#hwang Hyunjin

[hyuninxn]

[hyunjining]

[Hyunjin’s idea of what an angel is like] 🪽

[leriexoxo]

Wrong Place, Right Time

Bff! Hyunjin x Fem reader

Tags: friends to lovers, angst, smut, possessive best friend, sexual awakening, forbidden tension, oral (f, m receiving), praise kink, dom!hyunjin, corruption kink, emotional sex, jealousy, complicated love, voyeurism.

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: You’ve known Hyunjin your whole life—tall, infuriating, and stupidly beautiful. He’s your best friend, your biggest headache, and the reason no guy ever stuck around. Because Hyunjin is everywhere. Too involved. Too protective. Too everything. And yet… never yours. He’s a player. A heartbreaker. The kind of guy who gets head at his own house parties while you crash on the couch downstairs. He doesn’t see you like that. Not you. You’ve always been the safe one. The exception.

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

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Hyunjin had always said you didn’t belong at his parties.

He said it with a grin, every single time—one hand ruffling your hair, the other probably still smelling like some girl’s perfume. “You? No way. Too soft. You’d cry by midnight.”

You’d roll your eyes, toss a pillow at his stupidly perfect face, and mutter something like “Don’t flatter yourself” even though you both knew he always would.

You’d been best friends since before he got hot. Before the cheekbones sharpened and the jawline could cut glass. Before girls started whispering in class and giggling when he walked by. And definitely before Hyunjin turned into the kind of guy who could get away with murder as long as he looked good doing it.

Your friendship had survived everything—school, distance, jealousy, college. But it came with rules. Unspoken ones.

Rule one: Hyunjin could sleep with whoever he wanted, and you couldn’t say anything.

Rule two: You could date, theoretically—but not really. No guy ever stuck around long enough to matter.

Rule three: You didn’t ask about what happened at his parties, and he never let you come.

It worked. Sort of.

—

You were on his bed. Technically. You were half-sprawled on his floor, legs tangled in a blanket, your laptop propped against his dresser while Hyunjin sat cross-legged above you, lazily scrolling through TikToks with the volume off.

“Are you even watching this?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He looked down at you, hair a mess from where he’d flopped back earlier, shirt hanging off one shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered to exist properly.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then stop judging my taste.”

“I’m not judging,” he said. “I’m just silently suffering.”

You threw a rolled-up sock at his face. He caught it without looking. Showoff.

“Anyway,” you said, trying to focus, “I was thinking I could come stay over this weekend, so I’m thinking Friday night. Unless you’ve got some raging orgy planned.”

Hyunjin snorted. “You make it sound so scandalous.”

“Don’t you throw parties every Friday?”

“I throw gatherings.”

“With a body count.”

He didn’t even pretend to look ashamed. Just shrugged and leaned back on his elbows, stomach peeking through his shirt where it rode up.

You looked away. Not because you were embarrassed—just… used to it. That was the thing about Hyunjin. He was beautiful in a way you were supposed to stop noticing if you were around him long enough. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“You’re not invited,” he said casually.

“Wow.”

“It’s not an insult,” he added quickly. “You just… wouldn’t like it. It gets intense.”

“I’m not a child, Hyunjin.”

He gave you a look that said he begged to differ.

“No offense, but the last time we went to a club, you ended up crying in the corner because some guy slapped your ass.”

“That was a valid response.”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Just proving my point.”

You glared at him, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. It was always like this with you two—him being overbearing, you pretending not to care. A push and pull that never went anywhere.

Except lately… it felt like it was going somewhere. Somewhere new. Somewhere you weren’t sure you wanted to go.

Like last week, when he came over after hooking up with someone new. He never told you names—just vague details and smirks—but that night he was weirdly quiet. He sat next to you on the couch, warm and flushed, smelling like sex and vanilla.

You’d tried not to notice. Tried not to care that his hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken before coming over.

You told yourself he was just Hyunjin. And you were just you. The best friend. The safe one.

That night, when you got back to your dorm, you couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth. Not because you wanted it—just… curiosity. It had looked swollen. Like someone had kissed him hard. Bitten him.

You’d closed your laptop, turned off the light, and lay there in the dark, wondering what it would feel like to be wanted like that. Even just once.

Not by him, of course. Just… in general.

—

That day on campus, you didn’t mean to get annoyed with him.

It was just a look. One single look across the quad, Hyunjin sprawled on the grass next to some girl whose laugh carried all the way across campus. She had her hand on his chest and her legs crossed just a little too tight, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He was leaning into it, eyes half-lidded, lips tilted in that lazy, infuriating smirk that you’d seen way too many girls fall for.

He caught your eye just as you passed. And he winked.

Not a cute wink either. A you know exactly what I’m about to do to her wink. You hated that you understood it. Hated that it made your stomach twist the way it did. You weren’t jealous. You weren’t.

You just… wanted him to stop looking at you like you were still twelve years old and needed babysitting every time you wore lipstick.

So that night when he texted you as usual, you didn’t text him back.

You were brushing your teeth the next morning when he let himself into your dorm.

“I brought you coffee,” he announced like some kind of peace offering.

You rinsed, spat, and didn’t bother looking at him. “Why?”

He frowned. “Because you didn’t answer last night.”

You shrugged, too tired to fake cheer. “I was busy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With what? You weren’t at the library. I checked.”

“You checked?”

“Yeah, I was in the area.”

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?”

“Showing up. Keeping tabs. Acting like you own me.”

Hyunjin looked genuinely caught off guard. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

“I’m not a kid, Hyunjin.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” you snapped. “Because sometimes it feels like you only see me as Minho’s little sister. Or that friend you have to protect. And maybe I’m just tired of that.”

He was quiet for a second, fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup.

“You don’t want me to look out for you anymore?”

“No,” you said, voice quieter. “I just want to make my own choices. Even if they’re messy.”

He took a step closer, voice low now too. “Some messes aren’t worth it.”

You hated how your heart skipped at that. How close he was. How serious he looked.

“Maybe,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. “But maybe it’s not your call to make.”

⸻

By Thursday, you’d made your decision.

You were going to his party.

He hadn’t invited you—of course he hadn’t—but you’d heard it through your mutuals. Same time, same house, same rules: first floor for fun, second floor off-limits unless you were invited.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what happened upstairs.

You weren’t going to go up there. You weren’t going to look for him. You were just going to be there. Exist in his world for once without asking permission.

So you got dressed in something a little riskier than usual—tight black jeans, a halter top that made you feel powerful, mascara that made your lashes look dangerous. You even curled your hair. When you looked in the mirror, you didn’t see his best friend.

