riding."

You gave a frustrated huff, but did as he said. 

Minho brought a slender finger down to your crotch, hooking it around the fabric of your underwear and moving it out of the way. "Let me see that pretty pussy," he murmured.

The new exposure made you moan aloud, hands gripping Minho's shoulders firmly as you rode him.

"Please," you whispered. "Please, Minho."

"Please, what? Use your words."

"Please fuck me," you asked.

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "Hmm… No. Not yet."

You groaned. "I need it, though!"

Minho snickered. "Don't be such a brat. I want to take my time with you, okay?"

"You can take your time next time! Just - please - fuck, please, I need it."

He raised an eyebrow with you. "Oh, so there's gonna be a next time, is there?" 

You ignored his quip. If you couldn't get in his pants just yet, you'd focus your attention elsewhere. You lifted his shirt slowly, revealing his stomach, where you found lightly toned abs that only made you more desperate to feel him. Miraculously, he humoured you, pulling his shirt over his head.

You gasped, running your hands down his chest. He was beautiful, tight pecs and perfect little nipples that stood to attention in the open air of his bedroom. You ghosted a finger over one of them, entranced.

"I thought that'd shut you up," Minho commented under his breath.

"Beautiful tits," you muttered unintentionally as you admired his pecs.

Minho smiled. "I could say the same thing about you, angel." He placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer and bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He wasn't gentle about it, sucking and biting without holding back. You cried out, your hips pausing their grinding motions, your system completely overloaded by his harsh actions on your sensitive nipple.

"Keep riding," he mumbled, not even taking your nipple out of his mouth as he spoke. 

You dragged your clit across his muscular thigh, whimpering loudly as you went. "Oh god, please, Minho! I need you inside me." 

"Then beg for it."

You wasted no time. "Please, Minho, please, please! I need your cock, I've never needed anything this bad. I know I'm just a filthy little slut but please give me what I need, fuck, I'll die if you don't!" 

"You really are a filthy slut," he agreed, lifting you from his thigh and laying you on his bed. 

"Yes, yes, please Minho!" you babbled.

He pulled your underwear down, leaving you completely naked before him, before tugging his own briefs off. 

Holy fucking shit, you thought.

His dick was beautiful. That was the only way to describe it - fucking beautiful. It was long, with a vein running along the underside, and the girth was decent too. The head was thick, and red, and if you weren't so desperate to be fucked you would've sucked on it for hours. 

"I know you want it," Minho said. "But do you deserve it?" He stroked his dick slowly, and you watched as the head disappeared into his fist, emerging again as his hand ran along his shaft.

"I don't know, but I need it," you insisted. "I'll do anything." 

Minho shook his head, but he looked smug. "Alright, baby. If you need it that badly."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chattered, intoxicated by a dick that you hadn't even felt yet.

He pushed your knees up to your chest, and you hooked your arms around them, holding them in position and peering down to watch his motions. "Such a perfect pussy." He rubbed the head of his dick across your clit, and you whined loudly. Distantly, you wondered if the sounds of the frat party below would even be enough to drown out your incessant noises of pleasure. It was irrelevant, though; you didn't care enough to stop.

He dragged his dick through your folds, over your hole, back up to your clit. Minutes ago, you would've killed a man to have Minho touch your pussy, but already you wanted more. He made you so greedy. It felt good but your thirst for more was unbearable, intolerable.

"Alright, baby, are you ready?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

Slowly, he sunk the tip of his dick inside you - just the tip. Thick as it was, it slid in with hardly any protest. He sighed as it went in, clearly needing the sensation more than he let on.

"More," you pleaded.

"You'll take what I give you, when I'm ready to give you it." Minho saw you roll your eyes at this, but said nothing.

He pushed the head in and out of your hole, never putting more than two inches inside. 

"Please give me the whole thing, Minho!"

He simply shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to handle it. Dumb baby."

"I can handle it!" you insisted. "I swear I can!" 

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow that told you he was unconvinced. "You can?" You nodded. "You're gonna cry like a little baby." 

"Just give me your stupid dick right now!" 

Minho laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, baby. Here comes my stupid dick."

He held your legs down against your chest, and slammed his whole length inside you. You saw stars. He thrusted, hard and fast, and you were somewhat aware that you were moaning probably louder than you ever had before, but all you could truly focus on was his cock filling you up. He was hitting your g-spot on every single thrust, grunting as he fucked you.

"God, you're tight," he groaned. He re-positioned his hips, and somehow managed to hit deeper. You felt him against your cervix, and cried out in pain.

"Too much," you weakly protested as your eyes filled with tears. 

"I thought you could handle it?" he said, his voice lacking any sympathy. "Fucking pathetic, begging for a cock you couldn't even take." 

"I-I can, just not so deep."

Minho smirked down at you. "It's not my fault my dick's so big," he said, but adjusted his thrusts slightly anyway. 

"I can take it," you promised. "I-I can take anything you give me, Minho."

"That's right, baby. My filthy little whore." His voice was calm, but his eyebrows were furrowed and sweat was dripping down his forehead - the pleasure was overwhelming him just as much as it was destroying you. 

Minho leaned down, connecting his mouth to yours as he fucked you. You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help but moan. His dick fucking your pussy, his tongue fucking your mouth. This was heaven, you were sure of it.

He pulled away. "You think you could take some more?" 

"More?" you asked, eyes wide. 

"Just a little more. For me?"

You nodded hesitantly.

Minho paused his thrusts, but before you could whine in protest, you felt his finger rubbing at your opening. Slowly, he pushed his index finger inside, along with his dick. The painful stretch was incredible, and you whimpered at the feeling. 

"There you go, babe," he said, beginning to thrust once more. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the sensation. "Fuck, this is nice and tight."

You were barely even lucid at this point. You babbled incoherently, unaware of what you were even trying to say. You were completely and utterly spellbound by his dick, by the sweet burning stretch. 

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Minho directed you. 

"F-Fuck- I don't know if I can-"

"I thought you wanted to be my sex slave, hm? Pretty little slaves do as they're told." 

You whined, but obeyed his command. "M-Minho… I'm gonna cum if I keep going."

Minho barked out a laugh. "Cum then. I don't care. But don't take your fingers off that pussy, not even for a second."

You were beginning to think that maybe you weren't cut out for this. You hadn't even reached your climax yet, and already the overstimulation was too much. Your stretched out pussy was throbbing, and you jolted each time Minho's dick pounded your g-spot. You were drenched, covered in your own sweat as well as Minho's, which was dripping onto you from his hair, his forehead, his neck. The air in the room was thick, and smelled entirely of Minho - you were covered in him. He looked like a god above you, fucking into you like it was his life's mission.

It was too much for you to handle, without a doubt. And yet, you'd be happy to spend the rest of your life underneath him. Or on top of him. Or in any position which meant his dick could be inside you.

"Minho… Minho!" you whimpered.

"C'mon, baby," he encouraged you, his voice strained. From the sounds of it, he wasn't far from finishing either - although you got the sense he could keep going all night if he willed himself to. "Cum around my cock like the dirty little whore you are." 

That was all the prompting you needed.

Your ears started ringing. You let the almost unbearable feeling of ecstasy wash over you, flooding Minho’s cock. You knew you were crying out maybe a bit too loudly - but you didn’t care, thrashing in Minho’s hold and grasping the bedsheets for dear life as he fucked you through it. He didn’t slow his pace, riding out your intense orgasm caused by the man of your dreams and making you feel as if you’d been set on fire.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Minho crooned, continuing to fuck you as he went after his own orgasm. You could only manage a high-pitched whine in response. "Just a little longer, baby, you can do it. Just lie there and let me use your tight little pussy, that's it." His voice was hoarse, and the veins on his neck were prominent. You knew he was going to cum soon, but you didn't know if you could hold on. You were over-sensitive to the point of pain, hands gripping Minho's bed sheets.

"Cum - give me your cum," you urged Minho. "Now, please."

His eyes widened. Your command had seemed to catch him off guard a bit. He pulled out of you, and you watched as thick ribbons of pearly white cum oozed onto your abdomen. You gasped gently as you watched. It was perhaps the most beautifully erotic thing you'd ever seen. His dick was definitely a contender for the prettiest one you'd ever fucked, and his cum was thick and heavy, dripping from the tip like a waterfall.

"Thank you," you whispered. He leaned in, kissing you deeply. He tasted like sweat, hot and sticky, and you moaned. 

He pulled away, before planting one more kiss on your forehead. "You're welcome."

Minho stood, going to the other side of his room. You tried to follow him with your eyes, but you felt so weak and tired that they slipped shut immediately. He returned seconds later, and you lay still, sighing as he cleaned you up. His touch was so gentle, so soothing, so different than it had been just minutes before.

"That better?" he asked, discarding the towel.

You nodded. "You want me to go crash with Felix?" you asked, unsure of what exactly this arrangement was.

"Nah, you reek of sex. Felix wouldn't want you." He helped you climb under the covers. "Plus, I wouldn't mind some company tonight." He slid into bed beside you, and you rolled over, laying your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt incredibly safe secure, especially considering just how utterly terrified you'd been of this man a few hours ago.

You giggled softly, so tired and fucked out that you felt a little delirious. "Can't believe you fucked me, Minho."

Minho gave a short laugh. "Can't believe you convinced me to fuck you so easily. You're a little minx. I really wanted to play with you some more."

You nestled into his chest. "I guess there'll have to be a next time then, huh?" 

"Yeah," he agreed. "If you're lucky."

"You wanna fuck me again, Minho, I know you do," you mumbled. "I saw the look in your eyes when you came. You need my pussy."

Minho was silent for a few seconds. "You're awfully bold for someone who was crying on my cock ten minutes ago."

"...Yeah." 

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." No more than ten seconds later, you were sleeping in his arms. 

