skzstan1234

[skzstan1234]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

[skzstan1234]

"One Song, Two Hearts" – Part 1: Dissonance

The sun filtered through the windows of the campus music hall, casting soft golden lines across the polished wood floors. The classroom smelled faintly of rosin, aged paper, and espresso. You sat in the second row, notebook open, ready—until he walked in.

Jake Sim.

Black hoodie, backwards cap, headphones around his neck, and that same effortless grin like he didn’t just roll out of bed fifteen minutes late. Again.

You tried to look away. You really did. But your jaw clenched at the way he sauntered across the room, high-fiving someone, taking the seat diagonally across from you like he hadn’t completely humiliated you last semester.

One comment. That’s all it took.

“Your composition felt like it was trying too hard to be sad,” he’d said in front of the entire masterclass. “Like… I don’t know. A movie trailer for a drama that flopped.”

You’d pretended it didn’t bother you. It did.

Now, Professor Min cleared her throat. “As part of this year’s showcase, each classical composition major will be paired with a student from the production department to create a collaborative performance piece. It’s time to bridge the gap between tradition and innovation.”

You blinked.

No. No no no.

Professor Min started reading off pairs, and every name made your stomach tighten. When she got to yours, you braced for it.

“Y/N… you’ll be working with Jake Sim.”

You didn’t move.

Jake turned to look at you.

He blinked once, then tilted his head, grinning like the smug little devil he was.

You raised a brow. “Is this a joke?”

Professor Min didn’t even look up from the list. “Nope. See you two at your first collab session Monday.”

Jake slid into the chair next to you and leaned in, voice just loud enough for you to hear.

“So… guess I’m your worst nightmare and your musical soulmate.”

You turned your head slowly, smiled sweetly, and replied:

“More like my creative punishment.”

Jake just laughed. “Can’t wait, sunshine.”

"One Song, Two Hearts" – Part 2: Practice Makes Tension

The practice room was already unlocked when you arrived, which was strange, because you were never late.

You walked in cautiously, your tote bag sliding down your shoulder, and there he was.

Jake.

Sitting at the keyboard, hoodie sleeves pushed up, headphones half-on as he plucked at a MIDI controller and looped a beat with ease.

It was good, too. Ugh. You hated that it was good.

He looked up when you closed the door, grinning like he’d just won something.

“Hey, sunshine.”

You dropped your bag with a thud. “Don’t call me that.”

He clicked something on his laptop. “What should I call you, then? Y/N? Ice Queen of the Strings?”

You shot him a look. “How about nothing until you have a melody that doesn’t sound like a TikTok ad?”

Jake feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Damn. You wound me.”

You crossed the room, opened your notebook, and ignored the way his scent—clean laundry and cinnamon coffee—was weirdly... comforting.

“So, what’s your plan?” you asked, flipping pages.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “My plan? I figured you’d come in with a full-blown sonata and a color-coded rehearsal schedule.”

“Funny. But no.” You tapped your pen. “This is a collaboration. Which means we need a sound that feels like both of us. A hybrid.”

Jake leaned forward, arms on his knees. “What’s your sound?”

You hesitated. “Raw. Introspective. Vulnerable.”

He smirked. “Cute. Mine’s loud. Messy. Honest.”

You glanced at him, just for a second too long.

Then, he played a few chords—warm, unexpected, melancholy—and without meaning to, you whispered:

“…Play that again.”

He did. Slower this time.

You sat beside him. Close enough to feel the warmth of his arm. Close enough to hate how natural it felt.

You lifted your violin from the case, positioned it under your chin, and played over his chords.

The sound hit the room like a conversation—gentle, curious, electric.

You ended the run and let the silence hang.

Jake looked at you, eyes soft for the first time.

“See?” he said quietly. “We don’t sound so bad together.”

You met his gaze.

And for a single breath, you didn’t hate him at all.

"One Song, Two Hearts" – Part 3: Reverb

It had been three late-night practice sessions since you and Jake found that first, fragile harmony. Three nights of music that didn’t feel like war.

And now, you hated to admit it… you almost looked forward to seeing him.

Almost.

Tonight, the room was already dim when you arrived—he’d lit one of those stupid little battery-powered candles and placed it on the amp.

“Trying to set the mood?” you asked, raising a brow.

Jake looked up from his laptop, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Helps the vibe. Don't hate.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled your violin out. “Whatever. Did you finish the bridge?”