You saw a girl he didn’t know how to look at yet.

*

The house was packed when you arrived.

Music throbbed through the floorboards, bass shaking your bones as you pushed through the crowd. Bodies swayed, drinks sloshed, someone bumped into you hard and muttered an apology. You smiled, told yourself this was what freedom felt like.

You kept your head high as you walked through the haze of perfume and weed and laughter. Eyes followed you. Some familiar, some not. You ignored them.

You didn’t see Hyunjin at first. Just his world. The girls in too-short dresses clinging to the staircase banister, the guys on the couch shouting at a drinking game. You wondered which of them he’d kissed already. Which ones he would kiss tonight.

You were halfway through your second drink when you finally saw him—on the far side of the room, lounging back in a chair like a king at his own damn court. His legs spread, arm draped over the back of the couch, surrounded by people but still so obviously bored.

Until he saw you.

His eyes widened, then narrowed. You couldn’t hear him over the music, but his mouth formed your name.

You gave him a smile. Sweet. Defiant. And then you turned away.

He found you fifteen minutes later near the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice tight, one hand curling around your arm.

“Enjoying myself,” you replied coolly.

“I told you not to come.”

“No, you said I wasn’t invited. That’s different.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe I don’t care.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Or something deeper. You couldn’t tell. You didn’t care.

“Go home,” he said quietly. Too quiet.

“No.”

“Why are you being like this?”

You leaned in, lips almost brushing his ear. “Why are you always trying to stop me from living?”

You pulled back, held his gaze for one long moment, then disappeared back into the crowd before he could stop you.

You didn’t see him again after that.

Not downstairs.

Not until much later. But then, you hadn’t meant to go upstairs.

The second floor was off-limits during parties, just like he always said—laced with invisible caution tape, a no-man’s land reserved for secrets and shadows and things you weren’t supposed to know about. But maybe it was the alcohol making you bold. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was something darker. Something bitter blooming in your chest since the moment Hyunjin pulled you aside and told you to leave.

You hadn’t left.

And now you were here—bare feet whispering over the hardwood, hand trailing lightly along the banister as the sounds of the party dulled below. The upstairs hallway smelled different. Not like beer and cologne, but something warmer. Skin. Sweat. A hint of vanilla, musk, and something faintly feminine—lip gloss and moans pressed into pillows.

The light from the bathroom spilled into the hallway.

You turned toward it—and then the world shifted.

Hyunjin stood there.

Leaning back against the bathroom wall, one hand planted flat beside him, the other tangled in the hair of the girl on her knees.

You froze mid-step.

Your breath caught and stayed there, suspended in your throat like it refused to move past what your eyes were seeing.

His head was tilted down, gaze heavy-lidded, mouth parted just enough to make you think he’d been groaning a second ago. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d been at this for a while—and was far from done.

The girl knelt between his legs, shoulders squared, hands resting against his thighs for balance as she bobbed steadily, deliberately.

Your eyes dropped—without permission, without thought—and the breath you’d been holding turned to ash in your lungs.

Oh my god.

Hyunjin’s dick—long, thick, flushed dark and wet near the head—was disappearing into her throat like she’d done it before. Like she knew exactly how to take it, how to breathe through her nose and relax her jaw, how to slide down slow and deep until her chin met his pelvis.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, your ears, your fingertips—like your whole body was blushing. Embarrassment, shock, something else entirely. You couldn’t look away. Your brain told you to. Your legs twitched like they were trying to backpedal. But your eyes stayed locked.

He looked up. Caught you. And didn’t stop.

No—he smirked.

It was slow. Sinful. Eyes half-lidded, arrogant and lazy, like he’d expected you to show up. Like this was a show and you were the audience of one.

His grip tightened in her hair, and she let out a choked whimper around him that made his cock twitch—you saw it. Felt it in your spine like it had happened to you. Then he pushed her down harder, deeper, until her lips met his base again and her throat made a sound that was part gag, part desperate moan.

He was so hard.

The lighting from the hallway caught on the flushed veins of his shaft as it reappeared with every pull back, wet and gleaming, before vanishing again inside her. It was hypnotic—the slow, slick drag of him sliding in and out of her mouth, her spit stringing between his skin and her lips every time he pulled out too far.

Your thighs pressed together. Automatically. Shamefully. There was no conscious thought behind it—just a tight, startled squeeze like your body had short-circuited under the weight of something sharp and unspoken.

He knew what he was doing. Knew you were there.

And that’s what ruined you.

It wasn’t just the act. It wasn’t the dick. It wasn’t even the girl, who was so gone on him she hadn’t noticed you yet. It was the look in his eyes. Like he was using you—your shock, your presence—to push himself deeper into pleasure. Like your gaze turned him on.

His smirk curled darker.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t stop.

And for one dizzy, breathless second, you thought he might even come like this—with you watching.

You stumbled back, breath hitching as your shoulder hit the hallway wall. The jolt snapped something inside you. Like surfacing from a dream.

You turned around fast and fled, nearly tripping over yourself as the sound of her mouth followed you—slick and obscene and real.

You didn’t stop until you were back downstairs, heart pounding, hands trembling, the crowd a blur of noise and color you couldn’t hear over the blood in your ears.

You needed air.

You needed answers.

But more than anything—You needed to understand what the fuck just happened to you.

He came after you.

You didn’t see him. But he did.

Just as you shoved through the front door of the house, your heart in your throat and the image of his dick still seared behind your eyes, Hyunjin’s hand released from her hair. He blinked—once, twice—like waking from a trance, like suddenly the oxygen had returned to the room and he remembered who was watching. What he’d just done.

He pushed the girl off him with a muttered curse, barely registering her dazed protest, and stumbled into the hallway, half-zipped, eyes scanning wildly for you.

He was too late.

You were already peeling out of the driveway.

He barely caught the flash of your taillights vanishing into the dark, headlights bouncing over gravel as your car sped down the road. No chance to call out. No way to stop you.

You were gone.

⸻

Your hands clenched the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white. The streets blurred past your windows in long, lonely streaks of light. You weren’t thinking about how fast you were going. Or whether it was safe. Or even why your throat was tight with something you couldn’t name.

You were thinking about him.

That fucking look in his eyes.

The way he stared straight through you while that girl sucked him off like she was born for it. The way his hips shifted forward ever so slightly, deeper, like he liked knowing you were watching. Like you being there was part of it.

The worst part?

It worked.

Your thighs hadn’t stopped clenching since.

You went straight to your dorm, threw the keys onto your desk with a clatter, and shut the door behind you like you were sealing something in. You weren’t even sure you’d locked it.