You slipped into the land of dreams, where you went on to fantasise about Minho - his thighs, his neck, his tummy, his hands. His kisses, his touches, his dick in your throat, in your holes. Minho everywhere. Were you completely insatiable? Maybe. But it seemed very likely that he'd give it to you again. In your sleep, you smiled.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @queenofthegardengnomes @boomfrogg @hoeinthehouse @msaddictions @sunnyhonie @hizliyuruyen @jyu037 @jouoy @drhsthl @seungincore @jellylver @veedoesntknaur @meloncremesoda @k-poplv @livieloo914 @fekixfmp @fawnpeaks @minnielvr @imastraykidsfan @hanjisung2023 @hoelynecujoh @kyrviu @sxgeofprohets @everydreams-penumbra @chaneomma @kkissreol @secretjj @phtogravi @princelingperfect @personawthai @dirah-h @straykids5star @luvhyux @chuuswifereal @stg110 @cookiesandmilfx @number1seungminstan

[myangelhaven]

“You want to be a brat? Go on, be my guest,” he breathed. “Just remember—”

“Brats get handled.”

Ugh that was such a masterpiece. I was here for the smut but stayed for the plot cuz hello? That had me on edge the whole time, the way you wrote it was like so suspenseful that we have to pay attention to everything that was said. And holy every words, details put in this was wow. Your writing is so captivating! I'm so glad I stumbled upon you

correct me, i dare you

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 8k

summary: as chan's choreographer, he told you not to test him. now you’re all messed up in a studio chair, trying to remember your own name while he’s planning round two.

tags: brat/brat tamer dynamic, porn with plot, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), tension. enjoy

It always began the same way.

With him being late.

You were halfway through your warm-up, music echoing low through the empty studio, when his reflection emerged in the mirror—hood up, the ghost of a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips. He moved with the casual arrogance of someone who had never once been told no. Someone who knew you would forgive the delay simply because he was good.

You did not turn to greet him. Did not acknowledge him. You continued to stretch, breathing steady and precise, though your skin buzzed with a treacherous awareness—an irritating, familiar hum that only he could summon. The kind that made you feel seen in a way that was almost unbearable.

Behind you, the studio door closed with a soft thud.

"You’re late, Chan," you said, gaze fixed forward.

"I’m worth waiting for," came his reply, smooth and infuriatingly self-assured. His voice, lower than usual, dragged across your spine like velvet laced with steel. You heard the dull thump of his bag hitting the floor. A moment later, he stepped into your space as if it belonged to him. “Unless you missed me.”

You finally turned, offering him the flattest look you could summon. "I missed the part where you follow the schedule."

"Schedules are tedious."

"And you’re exhausting."

He hummed, letting his eyes wander over you with the kind of unrepentant interest that made your blood simmer. His head tilted slightly, all charm and provocation. “Strange. You look wide awake to me.”

He came to a halt too close—deliberately close—and there was something maddening in the way he regarded you. Expectant. Like he was waiting for you to snap. To bite. To rise.

You did not dare give into him. Not yet.

Instead, you stepped forward, refusing to retreat. "Are you going to follow the routine today? Or must I play babysitter again?"

Chan’s smile curved, sharp and wolfish. “You can try.”

He moved past you with infuriating ease, brushing his shoulder against yours in a way that felt far too intentional. You swore he did it just to steal the air from your lungs.

And it worked. You exhaled through your nose, reached for the speaker, and pressed play.

As the beat rose and the session resumed, you already knew—this would be difficult. He would not merely follow the choreography. He would flirt with it. With you. With every boundary you had erected between what was permissible and what was not.

And worse still?

You were going to let him.

The first mistake was subtle—a  single beat too early. A downward roll of his shoulder when it should have lifted. Barely perceptible to anyone else—but not to you. You saw everything.

You cut the music.

The abrupt silence cracked through the air like a whip. He glanced up, one brow raised, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple, breath steady despite the interruption.

"You’re early on that step," you said as you crossed the floor toward him, your tone calm, precise, with the faint edge of authority you had learned to wield like a shield.

"I’m in the pocket," he countered, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You’re simply obsessed with clean lines."

"No, I’m obsessed with accuracy."

"Mm." He made a thoughtful sound, amused. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

You stopped in front of him. "Turn."

He obeyed—slowly, deliberately. As though he were indulging you. As though you had not earned his compliance.

You stepped into his space, eyes on his shoulders, fingers lifting to adjust the angle. The moment you touched him, everything shifted.

His muscles stilled beneath your hand. The air thickened. His breath caught, barely audible—but there. Real. Raw. You were too close. You could count the freckles scattered beneath his jaw, trace the curve of his smirk with your thumb if you dared.

"Like this," you said, your voice softening, almost in spite of yourself. Your fingers guided his arm upward. "Not down. It ruins the symmetry."

You anticipated a nod. Silence. Deference.

Instead, his gaze dropped to your hand. Then lifted to meet yours. His lips parted, just enough to be dangerous.

"Are you always this hands-on with the others?" he asked, his voice low and curling.

Your fingers twitched. You pulled away like he had scorched you.

He turned to face you fully, his expression unchanged—confident, calculating, unreadable.

"Go on," he said. "Correct me again."

The words were a dare.

An invitation.

A spark held too close to dry kindling.

Your pulse quickened. Your mouth dried.

"Keep pushing me," you murmured, almost without thinking. "See what happens."

He stepped forward, gaze unwavering.

"I am."

You held his stare.

And for a moment—just a single, suspended second—he believed you would retreat. That you would fall into old patterns: step away, bite your tongue, pretend this was not a game you both played in heat and proximity.

But not this time.

This time, you lifted your chin, voice cool and unwavering. “Is it attention you want that badly, Chan? Fine. Let’s correct the entire routine.”

You stepped forward with deliberate poise.

His eyebrows rose—barely—but the subtle arch was all the proof you needed. A hairline fracture in that maddening self-assurance.

You reached for his wrist, adjusting it into the proper position—higher, tighter, until the tension rippled through his forearm. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest at the way his breath hitched, ever so slightly. Your other hand swept across the line of his back, palms pressing flat, coaxing his shoulders into symmetry with a precision born of practiced control.

“You’re slouching,” you murmured, your tone featherlight and biting.

“I’m relaxed,” he replied, tone casual, though his posture betrayed him.

“Wrong energy.”

You moved behind him, fingers barely skimming the plane of his spine as you traced a slow descent. He stiffened beneath your touch, every muscle drawn taut, as though your proximity alone threatened to unravel him. You paused at his hips, nudging them into alignment, the silence between you swelling with something unspeakably charged.

“You like giving orders, do you?” he muttered, the words caught between a breath and a challenge.

“Only when people fail to listen.”

His head turned slightly, gaze sliding to meet yours over his shoulder. His eyes had darkened, that lazy grin now replaced by something sharper. Edged. Curious.

“Is that why you keep touching me?”

You offered a smile—sweet, sharp, devastating.

“Would you prefer I simply tell you that you’re wrong?”

And then—purposefully—you let your hands fall from him, slow and final, the ghost of your touch lingering even as you stepped away.

“Your choice, Chan,” you said with a shrug, voice dripping with implication. “Keep testing me. I don't mind showing you exactly what you can’t get away with.”

The atmosphere shifted.

His breath caught.

That ever-present smirk faltered.

And for the first time since he arrived, he remained completely still.

Throughout the rest of practice, he listened.

Not perfectly. Not without that trademark insolence glinting in the curve of his mouth or the flick of his gaze. But he listened.

Because now, he knew what it cost not to.

Every cue you gave, he followed—sharp, fluid, intentional. Every correction you made, he absorbed without a word. You watched him from the corner of your eye, and it infuriated you just how good he looked when he was focused. How easily he slipped into that quiet dominance, body cutting through the choreography like he was born to lead.

And still—you felt it.

The shift.

With every pass, the space grew tighter, the air more fraught. Every glance he threw your way bore a weight it had not held before—no longer teasing, no longer smug.

Something else had taken its place.

Something coiled. Waiting.

At one point, you reached for your water bottle and caught him watching you through the mirror—openly, steadily, unflinching. He made no effort to look away.

You raised a brow.

He licked his lower lip—slow, subtle—and exhaled the softest laugh. The sound was quiet, but it struck you like a match dragged across dry kindling.

It lingered between you. That laugh. That look. That dare.

By the time the last beat dissolved into silence, your pulse thundered in your throat, your skin overheated—not from exertion, but from him. From the unbearable presence of him, the pressure that never eased.

You knelt to unplug the speaker, sweat cooling against your spine. You never heard his footsteps—only felt the warmth of his approach, the charged silence that always accompanied him when he drew too close.

His voice came low. Measured. Dangerous.

“You push harder when you are flustered.”

You rose slowly, subconsciously standing just a little too close for professionalism. “And you make more mistakes when you want attention.”

He smiled—barely. But it was different now. The mischief was muted. The darkness had settled in. He leaned even closer to your face, mere centimetres away by now.

The proximity sent your brain into haywire—was he about to kiss you?

Then, he broke the silence softly—almost like a secret—

“So what happens when we slip?”

Your breath caught.

He did not wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, towel slung over his shoulder, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his actions and the heat it carved into your chest.

You lasted four minutes.

Four long minutes of stretching, of pretending to cool down, of rationalizing your stillness in an empty room now thick with unsaid things. You told yourself you were being responsible. That this was routine.

You waited for him to return, to shut up your flustered little brain with his lips, like he threatened to do before he left. But, the doorway remained empty. So, you went after him.

The hallway outside was dim, lit only by vending machines and flickering overhead lights. You found him by some lockers, shirt clinging to his back, head bent as he scrolled through his phone like nothing had happened.

Your voice cut through the quiet.

“You always walk away like that?”

He looked up—slowly. No trace of surprise. Just a small flicker of something that told you he expected this. Maybe even wanted it.

“That a complaint?” he asked.

You gave a half-shrug. “Doesn’t feel like your style to run.”

He offered a lazy smile, but his eyes were sharp beneath it. “I wasn’t running.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

There was a pause then. Something softer. And when he spoke again, it came quieter. “You followed me.”

The air changed again, heavier now, suspended in a silence that could shatter with one wrong word.

You took a step closer.

His eyes tracked the movement—first your mouth, then your hands, then back again.

“You keep starting things you don’t finish,” you said, your voice low.

He tilted his head, gaze steady. “And what exactly is it you want me to finish?”

You let the question settle for a breath. “Pick one.”

His jaw clenched—subtle but telling. You saw the moment something inside him shifted, his control fraying at the edges.

“You really want me to finish something?” His voice dropped, warmer now, tinged with restraint.