“Mostly.” He tapped the keys, and a haunting melody filled the room—your melody, but layered with a pulsing beat and synths so subtle they felt like breath.

You blinked. “That’s… actually really good.”

Jake looked smug. “Told you. I’m a genius.”

You shoved his shoulder, but he caught your wrist mid-push and held it there, just for a beat too long. His skin was warm. His grip gentle.

“You’re not that annoying when you’re focused,” you muttered, pulling back.

He chuckled softly. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

You sat beside him again, a little closer this time, and started to play your part over the new section. He watched you—more than he should have.

And then the door creaked open.

A girl stepped in. Pretty. Confident. Dressed like she belonged in a performance video. She smiled when she saw Jake.

“Jake! You weren’t answering your phone.”

Your bow faltered for the first time all night.

He stood up, surprised. “Oh—uh, hey, Mina. I’m in the middle of—”

She glanced at you, then back at him. “Is this your collab partner?”

You tried to smile. Failed. “Hi.”

Mina laughed. “You didn’t say she was so serious-looking.” She turned to Jake. “You coming to the mixer?”

Jake hesitated, eyes flicking to you, then back to her.

You turned away, pretending to tune your strings.

“Nah,” he said finally. “Got work to do.”

Mina gave a small pout but waved. “Okay, your loss.”

As soon as the door closed again, you didn’t say a word.

Jake sat back down slowly. “You okay?”

You shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re playing sharp.”

You dropped your bow with a loud clack.

“I’m not sharp. You’re distracting.”

He blinked. “...How am I distracting?”

You stood. “Forget it. This was a bad idea.”

Jake stood too. “Y/N, wait.”

You turned, ready to snap back.

But instead—he stepped in close. Closer than he should. Close enough to feel the heat between you, the silence begging to be broken.

“You’re not just a partner,” he said, voice low. “You know that, right?”

You didn’t reply.

You couldn’t.

He leaned in just a little more—close enough that his breath hit your lips—

But didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he whispered, “Next time… don’t look at me like that unless you mean it.”

And just like that, he was gone.

"One Song, Two Hearts" – Part 4: Crescendo

You didn’t see Jake for two days.

No texts. No practice. No explanation.

You told yourself you didn’t care.

You lied.

By the third night, you were pacing the practice room alone, violin in hand, frustration prickling under your skin. The melody felt hollow without the chords he built beneath it. Everything felt hollow.

Just as you were about to leave—

The door opened.

Jake stepped in, hair messy, eyes tired, wearing a black tee and guilt like it was stitched into his sleeves.

“I shouldn’t have walked out,” he said quietly.

You turned away. “I thought we were collaborating. Not playing emotional chicken.”

He sighed, setting down his bag. “I needed space.”

“From what? Me?”

Jake didn’t answer right away.

Then:

“From wanting you.”

Your heart tripped.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “From thinking about you every time I hear a violin. From staring at your mouth when you talk. From wondering what you taste like.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body sparking.

He kept going, voice low.

“You drive me insane. You argue with me, challenge me, call me out—and it makes me want you more.”

You dropped your violin onto the chair, heart pounding.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered.

Jake stepped into your space, hands hovering at your waist, giving you a chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

“I never hated you,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to handle you.”

And then—

He kissed you.

It was soft at first, cautious—like a question he was scared to ask.

But the moment you kissed him back, it turned into an answer.

Hands found skin. Backs hit walls. Every snide comment, every burning glance, every unspoken word came undone in that kiss.

Clothes hit the floor in between gasped breaths and whispered names.

Jake laid you back gently on the padded piano bench, lips trailing down your throat as your fingers tangled in his shirt.

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your skin.

You arched into him, breathless.

“Shut up, Jake.”

He grinned. “Make me.”

You did.

"One Song, Two Hearts" – Part 5: Encore

The rehearsal room was dark except for the low golden glow of the candle on the amp.

Your legs were still tangled with Jake’s on the narrow piano bench, your shirt halfway on, his hoodie off and draped over your lap like a blanket. His hand lazily traced circles on your thigh as he kissed down your jaw.

You hadn’t meant to go this far.

But once the walls came down, there was no stopping the crash.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, lips ghosting your collarbone.

You sighed, dazed. “Only a little.”

Jake chuckled against your skin. “Then I’m not trying hard enough.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before he dipped lower, pulling you back gently, until your spine arched against the bench. His fingers were slow, teasing, brushing between your thighs like he had all the time in the world.

Your breath hitched. “Jake—”

“Mhm?”