You leaned back against it, breathing hard.

Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

And wet between the legs in a way that felt wrong.

You sank to the floor without meaning to, knees folding under you like they couldn’t hold up your shame.

What was wrong with you?

You’d seen Hyunjin with girls before. Had heard the stories. Had walked in on his hookups before—once in his car, once in the hallway at some shitty house party where a girl’s lipstick smeared across his neck like war paint. You always rolled your eyes. Always scoffed.

You never felt this.

Never felt that cold flash of shock, followed by the heat creeping up your neck, then down, coiling in your stomach like hunger.

Because tonight… you saw everything.

His dick.

His face.

The way he controlled her—used her—and the way she let him. Willingly. Eagerly.

The sounds. The slick, wet rhythm. The twitch of his abs. The sharp jut of his hips. Her throat flexing to take him.

And his fucking smirk.

Like it wasn’t a blowjob. Like it was a performance. Like he was testing you.

You pressed your palms to your burning cheeks.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to rewind the night and punch him in the face.

You wanted to— Your hips shifted without you realizing. A slow, involuntary grind against the heel of your foot.

Your breath caught.

No. No, no, no, no.

But your body didn’t listen.

Your thighs squeezed, chasing the ghost of friction. Your stomach fluttered with shame and heat and the kind of arousal that came from places you’d never touched before—not like this. Not about him.

Not about your best friend.

Not about Hyunjin.

You pushed up from the floor with a groan, trying to shake it off. Walk it out. Breathe.

You stumbled to the mirror above your desk and froze.

Your reflection looked wrecked.

Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Hair wild from the wind and your trembling hands. You looked like someone who’d been touched—even though no one had laid a hand on you all night.

No one except your own thoughts.

And his eyes.

You hated him.

You hated that you didn’t.

You hated how your body was still humming from the sight of him.

You hated how wet you felt under your jeans.

And most of all, you hated how you knew—deep in the pit of your stomach—that something inside you had changed.

This wasn’t something you could forget.

You’d seen Hyunjin before.

But tonight… He’d let you see him.

And now there was no going back.

—

You ignored his texts.

Left the first two unread. Opened the third and fourth without responding. Then stopped opening them altogether.

He called you that night—twice.

You stared at his name lighting up your screen like it might burn through your retinas. You didn’t pick up. Couldn’t. Just lay in your bed, curled on your side with your phone face-down and your mind running in exhausting, endless circles.

You told yourself it was fine.

It was one mistake.

You’d both move on.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

And neither did he.

The next morning, you got up early on purpose.

You knew your routine would be off. It didn’t matter. Anything to avoid seeing him on campus, or worse—having him catch you off guard and look at you again the way he had the night before.

Not during. After.

Not like Hyunjin.

Like someone else. Someone who saw you differently now. Who made you see him differently too.

You dodged the usual lunch spot, skipped your shared class by faking a stomach ache, ignored the texts that were now showing frustration between the lines.

Hyunjin [9:43 AM]

You okay?

Hyunjin [11:02 AM]

Seriously, are you mad? Just fucking talk to me.

Hyunjin [1:14 PM]

Don’t do this. Please.

You hated him for making you feel like this.

But more than that—you hated yourself for how much you kept replaying it. Over and over, like some sick loop.

You avoided him all week.

By Friday, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d give up.

Until the knock came.

It was hard and sharp—three impatient raps at your dorm door like he was ready to break it down if you didn’t answer.

You froze mid-bite of your cereal, spoon dangling in the air.

Knock knock knock.

Your chest tightened.

You didn’t even have to look through the peephole. You knew that knock. The same rhythm he used every time he showed up uninvited, unannounced, acting like he owned your space—because for years, he kind of did.

Knock. Knock.

Then, “Open the door.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“Y/N.”

You gripped the counter. “Go away, Hyunjin.”

“No.” The word came through low, controlled, but something about it carried weight. You heard the restraint in it. The kind of self-control that didn’t last long on him. “We’re not doing this. Open the fucking door.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You pressed your forehead against the cold fridge. Closed your eyes. Prayed he’d leave.

He didn’t.

“Seriously?” he said, tone hardening. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all week. And you’ve been pretending like I don’t exist. You won’t text me back. You dodge me on campus. Are you kidding?”

You stepped forward quietly, still not unlocking it. “I just need space.”

“You don’t get space. Not like this.”

Your chest flared with anger. “Yes, I do. You don’t get to decide—”

“I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Silence.

He hadn’t raised his voice. But those words hit you in the gut, sucked the breath right out of your lungs.

You stared at the door like it might crack and show you his face.

“You shouldn’t have been up there,” he said, more gently now. “But I shouldn’t have—fuck—I didn’t think.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“I know what you saw. I know how it looked. And I know it was fucked up. I’m not making excuses, but I need you to look at me and let me explain. Not just hide like I’m a fucking stranger.”

You hesitated.

Because he wasn’t a stranger.

He was Hyunjin.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

That you couldn’t look him in the eye now without remembering that smirk. That cock. That twitch of his hips while she swallowed around him.

And worst of all—how wet it made you.

You hated yourself for it.

Your hand moved before you decided anything, fingers fumbling at the lock.

It clicked open.

And then you stepped back.

Hyunjin stood there, hair pulled back in a loose bun, hoodie thrown over his shoulders like he hadn’t even dressed properly—just rushed over here, raw and unfiltered and wide-eyed.

He looked at you.

And for once, he didn’t smile.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Talk to me.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Try.”

You shook your head. “I’m embarrassed.”

He stepped closer. “Why?”

You glanced up at him. “You know why.”

A long silence stretched between you.

And then, slowly—he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

He didn’t come closer.

Not at first.

He just stood beside your door, eyes on you like you were something breakable, like if he moved too fast he’d make this worse.

You hated that. Hated how careful he was suddenly being with you.

Like you were the one who needed gentle handling after he—

You exhaled sharply and walked toward your desk, needing distance, needing to not smell his hoodie or feel the way your skin buzzed with awareness now that he was in your space.

Hyunjin’s voice came from behind you. Low. Almost cautious.

“You’ve never ignored me before.”

Your back stayed to him. “That was before I saw your dick halfway down someone’s throat, Hyune.”

He flinched at your voice. At the sharp edge of it.

But you weren’t sorry.

You were embarrassed. Humiliated. Turned on.

And you were angry that he didn’t get it.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen like that,” he said again, quieter this time. “It was just… one of those nights.”

“One of those nights,” you echoed flatly, turning to look at him now, arms crossed. “Where you get sucked off by some random girl in the hallway with the door open?”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t know the door was open.”

“But you knew I was there.”