“I want you to stop pretending this isn’t real,” you said, barely more than a breath. “Whether you act on it or not, stop playing like it isn’t there.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you. Still not touching. But the pressure of his presence was overwhelming.

“Then tell me,” he whispered. “Which one do you want?”

And God help you—you could not tell if he meant the choreography or the almost-kiss.

But either answer would be dangerous.

And either way, you were about to find out.

You said nothing. You had no need to.

Because something in him changed. His gaze dropped to your mouth—and stayed there. Your breath stuttered, heat washing over your skin.

He moved closer.

Not boldly. Not recklessly. Just—closer. Deliberate. His hand lifted, hovered near your jaw, fingers twitching as though asking permission he would not voice.

Your lips parted. Not in invitation. In instinct.

You did not lean in.

But your eyes flicked to his mouth—and that was all it took.

He leaned forward.

Just enough for your foreheads to brush.

Your breath mingled. His hand found your waist, not with confidence, but with care—uncertain, hesitant, like the moment might collapse beneath the weight of it.

You tilted your head, just enough for the moment to turn.

And then—

The door swung open.

Footsteps. A voice, casual and unaware: “Yo, Channie—manager’s looking for—oh. Uh..”

You broke apart as though scalded.

His hands dropped. You stumbled back. Blood roared in your ears, a deafening rush of shame and unspent want. Chan cleared his throat, turning away as if to hide what could not be hidden.

“Right,” he muttered. “Coming.”

The third voice mumbled an apology and disappeared.

And what followed was silence.

Not the charged kind. The kind that ruins everything.

Neither of you spoke at first. You didn’t even look at each other.

But as he reached for his bag, something passed between you—unspoken, trembling.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Me neither.”

A beat passed.

Then the faintest, wryest smile. “We’re such liars.”

You said nothing, you just watched him walk away for the second time.

But this time, the tension did not dissipate, it settled. Sank deep into your bones.

Waiting. Waiting for the next time. The inevitable. Not if.

When.

The next time you encountered him, it was in another studio. The mirrors were unfamiliar, the playlist unfamiliar still, yet the weight beneath your skin remained unchanged. A pressure that had not dulled, only shifted—waiting. You had arrived early, already moving through stretches when he stepped in. Earlier than usual. Deliberate, perhaps. His gaze found yours too quickly, and for the briefest of moments, both of you froze, suspended in the remnants of memory. The lockers. The breathless hush of almost. The air between mouths that had nearly touched.

But no words acknowledged it.

“Morning,” he offered with the kind of ease that could only be forced, lifting one arm to stretch overhead, voice deliberately light.

“You’re on time,” you replied, nonchalant.

“Trying to be good.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, measuring.

His smile curved, laced with implication. “For now.”

Electricity pulsed between you—not overt, not overwhelming, but coiled tightly beneath the surface, waiting for friction. You chose silence, turning toward the speaker as though the task of finding a track demanded all of your focus. In truth, your hands betrayed you, trembling faintly with the effort it took to maintain distance.

The music began. The session commenced. But the silence between the beats—between the counts—spoke louder than anything the speakers delivered.

Every motion you made was shaped by awareness. His presence carved itself into your periphery, every mirrored movement sending subtle tremors down your spine. When your rhythms aligned, when his shadow stretched too close behind you, it no longer felt like mere choreography. It felt deliberate. Intimate. Dangerous.

He slipped once, losing half a beat on a glide. Your eyes met his in the mirror, and the atmosphere shifted. That heat—undeniable and hungry—returned with a vengeance.

You were the one who looked away first this time, though only just. And yet, before the song had finished its final measure, you reached for the speaker—only to find him behind you once again. Not touching. Merely present. His breath a soft warmth against your neck, the scent of sweat and something inherently him clouding your thoughts.

“Still correcting me?” he murmured, voice pitched low, brushing the back of your mind like velvet dragged slow.

You did not turn. “Do you still require correction?”

There was a pause—barely a breath—before he answered, quieter still. “Perhaps.”

Then, as though his nearness had not unraveled the composure you fought to maintain, he turned away, towel in hand, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. He left you standing there, the ache blooming inside your chest like a bruise kissed too many times.

And this time—this time—you cursed him, because it had been you who wanted to close the space. You who ached to kiss him first.

It began with a glance. He was mid-step, face composed, body fluid—until your gaze found his in the mirror once again, and you gifted him a smile far too knowing, slow and sweet, laced with an innocence you did not possess. He faltered, missing his mark by a fraction of a second.

“Too early,” you noted smoothly, your tone silk and challenge in equal measure as you crossed the studio floor. “Again.”

He cleared his throat, gave a terse nod, and reset his posture. He did not meet your gaze this time. Did not dare.

The music restarted, but you no longer danced. Instead, you circled. A quiet predator draped in calm, arms crossed, watching him with all the patience of something waiting to strike. He held steady, but you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched slightly each time your footsteps drifted too close behind him.

You waited.

You let the chorus build.

And then you moved.

When he turned, you were there—too close again, and yet not touching, until your hand rose with precision to adjust the angle of his posture. The movement echoed your earlier correction, but this time your fingers lingered. They traced the length of his forearm, slow and deliberate, pausing at his wrist before gliding upward again, your eyes never leaving his.

“Better,” you murmured, your breath teasing the edge of his skin. “I hadn’t expected you to be so obedient.”

His breath caught—a shallow hitch—and you watched the restraint tighten across his brow.

“You like it when I touch you, don’t you?”

He tried to laugh, but the sound caught, strangled by the atmosphere. “Don’t start something you won’t finish.”

You stepped in until your chest nearly brushed his, your gaze heavy-lidded, your voice a murmur blooming like smoke between you. “Who said I wouldn’t?”

His stare burned. His hands remained clenched at his sides, but his entire body trembled with the effort to remain still.

And then you touched his chest—once, lightly, a single mocking tap over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Start again.”

He did not move immediately.

You saw the conflict in him, the tension that curled like a storm behind his eyes, the desire barely restrained. He waited. He wanted.

And in that hesitation, you knew you had won.

Because this time, he had no words.

This time, it was him left breathless.

You continued, unabated.

The lingering touches, the glances heavy with implication, the murmured suggestions veiled in choreographic critique—each one became more deliberate, more artfully placed. A calculated seduction cloaked in professionalism. And he? He accepted it all in stride. A faint smirk here, a deeper inhale there. But he never rose to the bait. Never stumbled. Never retaliated.

So you pressed further.

During a lull—water break, bodies gleaming with effort—you leaned casually against the far wall, the curve of your hip framed in sunlight spilling through the studio window. You sipped slowly from your bottle, letting the straw linger between your lips, tongue brushing it just so. A test.

He looked.

This time, he did not smile.

Instead, he walked toward you—unhurried, unflinching, and terrifyingly assured. Each step reverberated like a silent countdown. You straightened, half-formed wit on your tongue, some flirty retort meant to reestablish the upper hand—but you never spoke it. He reached you first.

One hand braced against the wall beside your head, grounding you in place with a subtle dominance that stole your breath. The other hand lifted, slow, deliberate, until his fingers curled beneath your chin. Gentle, yet inescapable, he tilted your face upward, commanding your gaze with nothing but touch.

His eyes were not cold—but they were unreadable. Deep and calm, like a still ocean hiding a storm just beneath the surface.

“You finished?” he asked, voice low and unshaken.

Your stomach dropped, heat coiling in its place. “What?” you whispered.

“Playing.”

You blinked, feigned confusion. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

His grip did not tighten, but it also did not relent. His thumb traced lightly along the line of your jaw, as though mapping it to memory—or warning.

“You’re charming when you tease,” he murmured, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips, though it held no mirth. Only precision. “But don’t forget what could happen when I stop indulging you.”

Your breath caught. Blood surged, dizzy and hot beneath your skin.

He studied you like a man memorizing a work of art—one he intended to wreck, piece by piece. His voice remained smooth, but it darkened, dipping into something far more dangerous.

“You believe you’re in control here?” His smile sharpened, languid and lethal. “Princess, I’ve only allowed you to think so.”

Then he leaned in—not enough to kiss, not quite. But his breath caressed your skin, hot and deliberate, brushing your ear like a secret.

“You want to be a brat? Go on, be my guest,” he breathed. “Just remember—”

He withdrew, slowly, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe with devastating intention.

“Brats get handled.”

And then he stepped back. Casual. Composed. As if he had not just stolen every shred of power from your body and left it trembling in your veins.

You remained there—motionless, lips parted, heart thrumming in your throat. Breathless, undone.

You knew, then. The game had shifted.

The next round?

You would not be the one in control.

But you did not stop. Even after that moment at the wall—after the words that laced threat with promise, after the heat of his breath echoing in your skin like a burn—you could not seem to stop. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now, gaze simmering with warning and anticipation, like a man one heartbeat away from devouring. Perhaps it was the thrill—the exquisite danger of pushing too far, too fast, too close.

But today, he was done playing.

Today, he struck the match.

You had been playing a dangerous game—one step too close, one brush too many, your body skimming his in a way that most certainly did not belong to the choreography. And he saw it. Saw you smirk at your own boldness in the mirror.

That was all it took.

The music cut, abrupt and echoing in the sudden hush that followed. The studio stilled. Heads lifted. A few half-smiles, expecting a correction, perhaps even a teasing remark.

But he did not joke.

He turned to you. “Come here.”

Your stomach turned over at the sound of it—low, commanding, unmistakable. You hesitated, just long enough to register your heartbeat climbing.

“I said—” His tone sharpened. He snapped his fingers, pointed to the floor in front of him with infuriating precision. “Come. Here.”

You moved, pulse thudding like thunder in your ears.

He did not touch you. Not at first. He circled you slowly, like a thought forming in real time, eyes raking over your frame with unnerving composure. And then, he began to correct.

His hand settled at your hip, adjusting the tilt with a firm, measured push. His palm rose to your arm, guiding it upward, fingers splayed just wide enough to graze the sensitive space below your ribs. He stepped in closer, lifted your chin with a single knuckle—not gently, not cruelly, but with a control that brokered no disobedience.

He said nothing.

Not until he stood behind you, breath whispering against your ear like silk edged in flame.

“You want to be a brat?” he murmured. “Very well.”