“This is a music room.”

Jake looked up with a wicked grin. “Then let me make you sing.”

And oh—you did.

His mouth replaced his fingers and you bit your lip hard enough to bruise, one hand clutching his hair, the other braced against the wall. He took his time, learned every sound you made, every twitch of your hips like a secret he was dying to memorize.

When he finally came up, lips glistening, he kissed your stomach, your ribs, your lips—like you were his favorite song, and he was never done playing it.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered as he pulled you into his lap, settling you over the thick press of him.

He smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

He filled you slow, deliberate, eyes locked with yours. And for a moment, the world shrank down to nothing but this—

You.

Him.

And the beat of two hearts, finally in sync.

You moved together like a duet—back and forth, soft moans caught between kisses, words like “so good” and “don’t stop” gasped into each other's mouths.

When you both shattered, it was quiet and intense—no theatrics, just the raw intimacy of something earned.

And afterward, in the soft silence, you laid across his chest while he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Still think we’re a bad match?” he asked.

You smiled against his skin. “Only academically.”

He kissed your forehead, arms tightening around you.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

[skzstan1234]

Just posted my first story on here, it's a chanmin fluff lowk kinda scared(*ﾟ∀ﾟ人ﾟ∀ﾟ*)♪

[skzstan1234]

Sleep hyung- chanmin fluff

The studio was dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of Chan’s computer monitor. The screen blinked with layers of unfinished tracks, but his eyes had stopped focusing an hour ago. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, unmoving, his head starting to droop.

Seungmin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching silently for a moment. He’d seen this movie before—Chan pouring every last drop of energy into a song, forgetting about sleep, food, himself.

“Hyung,” Seungmin called gently.

Chan flinched slightly, blinking up at him like a caught child. “Ah… Seungminie. I was just—”

“—Working,” Seungmin finished with a sigh, already stepping into the room. “Yeah. I know.”

He placed a warm mug of chamomile tea next to Chan’s mouse. “Drink. And then you’re getting up.”

Chan glanced at it, then at him, sheepishly. “You didn’t have to…”

“I always have to. Because you never stop.”

His voice wasn’t annoyed—it was soft, fond, like he was used to this dance.

Chan finally took a sip, letting the warmth calm him. “Thank you.”

Seungmin stood behind him and leaned down, wrapping his arms loosely around Chan’s shoulders. “Just want you to take care of yourself, hyung. I’ll carry you to bed if I have to.”

Chan let out a breathy laugh, head leaning back slightly against Seungmin’s chest. “You’re too good to me.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

He smiled into Seungmin’s arm, the pressure of deadlines and stress fading for a moment. Just warm tea, warm arms, and the one person who always noticed when he needed

Chan didn’t even protest when Seungmin gently pulled him from the desk. He just let himself be led down the hallway, fingers still loosely tangled with Seungmin’s.

“I can walk, you know,” Chan muttered with a half-smile as he got tugged into the bedroom.

Seungmin looked over his shoulder, smirking. “Sure. But if I let go, you might float back to the studio like a ghost. Can’t risk it.”

Chan chuckled softly. “You really think I’m that obsessed?”

“I know you are.”

Seungmin flicked the bedside lamp on low and tossed Chan a clean hoodie. Chan changed quickly, then flopped onto the bed like a tired puppy. Seungmin joined him, slipping under the covers, the warmth instantly wrapping around them both.

For a moment, they just lay there in comfortable silence, the sound of the rain tapping gently on the windows.

Then—

“You’re staring,” Seungmin murmured, eyes still closed.

“I’m admiring,” Chan corrected, voice sleepy.

Seungmin peeked one eye open. “Gross.”

Chan laughed. “You like it.”

“...Yeah. I do.”

Chan turned to face him, their noses barely inches apart now. “Thanks for always taking care of me, Min.”

Seungmin opened his eyes fully, gaze soft and a little shy. “You take care of all of us. Someone’s gotta return the favor.”

Chan reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Seungmin’s ear. “You’re really special to me.”

“You’re really sleepy,” Seungmin whispered, cheeks faintly pink.

“Also true,” Chan yawned.

Seungmin pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Then shut up and sleep, hyung.”

Chan melted into him with a grin, burying his face in Seungmin’s neck. “You’re warm…”

“You’re clingy.”

“And you love it.”

“...Maybe.”

And with that, they drifted off—heartbeats in sync, wrapped up in a quiet world made just for two.