A pause.

You didn’t miss the way he shifted.

The flicker in his expression.

“I didn’t mean to keep going,” he said. “I just—fuck—I looked up and you were standing there, and it was like—my brain short-circuited. I wasn’t even in my body.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You smirked at me.”

He looked away. You wanted to punch him. Or kiss him. Or something.

Instead, you laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know what that was. You’ve never even looked at me like that. Like I was someone who could be affected by you. Like I was a girl at one of your parties instead of just… me.”

He stepped forward.

Slow. Controlled. Deliberate.

“I didn’t think you’d ever look at me like that either,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“At the top of the stairs,” he said softly. “You looked like I’d ripped something out of you. Like you didn’t know whether to run or come closer.”

Your lips parted.

You forgot how to breathe.

“I’ve never seen that look on your face,” he continued, stepping closer again, voice low and burning. “And it fucked with my head. I’m not gonna lie to you.”

You couldn’t speak.

Your heart was thudding so loud it drowned everything else out.

“Say something,” he said.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered.

“Then say the truth.”

You swallowed. “The truth is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

His breath hitched.

“And I hate that,” you added quickly. “I hate how it made me feel. I hate how it changed everything. I don’t want this to change things.”

“But it already did,” he said. “Didn’t it?”

Silence.

Your face felt like it was on fire. Your palms were sweating. You couldn’t even look at him now, because if you did, you might fold.

“I don’t want to be just another girl in your rotation, Hyunjin,” you said finally. “I’m not built for that.”

He stepped right into your space now, so close you had to look up at him.

His voice was softer now, almost pained. “You think I’d let you be just another girl?”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t you?”

He stared at you.

Then, quietly—honestly—“No.”

Your breath caught.

“Then why didn’t you stop when you saw me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his eyes flicked over your face like he was memorizing it.

And when he spoke again, his voice was rough and full of something you didn’t want to name yet.

“Because when I saw you standing there, I got hard in a different way.”

You felt the floor tilt.

“What?”

“I’ve had a number girls on their knees for me,” he said, unapologetic now. “But none of them ever made me feel like you standing there did.”

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t think.

You could only feel—heat crawling under your skin, confusion knotting in your throat, arousal twisting low in your stomach.

And guilt. So much fucking guilt.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered.

“So then why,” he said, stepping even closer, “can’t I stop thinking about what it would feel like to see you on your knees instead?”

His words echoed in the air between you like something pulled from a fever dream.

You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at him—Hyunjin—your best friend—like you didn’t recognize him anymore. Like you did, but through new eyes. Through the haze of something thick and hot and wrong.

Your voice came out barely audible.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Tell me you don’t think about it.”

You wanted to. You should’ve.

But you didn’t. Instead, your body betrayed you—tipping forward, breath hitching, skin burning under his stare.

“I don’t,” you lied.

His jaw flexed. “Bullshit.”

And then something cracked wide open between you.

You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was both of you.

But suddenly his hand was in your hair, and your mouth was crashing into his, and the taste of him hit you like a punch to the lungs—mint and something darker, something that shouldn’t have been familiar but was.

He kissed like he wanted to imprint on you.

No hesitation. No apology. No space for thinking.

Just tongue and teeth and years of silence breaking all at once.

You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed it—tilting his head, chasing the sound, backing you into the wall like gravity had flipped and he needed your body to stay standing.

“Fuck,” he breathed, lips dragging down your jaw, rough and open-mouthed. “Fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing to me—”

“Hyunjin—” you tried, but it was breathless, weak.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wild. “You think I haven’t imagined this? Every fucking day since that night—”

Your chest heaved.

His hand slid down, gripping your hip, pulling you against him—and fuck, he was hard.

So hard it made you dizzy. So hard you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore either.

“Hyunjin—”

But he kissed you again before you could say anything else, and this time it was desperate. Less control. Less distance. Just the hot, undeniable press of his body against yours and the slick, obscene sound of your mouths meeting again and again.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, and he groaned into you like he’d been waiting years for this.

Like maybe he had.

Your head was spinning.

You weren’t supposed to want this.

You weren’t supposed to love the taste of him, the feel of his hand gripping your ass like he owned it, the low, broken sound he made when your thighs shifted and brushed where he was hard for you.

This was Hyunjin.

Your best friend.

The one who used to braid your hair when you were sick. The one who punched a guy in eleventh grade for calling you “easy.” The one who never looked at you like a girl.

But now?

Now he was looking at you like a man who’d been starving for too long.

And you were letting him.

You were kissing him back.

“Tell me to stop,” he panted against your lips. “Right now. Just say the word.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

He groaned—pained, like he wanted to be the better person.

But neither of you moved.

Because you couldn’t.

Because your body wanted this even if your mind was screaming.

And he could feel it in the way your hips tilted against his.

The way your lips parted for him again, again, when his tongue brushed yours.

So when he kissed you the third time, it was slower.

Angrier.

Like he was mad you let him do this. Mad at himself for needing it.

And when he finally broke away—breathing hard, eyes searching yours like he might come undone—you said the first honest thing of the night.

“I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

—-

It had been days since the kiss. Days since you both crossed a line and refused to talk about it. Days since every room you walked into with him felt like it was seconds away from combusting.

And the worst part?

You liked it.

You liked how his eyes followed you now. How he sat a little too close. How his thigh brushed yours and didn’t move. How his fingers sometimes caught your wrist and held you there a second too long. Like he didn’t mean to. Like he meant every second of it.

But most of all, you liked what it did to your head.

You thought about it all the time.

The bathroom. The way he looked. The size of him in her mouth. The way he didn’t stop when he saw you. The way he looked at you while she was still there on her knees. Like it didn’t matter who was pleasuring him—only who was watching.

It was sick. And hot.

And it made you touch yourself three nights in a row with your bottom lip between your teeth and his name barely whispered against your pillow.

Tonight, it finally broke you.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, too quietly, while you sat on his bed, knees drawn up, trying not to look at him.

Hyunjin was at his desk across the room, spinning a pencil between his fingers. He didn’t turn.

“Yeah?”

Your voice wavered. “Do you think things would go back to normal if I just… got it out of my system?”

He froze.

The pencil stopped spinning.

“What?”

You swallowed. “Like—if I did it. If I just… sucked your dick. Just once.”

Now he turned.

Full-body. Chair scraping against the floor.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt it.

Felt the weight of his stare.

Felt the breath leave the room.

“I’m serious,” you added when he didn’t speak.

His voice, when it came, was low. Disbelieving.

“You want to suck my dick.”

“I just…” You finally looked at him. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About that night. About… you.”