His hands did not wander—they instructed. They placed. They demanded.

“You will hold this form. You will listen. And if you test me again—”

He leaned in, just close enough for the strength in your knees to falter.

“—I’ll deal with you in private.”

And then he stepped away. As though the warning had never left his lips. As though he had not just carved a promise into your spine with the threat of restraint.

You remained where he placed you—locked in position, every nerve alight, throat tight with anticipation.

And from that moment forward?

You behaved. But it was not fear that tethered your obedience.

It was desire.

After the rehearsal had concluded, you gathered your things in silence, though every motion, every breath, was steeped in tension. You felt his presence behind you like heat radiating from a fire you refused to face. Each glance toward the mirror caught his reflection—poised, dispassionate, but never inattentive.

He was watching.

Waiting.

Your steps carried you to the smaller practice room—the one without windows, the one with a door that locked. You stepped inside. The door closed behind you with a soft, decisive click.

You did not need to turn.

He followed. Still, he did not speak.

He moved toward you with the same deliberate calm, the air between you darkening, thickening, drawing tight around your throat. His eyes raked over your body—not with lust, but with intent. Calculation. Possession.

“You don’t listen,” he said, his voice quiet, surgical in its stillness.

You did not reply.

“You flirt. You provoke. You test.”

He stopped in front of you.

“And when I warn you?”

You glanced at his lips, unthinking.

His hand snapped to your jaw—not violently, but with unwavering dominance—redirecting your gaze back to his with a pressure that brooked no defiance.

“You smile.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, without ceremony, he leaned in. His lips did not find yours. Instead, they brushed your cheek—deliberate, lingering. A claim, not a kiss.

“You wanted this,” he whispered, voice deep enough to tremble through your bones. “Every little stunt. Every subtle touch. Every glance.”

He pulled back, just enough to study your expression.

“You wanted to be handled. Is that right?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

His smile returned, slow and devastating.

“Then put your hands behind your back.”

Your breath stilled.

“Now.”

And you obeyed.

The moment your wrists crossed behind you, he moved—swift, precise. One hand gripped your hip, dragging your body flush to his. The other tangled in your hair, firm but controlled, tilting your head until your throat bared for him.

“You don’t speak unless I say so,” he growled, voice rich with heat and power. “You don’t move unless I command it.”

A kiss, featherlight, brushed just beneath your ear.

“And you don’t come until I allow it.”

You shuddered.

He felt it. Smiled.

���Good,” he murmured against your skin. “Lesson begins now, right?”

His fingers tightened in your hair—not cruelly, but with authority. A signal. A seal.

You nod meekly in answer.

He tilted your head just enough to force your gaze to his, his thumb ghosting along your jaw with a delicacy that belied the command in his posture. His eyes locked to yours—unchanging, fathomless, a storm beneath glass.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He studies you for a moment longer, then releases your hair with a final stroke and began pacing behind you. Slow. Silent.

You did not turn to look. The weight of his eyes was too heavy to bear.

You felt him instead—circling, appraising, plotting every step like a predator does when they know the prey cannot go anywhere.

Then, without warning, his voice unfurled at your ear—low, deliberate, velvet-wrapped steel.

“Take off your jacket.”

You obeyed. Fingers trembling slightly, you slid the fabric from your shoulders. Slowly. Precisely. Offering him the ritual of your submission with each inch revealed.

He didn’t move to help. Didn’t lift a hand to touch.

Just watched.

When it fell to the floor in a soft rustle, he made a sound—deep and approving, barely more than a hum.

“Good girl.”

The words landed like fire in your chest.

“Now,” he murmured, “come here.”

You stepped forward, heart caught in your throat. But before you could close the distance, he halted you with a hand at your hip. His grip was firm—anchoring, possessive. You felt the shape of his restraint pressed against your body, his power held tightly in check.

Still, he did not kiss you.

Instead, his palm slid upward, trailing the curve of your waist with exquisite slowness, watching your eyes as if waiting for the moment they’d break.

“You know what I want?”

You shook your head, breath caught in your lungs.

His fingertips ghosted along the edge of your waistband—just enough to tease, never enough to give.

“I want to hear you beg.”

Your breath stuttered. But before you could speak, his smile curved—dangerous.

“Not yet.”

Then suddenly—motion. Heat. Pressure.

His hands closed around your hips, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He placed you on the table’s edge, the wood cool and unyielding beneath your thighs. He spread your knees, stepping into the space he now owned like he’d claimed it by right.

His mouth brushed your cheek. Barely there.

“You’ve been restless all week,” he murmured, breath hot and intimate. “Acting out. Testing limits. All so I’d give you this.”

“I—” you started, but your voice came out as a whisper, shaky and small.

His hand slid beneath your shirt, knuckles trailing your spine, an ache of contact that never satisfied—too light, too brief, too intentional.

“Quiet,” he said, voice like silk drawn tight. “You don’t speak unless I say.”

You nodded.

He clicked his tongue softly. “Still not listening.”

Then his mouth descended on your throat—not with tenderness, but with claim. Each kiss dragged, teased, taunted. He pulled soft, involuntary sounds from you—gasps that dared to break past your lips before you swallowed them down.

His hand dipped lower, brushed between your thighs—once. Barely.

Your body jerked forward, instinct chasing what it needed.

Immediately, he withdrew.

“Don’t,” he growled—low, sharp, searing. “Do. Not. Move.”

You froze. Eyes wide. Breath stalled.

He waited until the tremble settled in your legs, then tilted his head with that maddening smirk.

“I thought you wanted to be good.”

“I do,” you said, the words spilling out, hoarse and needy.

“Then prove it.”

And with that, he stepped back—not to leave you, not to show mercy, but to begin.

To take his time.

To teach you exactly what it meant to fall apart at the hands of someone who delighted in denying you everything until you earned it.

He returned to that maddening rhythm—touching, teasing, coaxing you to the precipice only to steal it away with surgical precision. Again. And again. Each retreat more cruel than the last. Each denied high a blade across your nerve endings.

Your thighs trembled, the ache blooming into something unbearable, your lips parting in a silent plea you no longer knew how to suppress.

His mouth traced your collarbone like a secret he’d memorized. Up the delicate slope of your throat, across your jaw—each kiss a promise without fulfillment, a cruelty dressed in velvet.

Still, he didn’t kiss you.

Still, he withheld.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice a warm breath against your skin, fingers pressing almost—almost—to where you burned for him.

You nodded, a frantic gasp caught in your throat, a tremor running through you like lightning.

But he only leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper edged with wickedness.

“Not even close to earning it yet.”

Then—emptiness.

He stepped back, stripping you of warmth, of touch, of relief. You were left gasping, trembling, hands clenched in the fabric of your shirt like you might come apart if you let go.

His smile as he watched you was both tender and merciless—beautiful and brutal.

“You’ll beg soon,” he said, voice like a verdict.

And then, to your disbelief, he turned.

Walked to the other side of the room with unhurried grace. Dragged a chair across the floor, the sound scraping through the silence like a dare. He sat—legs spread, arms folded, gaze fixed on you with the full weight of his dominance.

“Try again,” he said. “From the top.”

Because this wasn’t indulgence.

This wasn’t even pleasure.

This was a lesson—and you, trembling and undone, were the student.

The chair groaned beneath him as he leaned back—composed, commanding. He looked relaxed, leisurely, like a man with all the time in the world.

But you knew better.

His eyes were sharp—cut-glass cold. Unforgiving. Watching not just your body, but the unraveling of your will. He wasn’t waiting.

He was watching you fall. A performance, a masterpiece in the making.

A slow, sweet descent into obedience.

You were still trembling—perched on the edge, slick and aching, every nerve a livewire. Jaw set tight, lips parted, your whole body strung taut with need. And still, you did not move.

Not until he allowed it.

His voice slid into the silence like silk over a blade.

“Go on,” he said, low and unhurried. “Beg.”

You blinked, your breath catching, heart stuttering like it had forgotten how to beat.

“What… what do you want me to say?”

That earned you a slow, dangerous smile.

“I want you to admit it. Tell me what you need.”

The silence stretched. Heavy. Punishing. You swallowed.

“I… I need you to touch me.”

He hummed—displeased. Like that wasn’t enough.

“You’ll need to do better than that.”

Your hands clenched into trembling fists. Your voice, when it came again, was louder. Frantic.

“Please. Please—just touch me. I need—”

He leaned forward just enough to steal your breath.

“That what all this attitude was about? All week?” he asked. “Pushing buttons, playing games—just to fall apart at my feet?”

Shame flared hot across your cheeks, but you nodded. The truth clung to you like heat, undeniable.

“Say it,” he ordered.

Your throat worked. You were already breathless.

“I want to come for you,” you whispered.

His smile sharpened, cruel and beautiful.

“And why should I let you?”

“I can’t think—I can’t breathe—” The words tumbled out in broken pieces. “I’ve been aching since you walked in—I need you to take it—I’ll be good, I swear—please, please—”

And then he moved.

Two strides. A fist in your hair. He tilted your head up, forcing your eyes to his.

“You’ll be good?” he growled.

“Yes.”

“You’ll listen?”

“Yes—yes, I promise—”

“No more bratty little stunts unless I ask for them?”

“God, yes—please—”

His mouth descended on yours in a brutal kiss—hot and claiming, teeth and tongue, a devouring hunger unleashed. His hands gripped you everywhere—commanding, unrelenting—like your pleading had finally torn the leash from his restraint.

And then he pressed you to the mirrored wall. One hand slipped between your thighs, the other pinned your wrists high above your head.

He smiled.

“There she is,” he murmured, reverent and wrecking.

And you broke.

Not from the touch itself, but from what it meant—that he had made you wait for it. That you had earned this.

He kissed you like he had starved for it. No space. No mercy. Just his mouth consuming yours, swallowing every whimper, every gasp. One hand fisted in your shirt, the other tracing fire between your legs—not teasing this time.

This time, it was real.

Your hips jolted forward, seeking more, but he pulled back—just a hair.

“Don’t,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “You begged to be good. Be good.”

You froze. Your whole body trembling in the silence that followed.

His smile was maddening.

And then he moved again.

His fingers pressed between your thighs—deep, slow, deliberate strokes over fabric. Not fast. Not generous. Just enough to have you writhing, your hands twitching in his grip.