He blinked like he didn’t trust what he was hearing.

You kept going, digging the hole deeper. “I just want to know what it feels like. What you feel like. And maybe then… maybe it’ll stop haunting me.”

He stood up. Not even slowly. It was too fast, too jarring, and your breath hitched before you even realized you were backing against the headboard.

His voice was darker now. Low and flat. “You think blowing me is gonna cure you?”

“I think trying might,” you said. “And I trust you.”

He laughed—harsh, like it hurt to do. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you’re on your knees for me, I won’t be able to pretend it’s just for closure.”

Your thighs pressed together.

“Then don’t pretend,” you said.

He stared at you.

And then, without another word, he stepped between your knees and looked down at you like he was on the verge of snapping.

“Last chance,” he murmured, breath uneven. “Tell me not to do this.”

You didn’t.

You slid down to the floor in front of him instead.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants, and he hissed softly when your hands brushed the outline of him.

Big. Thick. Heavy.

You already knew. You’d seen it.

But this—this was real.

You pulled them down slowly, watching as he sprang free—half-hard and still intimidating.

Your mouth went dry.

He wasn’t just big. He was gorgeous.

Veins and flushed skin, already thickening in your palm, and when your thumb brushed the slit, he groaned—low and guttural like it had punched out of him.

“Fuck—don’t tease me.”

You didn’t.

You wrapped your lips around the head and felt his thighs tense instantly. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was getting there—fast—thickening in your mouth, pulsing against your tongue.

He tasted like sweat and skin and salt, and when your tongue flattened along the underside, he cursed again, head falling back.

“Jesus, you’re—fuck, you’re good at that.”

Your hand pumped what didn’t fit, stroking him in rhythm with your mouth, slow and wet and wanting. You sucked harder and felt him twitch in your throat, and when you looked up, his eyes were already on you—burning.

That smirk you remembered was gone.

There was no smugness here.

Just hunger.

Your best friend. Undone.

He carded a hand through your hair—gentle at first, then tighter.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped. “Don’t even think about stopping.”

You didn’t. You let him slip deeper. Let your lips stretch wide, eyes watering when the tip kissed the back of your throat.

And when he moaned—actually moaned—you thought you might come from the sound alone.

“Fuck, baby—” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You have no fucking clue what you’re doing to me.”

But you did.

You felt it in the way his hips started to move, shallow thrusts into your mouth as he got closer, the grip in your hair becoming possessive, desperate.

You weren’t just erasing the girl from the bathroom.

You were replacing her. Branding yourself into the part of his brain where he kept his dirtiest memories.

When he finally warned you he was close—breathless, twitching, shaking—you pulled back enough to look up at him, lips wet, chin messy.

“Let me swallow it,” you whispered.

He cursed. Loud.

And then he came. Hard and hot, spilling into your mouth with a broken groan as his hand stayed tangled in your hair, his other braced against the wall behind you.

You swallowed everything.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact.

And when he finally opened his eyes again, you saw it.

The shift.

He wasn’t going to recover from this. And quite frankly, neither were you.

He was still catching his breath.

Still gripping the wall.

Still twitching between your fingers, glistening from your mouth.

And when you looked up at him like that—wide-eyed, flushed—he let out a ragged, broken sound.

Then he hauled you up off the floor with both hands.

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours, kissing you like it wasn’t enough. Like he wasn’t enough. Like nothing in the world could ever satisfy the way he wanted you right now.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips, voice low and frantic, “I can’t stop touching you—I can’t fucking stop.”

He kissed you deeper, tasting himself on your tongue, his fingers already gripping your waist too tightly, trailing up your spine like he needed to know every ridge, every breath. His palms cupped your jaw, then dropped to your ass, pulling you flush against him even though he was still half-soft and oversensitive.

You whimpered into his mouth.

“Hyunjin—”

“I know,” he rasped, lips trailing down your neck now, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “I know, baby.”

His hand slipped under your shirt, then under your bra—like he couldn’t wait, like he’d been dying to do it and didn’t even realize it until now. His touch was rough, frantic, worshipping as he palmed your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until your knees buckled.

You tried to speak—tried to stop it before it got out of hand again—but you couldn’t.

Because he was already dragging your soaked thong down your thighs, snapping it off like it offended him, like he needed it gone yesterday.

“You wore this to my room?” he muttered, eyes dark as he tossed it across the floor. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t—” you breathed. “I didn’t know it’d happen like this—”

“Yeah?” he hissed, thumb brushing between your thighs now, rubbing your slit once, slow and purposeful. You jolted. “Then why are you this wet already?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t get the chance.

Because then he flipped you onto the bed, dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his face in your pussy like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You cried out—hand flying to his shoulder, his hair—anything to ground yourself as his mouth locked onto your clit and sucked so hard it stole the air from your lungs.

“Hyunjin—oh my god—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He groaned against you, lapping at your folds, tongue flicking and curling as he dragged you closer by the thighs, shoving one over his shoulder for better access. His fingers dug into your ass, tilting your hips just right so he could fuck his tongue into you deeper, wetter, filthier.

You couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Could barely stay upright.

Your back hit the headboard behind you, head thudding softly as he devoured you like he’d been starving for it—like he’d been dying for a taste ever since that night and just didn’t know it.

You sobbed his name, thighs shaking around his head, and he moaned in return—loud, guttural, desperate—sending vibrations straight through your cunt.

Your orgasm was building too fast. It was crawling up your spine, wrapping itself around your lungs, choking the words in your throat as you trembled against the wall.

“Hyun—Hyunjin—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled, voice muffled in your heat. “Come on my tongue, baby—I want it.”

You shattered.

Head back. Fingers fisting his hair. Legs giving out completely.

And he kept going.

Licked you through it.

Swallowed everything.

Kept your legs open with his hands, his shoulders, his whole body, until you were twitching from overstimulation and trying to wriggle away.

Only then did he pull back.

His lips were swollen, chin slick, eyes glazed over with something feral.

“You thought sucking my dick would get me out of your system?” he panted, climbing back up your body.

You blinked at him, dazed.

He grabbed your jaw. Kissed you deep again, tongue tasting you on your own lips.

He was still breathing like he’d run a marathon.

Still gripping your waist like if he let go, he’d lose you again.

And then, out of nowhere, his voice broke—actually broke—low and hoarse and pleading against your neck.

“I need you… please.”

It wasn’t cocky. Wasn’t teasing.

It wasn’t a game anymore.

You froze.

Because hearing Hyunjin—your Hyunjin—say that like he was begging for you, like he needed you more than anything, did something to you. You didn’t even have to think. Your body moved before your brain caught up.

You pulled back just enough to look at him—his blown-out pupils, the way he swallowed like he was choking on his restraint, the barely-there twitch in his cock where it still hung thick between you, wet with need.

And just like that, you made your decision.

No fear. No hesitation. Just need.

You pushed his hands off you—softly. Watched his brows furrow in confusion for just a second before you reached for the hem of your shirt and lifted it slow.

Deliberate.

His breath caught.

Your bra followed—dropped to the floor in silence.

And his eyes trailed down like he didn’t know what to look at first: your nipples tightening under the cool air, your flushed skin, the steady rise and fall of your chest as you unbuttoned your jean skirt that was already bunched at your waist.

“Wait—” he rasped, almost winded. “What are you—”

You slipped them down your legs, shoving everything else with it—your last bit of modesty peeled away and kicked off until you were lying fully naked in front of him, bathed in the soft amber light from his lamp. You didn’t hide. Didn’t look away. Not even when your cheeks flushed.

Instead, you leaned back slowly, then spread your knees wide with zero shame, hands sliding down your own inner thighs as you held yourself open for him—soaked, needy, shameless.

Ready.

“I want you,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “I don’t care what happens after. I just… need to give this to you.”

He blinked once—twice—like his brain short-circuited.

Then he broke.

He stumbled forward, his cock hardening again right before your eyes, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to touch first.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re unreal—” he hissed, dragging his gaze across your body like it physically hurt him not to be inside you already. “I thought about this—so many times—and I didn’t even know I was thinking about it. You—you’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned back slightly, baring yourself even more. “Then die.”

That was all it took.

He was on you in seconds.

Kissing you deep, moaning against your lips like he was in pain, dragging his cock along your soaked folds with the kind of reverence that bordered on obsession.

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” he whispered into your skin, hands gripping your hips like you’d disappear. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna ruin you—I have to.”

You arched up, hips bucking, cunt clenching around nothing.

“Just do it.”

He lined himself up, breath hitching—eyes locked with yours.

Then slowly—deliberately—he started to push in.

You felt him stretch you inch by inch—hot, thick, impossibly deep.

And the moment Hyunjin sank in all the way, both of you just… froze.

He was buried inside you to the hilt.

His jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

And your walls fluttered around him, helpless and raw, like your body couldn’t believe it was him.

“Jesus…” he whispered, voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t think.

All you could do was whimper his name and clutch at his shoulders, the stretch of him lighting up nerves you didn’t even know existed. No one had ever filled you like this. No one had ever even come close.

And he knew it.

Hyunjin started to move—slow at first, like he didn’t want to rush it.

Each roll of his hips was molten, deep, pulling out just enough to press back in with maddening force, grinding against your sweet spot so perfectly it made your eyes roll.

“Fuck,” he moaned, voice low and reverent. “You take me so good, baby. So tight for me. Like this pussy was made for me.”

Your whole body jerked under him at that—at the pure filth of his praise, the way it slipped so easily from that mouth that had kissed your forehead a thousand times.

He saw it. Felt your cunt clench hard around him.

“Yeah?” he growled, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. “You like that? Being fucked by your best friend?”

You nodded frantically, back arching. “Hyun—Hyunjin—please.”

“Please what?” he hissed, thrusts snapping faster now. “Tell me. I want to hear it.”

“Please fuck me harder—don’t stop—don’t ever stop—”

That did it.

He growled something broken—unintelligible—and slammed into you harder, hips pounding against yours with a rhythm that had the whole bed shaking, creaking, your breath knocked out of you with every thrust.

You were already close again.

The pressure was building so fast it scared you—but you couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to. You wanted to fall apart beneath him, wanted him to ruin you.

He leaned down suddenly—kissed you, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours, swallowing every moan, every cry.

Then he pulled back to look at you. His expression softened—but it was worse, somehow. More intense. More raw.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he panted. “I swear to God—you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

His thrusts slowed again—not stopping, but savoring now.

“You’re art,” he whispered, cupping your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek as he rocked into you so deep you gasped. “And I get to ruin you.”

You whimpered, tears brimming now—not from pain, not from fear—but from the weight of being seen like this. Loved like this. Even if he hadn’t said the word yet.

He felt your body tense beneath him—felt the way your cunt started to clamp down, so close to the edge you could taste it.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispered against your lips, voice breaking. “Come on, baby… Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

You shattered.

Your back arched. Your mouth opened in a silent cry. Your whole body clenched so tight around him that he swore, stuttered, lost rhythm completely as you came around him.

“Fuckfuckfuck— you feel like heaven—” he groaned, then pulled out fast, stroking himself with messy, frantic hands. “Where? Where do you want it?”

You blinked up at him, still trembling. “My stomach. Please—just—show me.”

He let out a sound like he’d been holding his breath for years—then came hard with a desperate grunt, spilling hot and heavy all over your bare skin, streaks painting across your navel and hips as he moaned your name.

You lay there, both of you panting, your thighs still twitching as the aftershocks hit.

He collapsed beside you after a moment, still kissing your shoulder, your neck, your temple like he couldn’t stop.

Then he whispered, breath warm against your skin:

“I’m never letting anyone else touch you again.”

“What’s new?” You chuckled.

—-

The room was silent—Not the awkward kind. No.

Just heavy, saturated, sated silence. Like the whole room had exhaled with you.

You laid there on your back, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Your legs were limp. Your pulse was thrumming in your ears.

Hyunjin was beside you, chest heaving, one arm draped across your waist like his body had moved on instinct—like he still needed to keep you close even now. Especially now.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Your mind was too scrambled. You couldn’t even remember how to move, let alone what to say.

So you stared at the ceiling, the faint glow of the bedside lamp catching the sheen of sweat on your skin. You could still feel his hands on you—still feel the phantom stretch of his cock inside you. Your core ached in the most devastating, delicious way.

And then…

“…What the fuck did we just do?”

His voice was quiet. Like he was asking himself as much as he was asking you.

You blinked. Swallowed.

The words you were supposed to say—the things that would make it better, easier, less permanent—they just didn’t come. Your mouth opened, but your voice caught.

He shifted onto his side to face you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

His eyes were so soft.

Too soft.

And that was when the fear crept in.

Not fear of him, not of the sex, not even of how good it felt—but of the possibility that you’d broken something. That maybe your friendship couldn’t go back. That maybe you didn’t want it to.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like that, you know? With her.” He started suddenly.

You winced.

“I know.”

“I tried to go after you when you ran off, you know?” he murmured. “Tried to talk to you after, but you just kept running from me.”