“Still,” he reminded.

You obeyed. Barely.

His mouth traveled down your neck—biting, soothing, leaving traces only he would know were there.

“I could keep you like this all night,” he murmured. “Dripping, trembling, obedient. Until you forget everything except how to beg.”

You whimpered—weak, wrecked.

His fingers circled your clit again, slow and torturous.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he whispered. “Let me take you apart. Piece by perfect piece.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please—”

“Then ask.”

“Please… let me come.”

He stilled.

And smiled.

“Good girl.”

Then everything changed.

He slipped beneath your waistband, found you bare, drenched, desperate. Two fingers pushed deep, curling just right, sending shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, your body arching, but he held you fast—his strength the only anchor in the storm.

“You hear yourself?” he growled, mouth against your ear. “So fucking loud. So needy. You were made for this.”

He moved with purpose now—no longer denying, but delivering. Each thrust of his fingers uncoiled something unbearable inside you. His mouth was at your neck again, claiming every sound, every twitch, every unraveling breath.

“You take it so well,” he whispered. “Fucking perfect.”

Your body tightened—hips trembling, core clenching around him.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Who do you come for?”

“You,” you gasped. “You—Chan, fuck—please—”

“Then come.”

And you did.

With a cry that shattered the silence. Your body convulsed, clinging to him, coming apart in his hands while he whispered you through it, holding you like something precious. Reverent. Relentless.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.”

Your vision blurred. Your limbs trembled. But he didn’t stop.

He slipped his fingers free—wet, glistening. He moved to hold them up to your mouth.

“Open.”

You obeyed wordlessly, to which he slid them past your lips, watching as you sucked yourself clean, dazed and undone.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “You’re all mine.”

And then—he lifted you.

A gasp escaped before you could stop it, air rushing from your lungs as the ground disappeared. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs instinctively circling his waist. His grip was firm, assured—like he’d done this a thousand times in the dark of his mind. He carried you like you weighed nothing, then lowered you into the chair with reverence, like he was crowning you, before sinking to his knees between your spread thighs.

“You don’t get to stop now,” he murmured, dragging you forward until you were right where he wanted. “I decide when you’re done.”

You barely managed a nod before his mouth was on you.

His tongue moved slowly—devastatingly—like he intended to savor every inch, like you were something forbidden he’d finally been allowed to taste. He licked into you with aching patience, moaning against your soaked skin, hands gripping your thighs with a possessive edge as he opened you wider, held you still.

You tried to shift.

He growled.

“Still,” he ordered.

A whimper rose from your throat.

He only smiled, smug and sinful, and kept going—flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit until your eyes rolled back, sucking you softly until you cried out, until your legs trembled around his head and tried to close. He forced them open again with a harsh squeeze, unrelenting.

“No running.”

And then you shattered—quick, brutal, your climax torn from you in a sob that barely sounded human.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t pause.

He kept licking, mouth locked to your heat, tongue dragging through your second orgasm as it surged up behind the first—hot and helpless, tearing through you as your body arched, your fingers twisted in his hair, and your voice broke on his name.

When you finally slumped, boneless and breathless, reaching for him with a wrecked sort of need, he rose.

Unbuckled.

His cock was flushed, hard, slick with precum as he stroked himself lazily, watching you with a hunger that made your knees shake all over again.

“Get on my lap,” he said, voice dark velvet—an order barely veiled in honey.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding against your ribs as you obeyed, your limbs moving on instinct alone. You climbed into his arms with a quiet gasp, thighs trembling as they slid around his waist. His hands guided you with slow precision, anchoring your hips as he settled you astride him. The chair groaned beneath the shift of weight, wood creaking with every motion like it, too, was aware of what was about to happen.

“Take it,” he murmured, eyes burning.

Your fingers trembled as they slipped between your bodies, wrapping around his cock—hot, heavy, slick with need. You guided him to your entrance, breath shallow as your body quivered with anticipation, still pulsing from the high he’d already coaxed from you.

You began to sink down—inch by inch, unbearably slow.

He filled you like fire—stretching you wide, pushing into the sensitive ache he’d left raw and wanting. The pressure stole your breath, your spine arching as you took more of him, your walls fluttering helplessly around the thick drag of him.

He didn’t help.

Didn’t thrust.

Didn’t move.

He just watched—utterly still beneath you, like a king on his throne, content to let his prize struggle to claim him. His hands rested on your hips, warm and commanding, but he offered no lift, no aid—only possession. His gaze tracked every twitch of your mouth, every tremor in your thighs, every desperate gasp you made as you worked to take all of him.

“You can take more,” he rasped, his voice jagged with restraint. “Be good for me. All the way.”

You whimpered, nearly undone by the fullness—the way he stretched you open, made you feel too much. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you, like nothing had ever captivated him more.

Finally, with a trembling sob, you sank the last inch, until he was buried to the hilt—hot, thick, deep. Your body clenched, fluttering in overwhelmed surrender, your thighs quaking around him as you tried to breathe through it.

He didn’t move.

Just one large hand rose, slow and sure, to wrap around your throat—not tight, but claiming. He tilted your face up until your eyes met his.

“Now ride.”

You tried.

You set a rhythm—fragile, unsteady, the rise and fall of your body a stuttering dance over his cock. Each descent was a war against gravity and exhaustion, your slick walls dragging along his length in maddening friction. But your strength was spent, your body trembling from earlier pleasure, and your movements slowed with every pulse of overstimulation.

He watched you falter—watched the way your head dropped to his shoulder, your grip on him desperate and shaking.

And then he took over.

His grip on your hips turned unyielding, and he slammed you down onto him with brutal precision. His thrusts were deliberate—slow, devastating, designed not for pace but for impact. Each one drove up into you with a punishing force, making your eyes roll back as he filled you again and again, bottoming out so deep you saw stars.

“Still think you’re in charge?” he panted against your ear. “Still think you can tease me, push me, and not pay for it?”

You sobbed, lips parted, unable to form a single word as your next climax rushed toward you like a breaking wave.

He caught your face again, palm hot against your cheek, thumb dragging across your lower lip.

“Look at me,” he growled. “You’re gonna come again. On my cock. Right now.”

And you did.

Your body broke like glass—shattered and blinding and unbearable. Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream as you clenched hard around him, your walls fluttering in helpless spasms as pleasure exploded in white-hot waves through your core.

But he wasn’t done.

He held you there—crushed against his chest—and kept thrusting into you. His pace slowed, but the force remained—deep, relentless, possessive. He fucked you through the aftershocks, through the sobs, through the trembling collapse of your strength.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice breaking. “So deep you’ll feel me dripping out of you every time you move. You’ll think of me every time your thighs press together.”

You clenched around him, broken by his words.

And it was enough.

He let out a guttural moan and buried himself to the base, spilling inside you with a shudder that rocked through both your bodies. His hips stilled, jaw clenched tight as warmth spread between your thighs, thick and hot and endless.

You collapsed against him.

Ruined.

Shaking.

His.

The silence that followed felt holy. Your breath came in broken exhales against his shoulder, your fingers tangled in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, grounding you as you melted into him—sweat-slicked and spent.

“You alive?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

You nodded, the movement barely there. “Barely.”

He chuckled, low and tender. “Didn’t tap out. I’m impressed.”

“You didn’t let me,” you mumbled, lips brushing his skin.

“Of course not,” he said, mock-affronted. “You begged for this. Over and over.”

You groaned weakly, burying your face in his neck. He laughed again, thumb sliding beneath your chin to tilt your head.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

And his gaze—soft now, reverent—melted everything inside you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Really okay.”

“Good,” he murmured, and kissed you slowly. Like a thanks. Like a promise. Like a home.

Then—“Gonna have to carry you to the showers, aren’t I?”

You scowled. “I can walk.”

He arched a brow. “Is that so?”

You tried to shift—and winced.

His grin turned feral.

“Thought so,” he said smugly. “Guess I’ll have to take care of you. Again. What a burden.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Obviously. You were such a brat. And now look at you—wrecked and clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

You slapped his chest half-heartedly.

He caught your wrist, brought your fingers to his lips, and kissed them with mock solemnity.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered as he stood with you cradled in his arms. “I’ll deal with you properly once you’ve recovered.”

You blinked, dazed. “That wasn’t properly?”

His smirk darkened.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he said, walking toward the showers. “That was just the start.”

You were curled against his chest, limbs boneless, body swaddled in the oversized hoodie he’d tugged over your head with gentle hands—still warm from him, still carrying the ghost of his cologne. That scent—clean, musky, unmistakably him—wrapped around you like second skin, grounding you in the aftermath.

A thick studio blanket had been pulled from the couch and thrown over both your bodies, tangled at your waists where your legs remained loosely knotted, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. The lights had been dimmed to a golden hush. Somewhere, the mirror still wore the breath of your bodies—fogged and glistening in the low light, like it remembered.

Everything was slow now. Quiet.

His fingers brushed idle shapes into your bare thigh, the pads of them warm and absentminded, like he couldn’t stop touching you, even when he had no destination in mind. His voice came low, laced with the softness of a man who'd thoroughly undone you, and was still basking in the afterglow of your ruin.

“You were good,” he murmured, tone deceptively casual. “Eventually.”

You huffed into his shoulder, lips twitching. “I tried.”

He hummed, thoughtful and amused, his lips brushing against your temple like punctuation.

“Next time,” he whispered, the words velvet and sin against your skin, “don’t make me work so hard.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you nestled closer into the cradle of his arms. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His chest rumbled with a deep, lazy laugh—content and unhurried—as he tilted his head and pressed a kiss to your hair.

“God,” he said, almost to himself, “you’re lucky I like you.”

A quiet grin curved your lips, full of warmth and weariness and something dangerously close to love.

“I know,” you whispered.

And then there was nothing but his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, the rhythm of his breath against your back, and the comforting weight of his embrace as he held you there—tucked safely in the stillness, limbs entangled, skin to skin in the hush that followed the storm.

He did not speak again, he just kept holding you, as if he were protecting your tired form from the world outside his arms.

soo this was a lil longer than expected......