You bit your lip. You didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t because you were mad. It wasn’t because you were hurt. It was because you were so turned on it scared you. Because every time you looked at him, you couldn’t stop imagining that girl in the bathroom, couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to be on your knees instead.

And now… you knew.

He leaned over you, hovering, but not crowding. Watching you with that same intensity he always had—but now it felt different. Loaded. You could feel it in your blood, in the way your body still buzzed from him.

“I should be sorry we took it this far,” he said. “But I’m not.”

Your breath caught.

He reached down, fingers brushing through the mess he’d left on your stomach, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he’d done that to you—with you.

“I’ve wanted you like this for longer than I was willing to admit.”

You blinked. “But you never… You never looked at me like that.”

“I didn’t let myself.”

His voice dropped, rough and raw again.

“I didn’t want to fuck this up. You were the only thing that wasn’t a game to me. I didn’t want to ruin you the way I ruin everything else. But the second I saw you watching me… that night… the second I realized what I’d done—what I might’ve just lost—I couldn’t stop.”

You swallowed.

Something twisted in your chest—sharp and sweet all at once.

“I don’t know what this means,” you whispered.

“I do,” he said simply. “It means I’m all yours now.”

You laughed, breathless, half-shaky. “Since when?”

“Since always,” he said. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

You paused. Heart thundering.

Then slowly, you turned toward him—reached out and dragged your fingers down his chest, resting them just above his heart.

And this time, when he kissed you, it was slow. Intentional. Worshipful.

He pulled the blanket over your bodies, curled around you like you were something sacred.

Neither of you said another word.

But you knew.

Things weren’t going back to normal.

They were becoming something better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Guys i have so much unfinished fics 😭 i see all your requests i promise and i am writing them!! But yeah lets have some Hyunjin love today 😍😍🤭🤭 Tell me if you want to be added or removed from my taglist! But dont forget to like and reblog 🍒

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 @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Hunger games au 👀

HYUNJIN — Chk Chk Boom (for 2024 Stay Week)

[straykidsmedia]

© Kalopsiay_✨ [1] please do not edit or crop logo

[alldeezyskzgifs]

[linolinoing]

HYUNIBINI ♡ SKZ CODE EP. 61

[sugarish]

⬤̵ ⠙𓈒 Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato... 𑁍░░ ⃝ ⃝ ⃝

[hyunchans]

silly hyunjin

[minsung]

paboracha @ gayo daejejeon

[skyracha]

The New Maknae

[Hyunjin]

SKZ FAKE TEXTS

POV: You find out you’re pregnant with BF!SKZ’s baby but your entire relationship is secret, and you don’t know what to do. This is how you tell them.

Content: Anxiety, talk about marriage, talk about worry, hyunjin being sweet af

Tags: @cowboylikemalika @encoredesires @my-neurodivergent-world @itvenorica124 @0sunshinecryptid0 @lov3rachan @synesthesia-fics @dieklienesuesse @sunnybunnybabygirl

My Library HERE :)

[darlingbubble]

☆。*。☆。。* 。☆

[stray-kidshardstan143]

Hyunlix smut audio

[baby-yongbok]

Middle of the night

Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader

⤷ Genre - Strangers to Lovers | dancer!hyunjin x dancer!reader ⤷ WC - 1.3k ⤷ Summary - In a studio that always feels too dark and too late, you and Hyunjin orbit each other in silence — not strangers, not quite friends. Night after night, your bodies speak the language neither of you ever dare to say aloud. But today there's a shift. You're no longer dancing next to each other. You’re dancing with each other. ⤷ a/n - this is as much slow burn as I could get into 1.3k. I just had a craving for this. Something just poetic enough. Anyway, I listened to Middle of the Night by Elley Duhe while writing and I'd recommend listening while reading too! enjoy ♡ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It’s dim when you enter. A storm cloud compared to the bright hall but you enter with a fluid familiarity. Hyunjin’s already here, the guy you never really talk to but occupies enough of your space for that to be ridiculous. 

You just don’t talk much — not really.

Just nods when one enters, subtle shifts to make room, the low thud of a speaker coming alive in the dark. You’re both always here too late, too often, like neither of you wants to go home. Like the studio is the only place that feels honest.

“Can I use the speaker? Headphones busted.” His voice is plain, simple. No crackle or pop to his delivery. 

“Yeah, okay.” Your back is still turned to him when you answer, focused on a hamstring stretch, but you see him in the mirror. The glance that was a second away from a stare. 

You two barely talk but you’re not strangers — not really.

Hyunjin feels familiar to you, like a book you’ve seen the cover to but never the first page. You learned him through his dance — fluid, sharp when he wants to be, but mostly, he moves like he's mourning something soft. The line of him makes it into your dreams, just out of reach until you blink your eyes open. You never let yourself get close enough to touch. 

And neither does Hyunjin. 

The two of you have shared this studio in the middle of the night long enough for him to profile you through your every move — steady, all control and breath, until you’re not. Until the music hits your ribs like memory and you explode into something that makes the air feel too tight. Something that makes his ribs feel like they’ve splintered at the sound of your voice.

You ease into your warm-up, pretending not to notice how he’s already moving behind you, just out of sync, just close enough to feel. The music seeps into the room like fog, thick and full of pulse. Something low and rhythmic, not quite the kind of track you usually stretch to. But you don't complain.

You catch his reflection in the mirror, not watching, just aware. Your routines are playing like dueling heartbeats. His isolation piece bleeding into your warm-up drills, your improvisation cutting across his choreography. But over time — Something shifts.

The speakers crackle.

A new song begins — slow, low, pulsing.

"In the middle of the night, just call my name I’m yours to tame”

He folds into the music like it hurts. 

Like every movement is pulled from somewhere inside his chest. You watch the tremble in his fingers, the sharp curve of his back as he twists toward something invisible. The floor creaks under his bare feet, and your heart does the same.

You’re staring now, caught in every deliberate gesture and aching step. Like he’s dancing for someone who isn’t watching, or someone who once did and never came back. But now he has you — and he notices.

It only takes a second for his eyes to meet yours in the mirror.  

Not a glance.

Nothing quick, no.

He captures you and keeps dancing.

You don’t look away.

Can’t.

The moment sharpens, the mirror tethers you and you shift as though you have a place here, with him. Your body moves without command, stepping into something that looks as though you’ve become the mirror yourself. Each curve and wave of your body matches his in a way that’s too keen to be coincidence.

You shift closer, bare feet carrying you over the smooth marley floor and Hyunjin doesn’t stop to make space — he shifts to include you. An unspoken permission. 

The track thrums like blood.

“In the middle of the night, I’m wide awake…”

You dip and he rises, extending like a swan rising from your waters. 

His spine curves to match the line of yours. There’s no lead, no lag. Only breath meeting breath.Your hands don’t touch but you feel him anyway — the pull, the echo, the almost.

You pivot on the ball of your foot and he follows. A shadow. A flame.

The song loops back.

Neither of you speak. Neither of you stop.

The beat drops again and something about it feels louder now, closer to the bone. Like it’s inside of you both. Your bodies fall into cadence. One inhale apart.

His fingers skim the air just above your hip as you spin. Your chest just nearly brushes his, a whisper of a beat can be heard slipping into the music as it moves around you. A flurry of limbs and breath, a hurricane of motion, all wind and heat and unspoken pull until you’re in the eye of the storm together. 

The bridge hits again.

Same lyrics. Same drop. But now it’s not a song — It’s a command. a trigger. a crash.

You collide.

Hard. Full-bodied. Like gravity had enough of your slow circling and yanked the two of you into orbit.

An eclipse.

Chest to chest. 

Breath to breath.

Neither of you steps back.

His hands hover at your ribs, yours at his neck. You’re panting, but not tired. Never tired. You just can’t seem to get enough air with him this close. His eyes are on yours. bare. blazing. Like he’s finally seeing you.

You realize, for a moment, that you’re seeing him too. not the dancer. not the silhouette. Him. The open flame you’ve finally given in to. Staring just close enough to finally catch a glimpse of what it burns for.

The music keeps going and so do you.

Your bodies slide together: an arch, a spin, and then the ghost of a touch over your waist. Your limbs melt, pushing, pulling, unyielding to the hypnotism the other provides. 

Hyunjin stopped taking full breaths, everything has been heady since your chests touched. Overwhelming but welcome. He uses the dizziness as an excuse to bring you down to the floor now — knees folding, palms pressed against smooth floor right as your legs twist together like thread to a needle. He’s moving according to you now, the music is nothing compared to the thrum he feels pulsing right where you two are tethered. 

Like a snake to a charmers song. 

The tide and moon. 

You both rise, face to face, close enough to feel the warmth from each other’s mouths.

You lean in.

He does too.

The breath between you curls, heady and electric. Something shifts, You move into him and he receives you like he’s rehearsed this.

He kisses you.

Your lips meet like a breath taken together.

It’s slow at first, a glide, a gentle press — then a rhythm, a give, a slide, a shift. You tilt your head like it’s part of the sequence. He adjusts like he knows the cue. No urgency. Just flow.

It’s messy, off-rhythm. Too much breath. Too much want. But it fits. It fits.

Like the dance was only ever a prelude and now you’ve unveiled the real art. The way his mouth opens for you, the way yours shapes around his like muscle memory. The type of deja vu that feels decades old.

Your mouths part and meet again. His hand cradles the back of your head. Yours grips his shirt like you’ll fall if you let go. The music loops unnoticed. You’ve found another rhythm now — The sound of your breaths. Your bodies brushing, the soft gasp when he pulls you closer, palm skating down your spine like a downbeat.

You lean. He bends.

Your hands press flat against his back like contact points in a pas de deux.

When you part, it’s not a stop. Just a pause. Foreheads resting. Heartbeats pacing each other. A final position held, like the end of a routine you don't quite want to bow out of yet.

You both stay there, breath caught between your mouths.

Not speaking.

Still dancing, even in stillness.

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[hyunniesamericano]

His love for your titties

Pairing: Hyunjin × fem!reader

Hyunjin has a thing for your chest and not in a shallow, one-track-mind kind of way. It's deeper than that. Emotional. Borderline spiritual.

He’s shameless about it too. Doesn’t even try to hide how his eyes drop the second your hoodie comes off. Always has his hands under your shirt like it’s second nature, like your body is the only place he feels at peace. Sometimes it’s not even sexual—just comfort. He’ll curl into you, bury his face between your tits and breathe like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Says he can’t sleep unless at least one hand is resting there, fingers splayed, tracing the skin lazily as if to say, I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay.

But when he’s stressed really stressed he goes quiet. Withdrawn. Brows furrowed, jaw tight. And that’s when he climbs into your lap, pushes your shirt up with trembling hands, and takes your nipple into his mouth like it’s his only lifeline. He doesn't say a word ,just breathes shakily through his nose, clinging to you, sucking softly like he's trying to calm the storm inside. Sometimes he hums while doing it. Quiet, low vibrations against your skin that make you feel like he’s a boy again, seeking safety.

And then… there’s the jealousy.

Hyunjin gets possessive. The second someone else’s eyes wander especially toward your chest he’s already moving, already guiding you away with a hand on your lower back. His grip is tight, protective, but there’s something needy about it too. Like he needs to reclaim you. Like the idea of someone else even thinking about your body drives him wild. The second you're alone, he's pushing you against the nearest surface, mouth hot and desperate against your skin. “You’re mine,” he growls into the curve of your chest, lips dragging, tongue leaving trails. “No one gets to see you like this but me.”

He leaves bruises when he’s like that. Marks shaped like his mouth, like his fingers. He stares at them afterward with a dazed look in his eyes—somewhere between love ,satisfaction and obsession.

When he’s needy and overstimulated, it’s a mess in the most beautiful way. He could’ve cum already, twice even, but he still wants to keep going. Wants to keep sucking on you, mouthing at your tits like he’s losing his mind. His moans turn to whimpers. His voice cracks. “I know I came, I know,” he pants, tears building at the corners of his eyes, “but please—just a little more. Just let me feel you.”

Even when his body is trembling from too much, his mouth never leaves your chest. He worships them like they’re sacred. Like he needs them.

And don’t get him started on when you’re out in public wearing something tight or low-cut. He gets all pouty and bratty, drapes himself over you like a possessive boyfriend in a teen drama. His arm tightens around your waist, his hand subtly brushes your chest like he thinks no one notices. But they do. He just doesn’t care. “They’re mine,” he whispers with a smug smirk, lips brushing your ear, “don’t care who sees.”

And when you’re fucking?

Oh, he’s in heaven. He can’t focus on anything else. Has to have his mouth on your tits, tongue swirling, fingers squeezing like he’s starving. If you try to pull your shirt down after, he whines actually whines like you’ve taken away his favorite thing. “Please,” he begs, voice thick, eyes glossy, “just lemme touch ‘em. I missed them.” Like you didn’t let him suck on them for hours earlier.

To Hyunjin, your chest isn’t just something to get off to—it’s a place of comfort, obsession, and love. It's his anchor. His favorite addiction.

A/n : inspired by