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[myangelhaven]

Eheh i love this, so cute for the Easter weekend 🥰

📱Easter Texts with Dad!SKZ📱

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: crack, fluff

pov: 1st or 2nd (depending on how you view it)

description: family skz shenanigans are back and just in time for easter!

pairing: dad!skz x gn!reader (individual); [dad!felix x pregnant!reader]

warnings: swearing, mention of food/eating, pictures of food

screenshot count: 18

©feelbokkie (2025) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

방찬 (Bang Chan)

이��호 (Lee Know)

서창빈 (Changbin)

황현진 (Hyunjin)

한지성 (Han)

이용복 (Felix)

김승민 (Seungmin)

양정인 (I.N)

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Permanent Taglist (closed)

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

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[myangelhaven]

This just made my night thank you

gnab

genre: gnab, gnab, gnab

pov: gnab

description: gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

pairing: gnab x gnab

warnings: gnab, gnab, gnab, gnab, gnab, gnab, gnab

gnab count: 2,714

©gnab (2025) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

☀️Feelbokkie M.list ☀️

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab keeps gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab hug gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab

"Gnab gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab, gnab, gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab...gnab gnab gnab Gnab $120 gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnabod gnab gnab Gnab gnab $20 gnab gnab guys," Gnab roll gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab glgnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. "Gnab gnab $40. GNAB gnab gnab gnab $120 gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab."

Gnabp

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab glgnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab glgnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnabod gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab."

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

“Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.”

“Gnab gnab gnab gnab, GNAB gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab.”

Gnab, gnab

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

“Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab…?”

“Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab,” Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

“Gnab gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab.” Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

“GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab.” Gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

gnab

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab, gnab gnab means Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab, "GNAB...GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab--"

"Gnab, gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gears gnab gnab gnab gnab "GNAB gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab...Gnab! Gnab gnab gnab gnab."

"Gnab--" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab: gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab neighbor gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab--"

"Gnab, GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab 'gnab,' GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab,"

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab Gnab. Gnab Gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab? Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab. Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab, gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab,"

"Gnab," Gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab GNAB gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab--"

"--GNAB gnab,"

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"GNAB--GNAB--" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab. Gnab.

"Gnab Gnab Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab--

"...gnab gnab gnab," Gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

"Gna...gnab?" Gnab gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

"GNAB gnab, 'Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.'" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

"Gnab, GNAB gnab gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab. Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. "GNAB gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?"

Gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab."

Gnab. Gnab.

"Gnab gnab?"

Gnab. Gnab. Gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab,"

Gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab?"

Gnab. Gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab?" Gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab? Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab? Gnab?" Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, gnab, GNAB gnab--" Gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab--Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab gnab gnab--"

"Gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, Gnab! Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab-gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB. Gnab. Gnab."

"GNAB gnab gnab, Gnab. GNAB gnab, gnab. GNAB gnab--" Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB--" Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab.

"Gnab! Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab! Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab!"

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab! Gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"GNAB gnab--"

"Gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab."

"Gnab gnab gnab...?" Gnab gnab.

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab. "Gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab?"

"Gnab...gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. "GNAB...gnab gnab...gnab gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab, gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab."

"Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?"

"Gnab gnab, Gnab gnab--"

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?"

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab gnab gnab."

"Gnab. Gnab,"

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab? Gnab gnab none gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab?"

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab. GNAB gnab GNAB gnab gnab, gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab."

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab," Gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, "GNAB gnab gnab. GNAB gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, Gnab. Gnab GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab-gnab gnab gnab gnab--"

Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab--gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab--gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, GNAB gnab--" Gnab, gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"--Gnab gnab gnab gnab, GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab Gnab.

"Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab,"

"GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, GNAB gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab...gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab...gnab."

"Gnab gnab gnab gnab," Gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab." Gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab gnab gnab Gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab "gnab gnab" gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab-gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

Gnab, Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab.

"Gnab, Gnab," Gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab, gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab gnab. "GNAB gnab gnab,"

—

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[myangelhaven]

"I'm a sushi roll," Chan said in a childish voice.

Shut up 😭😭 why was that the cutest shit ever ughh I was giggling in bed reading it

No Pain, No Gain

Genre: Domestic, fluff, slight angst

Warnings: Suggestive

Request: No

Characters: Chan, Y/N

Word Count: 3k

"I," Chan groaned as he folded himself on top of his wife as soon as he stepped through the front door. "Am. Tired."

Giggling under her breath, Y/N caught her husband in her arms and hugged him tightly. He had brought in the crisp night air with him, and it lingered in smoky wisps along the threading of his clothes. Y/N kissed the side of his head as Chan continued to groan in a dramatic fashion into the crook of her neck, the sound pressing hot air to her skin.

"Long day?" Y/N hummed in question. Chan pulled away a little and Y/N slid her gaze over him, her face breaking into a smile at the dark suit hanging off of his frame. "You still look as smart as ever."

"No, I think I lost a button," Chan lifted his wrist, the cuff of his shirt slipping out from the sleeve of his blazer. He pointed to a loose string. "See?"

Taking his hand in hers, Y/N kissed his palm. "Doesn't make you any less beautiful, baby."

Chan's cheeks turned the colour of cherries as his mouth broke into a shy grin. He pulled his wife closer to him again and Y/N looped her arms around his neck, letting the man embrace her for as long as he needed to.

"Are your feet okay?" Y/N asked, patting his back.

Chan peered down at her with softened eyes. "My feet?"

"Yeah. They always hurt after a long day, don't they? And these shoes look so … uncomfortable," Y/N pointed to the polished shoes on her husband's feet. "Very classy, but very … "

"They're squishing my feet," Chan admitted with a laugh. He sniffed suddenly as Y/N deposited him down onto a small bench near the wet room, and he smiled when she crouched in front of him. "Baby, what are you doing?"

"Taking these off," Y/N replied simply. Her fingers were gentle on the buckles at the side, and Chan frowned, immediately bending down and slipping his fingers into hers.

"I can take them off myself," Chan insisted, his eyes wide.

Y/N smiled. "I know you can. But I want to."

Laughing suddenly, Chan cupped Y/N's chin in his hand. "I didn't know you had a foot fetish."

Mouth dropping open at her husband's comment, Y/N turned her face to the side and cheekily bit her husband's finger. The man yelped and retreated, leaning back against the wall as another chuckle escaped him.

"I," Y/N said pointedly as she pulled one of his shoes off. "Do not."

Chan was still chuckling when she removed the other shoe; he winced suddenly, and his face contorted with pain with the sudden release of pressure from the shoes.

"That bad, huh?" Y/N asked, gently pressing the soles of his feet with her fingertips.

The man groaned in response, scrunching his face up like a piece of paper at the feeling.

Standing up again, Y/N pushed his shoes to the side for the time being before holding her hand out to her husband. Chan looked up at her in confusion as he slipped his hand into hers, letting her pull him up with some difficulty from the bench.

"Do I have to carry you?" Y/N joked, squeezing his hand.

"No," Chan grinned, though his steps inherited a weak limp as he followed his wife. He raised an eyebrow. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the bath," Y/N said simply, making a beeline for the staircase. "And then I'm going to give you a massage."

"Ooh … " Chan was tempted. "That sounds … perfect. But aren't you tired too? I don't want to bother you baby."

Y/N rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Christopher."

Chuckling at her response, Chan kissed his wife on the cheek and smiled at her with his tired eyes. "Okay, okay. Thank you baby."

Once the couple had made it to their bathroom, Y/N immediately opened the tap. She let it run in the bath for a moment before plugging the drain, and as the hot water began to fill the tub, she poured in an assortment of different liquids and grains, each one painting the water different colours and changing the scent.

From behind her, Chan watched curiously. He was too tired to object when his wife flooded the tub with bubbles, and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he watched her. Her face was soft, and a small smile kissed her lips; she looked so happy, running a bath for him, that Chan momentarily felt the fatigue and pain run from his body like the stream of hot water in front of him as a surge of affection rose up inside his body.

Y/N altered the lighting in the room, dimming the golden glow and creating a warm atmosphere before moving towards her husband again. Chan was sitting on a small stool, and he smiled up at her when she ran his fingers through his hair. It was limp with sweat, but she didn't mind; she caressed his cheeks with her fingers before kissing his forehead, her hands trailing down to the collar of his shirt.

She gently unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it into the corner of the room. It was followed by the rest of his clothes, and once she had undressed him, Y/N helped him into the steaming bathtub.

Chan shivered as his skin hit the hot water. He inhaled sharply, his face crumpling as he sank into the tub; he seemed to be in more pain than Y/N thought, and the woman's eyes filled with worry as she watched him.

"Aren't you getting in?" Chan huffed, dropping his head back. He sat up again, surprised at the softness; he realised Y/N had hung a bath pillow over the edge, and he barely noticed his eyes filling with tears at the kind gesture as he leaned back again.

"No," Y/N hummed. "Just relax … I'm right here, okay?"

Chan nodded in response. He shut his eyes, letting the water caress his aching body. He was groaning under his breath more than he realised, and the man's forehead was creased with the agony that was flooding through him in slow, throbbing waves. He was surprised when he felt his wife's fingers in his hair again, and he opened his eyes with some difficulty to see Y/N stood behind him, a bottle of shampoo beside her.

"Close your eyes baby," Y/N caressed the man's temples, leaning down to kiss his nose. His face was upside down to her and she smiled; she could still make out the large grin on his face, and she leaned down a little further, finding his lips with hers.

He kissed her back, Chan's touch gentle as he sank lower into the water. He shut his eyes again and his breath shuddered when Y/N started to massage the shampoo into his hair, her fingertips soft against his scalp.

"Mmm … " Chan hummed. "That feels good."

"Good," Y/N pushed at his pressure points near the base of his neck, and Chan groaned a little louder than before. It made his wife laugh quietly, and she pressed at them again, the sound escaping his mouth even louder.

"I know you're laughing at me," Chan was grinning as he tipped his head forward. Y/N's fingers were smoothing over his shoulder blades, and he hissed, jumping in the water as she hit a particularly sore muscle. "That hurt."

"Sorry baby," Y/N kissed the back of his neck. "Your shoulders … they're like rocks. I have to get the knots out somehow … or they'll hurt even more in the morning.

Chan sighed. "I hate that you're right."

Giggling, Y/N went back to massaging his head. "I'll do it later. You're off the hook … for now."

"So grateful," Chan hummed, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smile again. He sighed then, relief washing through him as the water moved around him along with his body. "I missed you today."

"You did?" Y/N asked, reaching for the shower head. "Such a busy day and you still had time to miss me? I'm honoured, Bahng."

Grinning, Chan reached out an arm; water dripped down his elbow as he cheekily tickled his wife's stomach with his wet fingers. The water immediately soaked through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and Y/N sighed as her husband burst into satisfied laughter.

"Oopsies," Chan said, making his wife groan. "Looks like you'll have to take that off."

Y/N's lips twitched as she rinsed out her husband's hair. "What are you getting at?"

"You, obviously," Chan hummed, his face one of happiness.

"You can't even keep your eyes open and you want me to take my clothes off?" Y/N asked. "That's new."

Chan chuckled. "Nah, see, if you take them off I'll be able to keep my eyes open, you know?"

Scooping conditioner into her hands, Y/N began to lather it over the man's wet curls. She smoothed it over all the strands, taking her time. "Maybe later. If you behave."

"You're no fun," Chan sighed in mock defeat. He then reached out again, his hand suddenly darting towards her chest; the top half of Y/N's t-shirt stuck to her body and she tutted as the water started to turn cold. It dripped down her torso and she shivered. She realised that the only way she would stop shivering was if she took her top off, just like Chan had wanted her to.

Her t-shirt soon joined her husband's pile of clothes in the corner.

"That's better," Chan hummed. "More comfy, yeah?"

"I'll give you more comfy in a minute," Y/N muttered as she reached for the shower head again.

Chan snickered. "I don't know what that means, but I like the sound of it."

Once the water in the tub had grown tepid, Chan got out of the bath; a goofy smile glowed on his face as Y/N patted him down with a large towel, and when she wrapped it around his body, he started to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Y/N laughed. She grabbed another towel and gently pressed it to his hair before pulling him back into the bedroom.

Chan wriggled around in response; his arms were tucked beneath the towel, and his cheeks dimpled as his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm a sushi roll," Chan said in a childish voice. He continued to wriggle around on the spot as Y/N smoothed down the surface of their bed.

She couldn't help but snort with laughter at his slightly delirious behaviour. Feeling mischievous, she grabbed the end of the towel that was tucked around him and tugged at it. It immediately fell away and Chan yelped, the cool air suddenly hitting his bare skin.

"You have been de-sushied," Y/N said, tossing the towel away. "Go on, go lie on the bed."

"It's cold," Chan shivered as he dived into the bed. He began to wriggle around amongst the sheets again like a fish, and Y/N had to sit on top of him for him to stop flopping over the sheets.

"Lie still," Y/N giggled, settling herself just above his thighs. "You'll warm up in a minute."

"I'm already warm," Chan's voice was muffled by his pillow. His hair was still damp, and dark splotches bloomed over the pillow cases like flowers as the water seeped into the fabric. "You're really warm."

"Really? Even though I'm not wearing anything?" Y/N asked as she reached over her husband; her fingers curled around a bottle of body oil and she sat back up again, pulling the lid off of it.

"Yes," Chan said simply.

Smiling, Y/N leaned down. She smoothed her hands over her husband's back and kissed the nape of his neck, peppering his skin with a multitude of gentle kisses that reduced him into a pile of giggles.

"I love you," Y/N whispered against his shoulder, kissing him once more before moving back again. She poured the oil onto the man's back, the liquid dripping down his lightly tanned skin and instantly coating it in a golden sheen.

Placing the bottle down on the nightstand, Y/N rubbed her hands together before sliding them over Chan's back. The man immediately groaned and he smashed his face into his pillow, reducing the sounds. He was breathing heavily as Y/N started to apply pressure to his shoulder blades, her fingers digging into the hardness of his strained muscles, her thumbs smoothing over him in circular movements.

"I want to detach my body from my body," Chan suddenly gasped as he turned his head to the side. His face was red, and his nose scrunched up in pain as Y/N continued her sweet torture against his muscles.

Y/N giggled. "You want to what?"

Chan resisted the urge to let out a roar as she pressed against a particularly sore part of his lower back. He breathed heavily, his back rising and falling rapidly.

"Why does it hurt so bad?" Chan hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "It feels good but then it hurts. So much."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised … you fucked yourself up big time today, Chris," Y/N mused. She was being as gentle as she could; but every one of her touches seemed to drive her husband crazy, and with every passing second she felt her sympathy grow for him. "But I mean … it's better than it was twenty minutes ago."

"Only twenty minutes? Feels like twenty hours," Chan groaned, shoving his head back into the pillow.

Laughing to herself, Y/N shuffled back. She started to massage his legs, her hands cupping his thighs and sweeping upwards. Once she reached his feet, she used her thumbs to press gentle circles into his soles, smoothing her fingers against the sides of his feet and around his heels.

Chan had either grown desensitised to the pain at this point, or he had chosen to ignore it; instead the pillow beneath him was wet from his tears. As his wife kept smoothing her loving hands over his aches and pains, Chan couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man on the planet. Just seeing his wife's face alone at the end of a difficult day was enough to soothe him, but the lengths she went to in order to comfort him and make him feel better made Chan incredibly emotional. He sniffed rather loudly, and Y/N suddenly looked up, tilting her head to the side.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Y/N asked.

Before he could stop himself, Chan suddenly sat up; he grabbed for his wife and pulled her into his lap before sliding his muscular arms around her waist. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and squeezed her tightly; his skin was hot and incredibly soft against Y/N's, and she was surprised at the strength in his limbs as he hugged her.

She smiled. He must have been feeling better already.

"I love you so much," Chan whispered against her shoulder. "I really, really love you."

"Aw baby … I love you," Y/N rubbed his back with her glistening fingers. "Why are you crying?"

"Because," Chan inhaled, hard. "I don't deserve you. I really, really don't."

"Of course you do," Y/N breathed against the top of his head. She smiled, kissing his skin. "You must be more tired than I thought, getting all emotional like this."

The man laughed, his body shaking against hers as he pulled away a little. His eyes sparkled in the dim bedroom, and he nuzzled his nose against his wife's as another wave of affection took hold of him.

"Come on," Y/N whispered, her hands soft on his chest as she continued to massage his muscles. "Let's go downstairs. I bet you're hungry."

It didn't take long for the pair of them to slide into t-shirts and shorts before making their way down to the kitchen and devouring a late meal. Chan had then insisted on making hot chocolate for the both of them, and the man soon found himself sitting on the sofa with his back against his wife's torso, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"You really don't want to sleep?" Y/N asked, tucking her legs around Chan's. He shook his head, his head tucked under her chin and his fingers curled around his mug of hot chocolate.

"No. Funnily enough I think the massage woke me up," Chan grinned. "You're a good masseuse, baby."

"Really? I think at the time you'd have said something completely different," Y/N snorted, recalling the way he was thrashing around the bedsheets. She tightened her hold on him, slipping her fingers under his t-shirt. His skin was smooth from the body oil, and he was radiating enormous amounts of heat that made her shiver.

"Yeah, well, no pain, no gain, right?" Chan grinned. He gulped down the last of his drink before leaning over and setting it down onto the coffee table. The man then leaned back completely into his wife, his hands sliding under his shirt and resting over Y/N's.

"I feel so lucky," he whispered, snuggling into her. "You make me feel like the luckiest man to ever exist."

Blushing at her husband's sleepy words, Y/N dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. She could feel his chest rising and falling at a slower place, and she knew he was about to fall asleep at any moment, despite him claiming to be woken up.

"And you make me feel like the luckiest woman to ever exist," Y/N replied, burying her face into his neck. She felt her husband smile and tangle his fingers with hers with a gentle squeeze, before he promptly fell asleep.

---

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[myangelhaven]

Bruh some of the stories on my list doesn't have a link 😔 it was either me forgetting or they disappeared when I saved it. Now I gotta look through all my rec list to see if anything is missing links. Just did ot8 for now lol

[myangelhaven]

Jeongin's line please 😭😭 that was so funny

𝐏.𝐎.𝐕: 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐊𝐙 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

☆ Genre: Crack, fluff, angst

☆ Warnings: None

☆ Characters: SKZ

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[myangelhaven]

“Well, of course you say that. But you can’t see how others look at you. Does he not notice?”

Such a fluffy cute fic 🥹 I liked that

train rides

pairing: reader x felix

genre: the fluffiest fluff :)

length: 2.5k words

warnings: none

summary: Spending the day with Felix is always a blast but your feelings for him certainly give you an internal conflict. Should you risk ruining a meaningful friendship by confessing or remain in the safety of the friend-zone by keeping quiet?

a/n: wOAHHH this is probably the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written but i hope y’all like it! honestly, this took me wayyyy too long but here it finally is!! i’d like to thank my fav bbs @hyyunjinn @hyunjinh @seungchanie bc i’ve been hyping this up for a while and you had to deal with it asdfgh;;;thank you for giving me the motivation to finally finish it!! ILYYYY<333

also @straykidzz and @ultnamjin i dont think i ever mentioned my fic to you??but i love and appreciate you soooo much! (pssst we should also talk more bc ily)

“C’mon Y/N! This way,” an eager Felix pulled you by the wrist into the train station. Furrowing your brows at his enthusiasm, you looked around the nearly empty train station for a sign of anything worth enthusing over. 

“You still haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you grumbled, dragging your feet against the stained orange floor tiles. 

Keep reading

[myangelhaven]

“Last night doesn’t count. Consider me blacked out,”

WELP that was hot and cute actually. Very quick short read but I enjoyed it! I always do eheheh

「𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝙰𝚃𝙴」 · scent

➥ Established relationship — 1k (~4 min. read)

➥ Domestic sexy, Drabble

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve tension and some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Explicit sexual content

➥ His plan is to ruin you. One sense at a time. №. 1 of the five delicious snapshots from your Valentine's escapade with him.

The sea breeze sneaking into the bungalow makes the curtains dance and licks a pleasantly cold stripe up his spine. He wakes up for the second time that morning with a ticklish shiver. He listens to the waves quietly lapping at the shore below for a while, and when he finally opens his eyes, the sight of you peacefully sleeping next to him immediately puts a smile on his face.

He is the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

He’s a bit sore from the night before, but the sensation is satisfying. He is actually smugly proud of it. Your body looks like a list of damning evidence against him—cum stains, bite marks, faint bruises on your ass perfectly matching his handprint… The vivid memories of 2 a.m. suddenly flash behind his eyelids.

He throbs between his legs.

His fingers move from your chest down to your crotch, so slowly that it breaks goosebumps on your skin. His touch lingers on your pussy. His curiosity gets the best of him, and when he slides them further down, a surge of excitement gallops in his veins. You are wet.

He can feel his fangs coming out.

As he paves a path on your naked body with his kisses, something grabs his attention. He caught a whiff of this last night, but it wasn’t as strong. Now that his mind is clear and his senses are fully open, he can tell your scent is a bit sweeter than usual. He can’t fucking believe his luck. So if he wants to, he can actually…

He’s getting restless.

He dives under the comforter and takes cover between your legs like a predator patiently waiting to ambush its prey. It smells so much sweeter right at the spring itself. The headrush he gets makes his thoughts go fuzzy. He can’t act as fast as he thinks. He wants to lovingly kiss it. He wants to ferociously devour it. He wants to tease you with barely-there licks. He wants to suck you dry.

He closes his mouth on your pussy and lets his instincts take the wheel.

Your scent dissolves on his tastebuds, and you taste even sweeter on his tongue. The more he licks, the more impatient he grows. He has half a mind to climb up and fuck you awake, cumming to your half-asleep moans calling his name. His large hands squeeze your supple flesh when he excites himself, and he buries his tongue deeper into your oozing hole, the obscenely wet sounds so loud they finally awake you with the most pleasurable of sensations.

“Good morning to you, too, baby,” you uncover the sheets and sleepily smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“To getting me horny as fuck first thing in the morning,” he reaches for your hand and holds it in a tight grip.

“I thought you would be out of commission after last night,” you play with his curls, the rolls of your hips matching the languid rhythm of his tongue.

“Last night doesn’t count. Consider me blacked out,” he pulls the comforter over his head again, “Close the covers. You cum harder when it’s warm.”

The cruising speed suddenly peaks when his heavy breathing turns into tangible vibrations on your wet folds. Your content sighs become audible moans as he licks you with more pressure, quickly alternating between fast flicks and lazy swirls. He knows what it means when you squeeze his hand that hard. He latches his lips around your clit and starts sucking on it, the tip of his tongue relentlessly teasing it until you thrash with an orgasm so sharp no sound comes out of you. He decides not to be a menace this early in the morning and helps you land with a tolerable speed, reappearing through the sheets when you let out your last big exhale.

“I’ll honor your wishes to do sightseeing, but you only get today,” he gives you a messy kiss, “Then we’re locking ourselves in this room until the end of our stay. I got plans.”

The warm air he has trapped under the comforter resurfaces with him, and it carries the distinct notes of something he knows you love. You can’t help but start laughing, partially due to the high you were still under the influence of.

“Did you really leave this bed at the crack of dawn to wear perfume?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“Maybe,” he stares at your lips hungrily, “How bad do you wanna fuck me right now?”

“You just made me cum like five seconds ago.”

“You’re still not answering my question,” he drags his hands down the sides of your thighs, groping your flesh as he puts himself in your leglock, “Wanna go for a morning walk with me?”

“You’re playing dirty,” you attempt a half-hearted complaint.

“Not as dirty as you get for me when you get a whiff of this,” he offers his neck for you to kiss.

His temperature is already a million degrees, and with every wet kiss you place, his scent becomes more palpable on your nostrils, eventually invading your entire lizard brain to declare control. His low and raspy hums of contentment provoke you to hear them louder and you take a small bite from his sensitive skin.

“You and your fucking mist,” you squeeze his face between two fingers and wrap your legs around him tighter, “Screw walking. Let’s go for a run.”

「© 2025, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[myangelhaven]

I know I'm not as active on here anymore but guess what I did today, I took myself out on a date 🥰

[myangelhaven]

You seemed to almost have a glow around you when you spoke. As if the roof opened up to let moonlight pour down over your entire body.

Man that was so short 😔 I was just getting into, but I liked it! Thank you for this, I wish there was a second part or something 😭

♡Tongue in Cheek - Yang Jeongin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: CEO jeongin x fem! reader

summary: your boss is up for a big promotion. There's just one problem, he told his boss that he's married. So he asks you to be his wife for just one night. But now this cold CEO is seeing you in a whole new light.

warnings: power dynamics, tooth-aching fluff, angst, kissing, did I mention fluff????

Jeongin slid a few papers around his desk. “Something you need?” He snapped, his tone exhausted and annoyed. His patience was wearing thin lately. You had noticed immediately, the way he moved around the office like every corner and seam of his heavy armor was starting to crack. He was stressed, he was nervous. You suppose that's why you agreed to this dinner in the first place. To help him out. That was the only reason you had agreed to be his “fake wife.”

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. But Mr. Kwon’s assistant called again to confirm that you- um, that we would be attending the dinner tomorrow evening.” You kept your eyes downcast, studying every fiber of his office carpet. A deep, intimidating red color that filled the entire room like an inferno. It's as if he wanted everyone that walked into his office to know that they were walking into Hell.

“Tell her that we'll be there at eight sharp. I want you dressed nicely. Take my card and buy yourself something expensive.” Jeongin's hand stretched out to reveal a heavy platinum credit card weaved between his fingers. You took a step forward but hesitated, your mouth parting slightly. Jeongin's eyes flashed up to you, his head still hanging down. “No arguments, just do it.”

And that was that. Because if Yang Jeongin told you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

The night of the dinner was chiller than you had anticipated. The sun was going down sooner and sooner and cold air swept you up and pulled you inside of Jeongin's luxury car. It was warm inside with plush seats that hugged you better than your own mother. Was this what money could buy? You casually glanced at Jeongin's hand gripping the expensive leather of the steering wheel. He was wearing a shiny silver bracelet and a large, heavy looking ring on his middle finger. He had told you once that the ring was lucky and he would only wear it when he really, really needed it. Jeongin kept his eyes fixed on the road, focused and determined even in his driving. But soon his deep voice cut through the building tension. “Mr. Kwon is the man to impress, the man to be, the man to beat. But he is put off by the fact that I never settled down to start a family. He thinks it's abnormal for a man my age to not have someone.”

You kept your mouth closed tight. You agreed with Jeongin's boss, it was abnormal. Jeongin was young, attractive, and successful. So why hadn't he found someone? As if sensing your train of thought, he cocked his head towards you and raised an eyebrow. “It's not like I don't fuck, I just don't have time for a relationship.”

A relationship. He said that word like it was poison on his tongue. The two of you pulled into the long driveway of a sprawling manor you had only seen in magazines. The path was lined with lights and led you both to a towering front door that was painted the most intense red you had ever seen. You were starting to understand where Jeongin was getting his business inspiration. You stepped inside to see dinner already being set.

Five course meal. Five courses. There were nights when all you could afford was a cup of ramen and a few beers. This was how the other half lived. Mr. Kwon and his wife were both incredibly gorgeous. To look at them too long almost felt greedy. Mr. Kwon commented on Jeongin's cufflinks and his wife absolutely adored your dress. You found it easy to converse with her. A simple, sweet woman who meant well but was so detached from the real world that she was living in her own little fairytale. Jeongin and you had discussed a background story for how you met and what your wedding day was like in case anyone had asked. And to no one's surprise, Mrs. Kwon wanted to know every detail.

After a few glasses of champagne, you found yourself gushing about Jeongin. You spoke about his gentle demeanor when his mother or siblings call. You talked about his smell and the first time you knew you were in love with him.

Jeongin sat back in his chair and watched you. He watched you diverge from the previously discussed storyline that the two of you agreed on. He listened as you spoke honestly about your feelings and your ambitions and goals for the future. He felt a clench in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. You seemed to almost have a glow around you when you spoke. As if the roof opened up to let moonlight pour down over your entire body. And the dress you chose. Jeongin finally allowed himself a moment to admire and memorize every curve and dip of your waist and legs. He could feel his $300 slacks growing tighter by the second. Mr. Kwon stood from the table and announced that the men should adjourn to the other room for cigars and brandy. Jeongin let out a sigh of relief and quickly stood to follow the rest of the men but before he could leave you grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek. “Miss you already.” You said with a smile loud enough that the rest of the guests could hear. You gave him a quick wink before dropping his hand and returning to the dinner table.

“You got a good one there, Yang.” Mr. Kwon let out a large puff of smoke from his cigar. “Don't fuck this up. She's good for you.”

Jeongin fiddled with his own cigar, still unlit. He weaved it between his fingers. “Yes, Sir.” His mind was a million miles away. You have worked for him for three years now. He still remembers the day he hired you. The outfit you wore, the messy bun with frazzled strands of hair falling in front of your eyes. You were so nervous. But you were determined. He recognized that fire in your eyes. It was the same fire that burned inside him.

“Thank you for tonight. You were very convincing.” Jeongin had driven you back to your one bedroom apartment. You stood in the single step in front of your front door. You were actually eye-level with him now, your face just inches from his. “You're welcome. It was fun.” You confessed. You liked being a part of his world. Jeongin cleared his throat and smiled. An awkward, unsure smile that you weren't used to seeing. He gave you a polite bow and turned towards his car to leave. You felt a heaviness pull at your heart as he started to walk away. But before he got to the street he stopped. He turned on his heels to face you once again, his unsure smile now transforming into a devilish smirk. “The night isn't over. Technically, you're still my wife.” He took a few steps towards you. “Kiss me.”

The heaviness in your chest now felt like a balloon soaring high as you ran towards him without hesitation. You jumped into his arms and he held your leg with one hand and used his other arm to wrap around your waist, holding you close to him. Your lips crashed into his clumsily. Your mouths falling over each other until you slowly found a rhythm. It was the most romantic moment of your entire life and you never wanted it to stop. You kissed him over and over again. Some were slow and lingering while others were needy and impatient. You kissed him. Because if Yang Jeongin tells you to do something, then goddamn it, you better do it.

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[myangelhaven]

On my last semester of nursing....I hate it here get me out