Skz Smut - Blog Posts

🤭 I’m so, so glad that you liked it so much! Oh, it was so fun to write 😫 like this is my ult bias and shibari? Forget it, I was a complete goner before I even started 😮‍💨

Baby this is the love you deserve! To me, there’s no such thing as feeling too deeply, I feel like those who are able to have such a beautiful gift that humanity has been gradually forgetting. That said, I understand what you mean — I also have the tendency to grow attached too easily and I also struggle with deciphering the depths of my own emotions. But you’ll find someone who’ll feel for you just as fiercely as you will for them, and when you do, it’ll be beautiful. Maybe one day you can share this type of bonding experience with them, because shibari is all about the emotional connection and trust in its purest form. It’s not silly or weird at all to crave these things, Merin, it’s good. I’m happy this piece made you feel seen and validated 🫶 Thank you so much for all the compliments 🥹💕

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION ( stray kids )

❛ In a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and Minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I'm always saying this, but I really love shibari; it's quite literally one of my favorite kinks. So, thank you to my wonderful mootie, Merin, for making the request! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MNDI, this is Y/N's first time participating in shibari, Minho has experience in shibari, intensely emotional sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration, unprotected sex (please don't do this), let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The world outside seemed to fade away as if his bedroom had slipped into a realm of its own, where time slowed and the only reality was the two of you, kneeling on the floor. Every breath shared in the confined space felt amplified, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of your bare bodies pressed against the cool wooden floor, facing each other in a vulnerable dance of gazes that held unspoken promises. His eyes, deep pools of dark intensity, locked onto yours with a fervor you had never witnessed before. Minho's gaze bore into you, filled with a passion so palpable it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was something more—a quiet confidence, an ease born of experience, that radiated from him like a quiet storm. It was a look that only someone who had navigated these waters before could possess.

In contrast, you could feel the uncertainty swirling within your own eyes, a reflection of the storm raging inside you. You imagined how pale your face must appear under the soft light, as your heart pounded relentlessly against your chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. The silence between you both was almost deafening, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. You were acutely aware that this was uncharted territory for you, a space where Minho had already traveled with ease. 

This would be the first time you would surrender so completely, relinquishing not just the control of your body but also the reins of your heart and soul. The thought of it made your pulse race even faster, a flutter of nerves and excitement tangling within you. The rope you had both chosen together, a symbol of trust and shared desire, lay between you on the floor, a silent witness to the intimacy about to unfold. As you knelt before him, you knew that tonight, you would willingly empty your mind, allowing Minho to guide you into a world where he alone dictated the pace, where his touch would define your every movement and sensation. And as the rope waited patiently, you found yourself ready to embark on this journey with him, prepared to lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Minho’s lips finally curled into a gentle, reassuring smile, a subtle yet powerful gesture that sent a cascade of tingles racing across your skin. The moment felt suspended in a delicate balance between anticipation and reality, where the space between you two was charged with an unspoken understanding. The warmth of his gaze enveloped you, pulling you into the depths of his emotions, where you could glimpse the full spectrum of his intentions, his unyielding desire, and the raw intensity of his feelings. In that gaze, you found solace, a calming balm to the storm of thoughts that had been churning within you.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in this intimate bubble. Minho’s eyes spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his commitment to you, and in that moment, all remnants of doubt and anxiety began to dissipate. The air around you, thick with silent anticipation, was finally pierced by the soft melody of his voice, tender and careful as if coaxing your soul to dance with his. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asked, the question a gentle reminder of the trust that formed the foundation of what was about to unfold.

His eyes left yours momentarily, tracing the contours of your expression as if seeking any lingering traces of hesitation. You met his gaze with a timid nod, the ghost of a smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Mercy,” you whispered, the word carrying with it a promise of trust, a signal that you were still willing to journey into this new, uncharted territory with him. 

Minho’s smile widened, a reflection of the satisfaction and joy that your willingness brought him. It was a smile that held a thousand promises, a smile that reassured you of the care he would take as he led you further into this passionate exploration. In that smile, you saw not just a lover, but a guide, someone who would hold you through the most intense moments and bring you safely to the other side. And as you both prepared to step into this new chapter together, the connection between you deepened, wrapped in the shared understanding that, no matter what, you were in this together.

Minho rose to his feet, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the fluid motion of his form, tracing the contours of his body as he moved with a quiet, unspoken elegance. Every inch of him was a masterpiece, a living testament to the beauty that lies in the harmony of strength and grace. As he made his way behind you, you allowed yourself to drink in the sight of him, this man who stood before you like a vision of divine perfection. His naked form, something you had always admired, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty, a reflection of the statues of ancient gods that once graced the grand temples of old.

Minho’s physique was a study in contrasts, lean yet muscular, with each muscle defined in a way that spoke of both power and restraint. His body was a work of art, chiseled with the same care and precision that an ancient sculptor might have applied to marble, capturing the very essence of masculine beauty. Every movement he made was deliberate, infused with a quiet confidence that spoke of his inner strength. There was a grace in the way he carried himself, an elegance that made your knees tremble with admiration, as if you were in the presence of a god who needed no words to command the space around him.

The sharp lines of his jaw were a testament to the precision with which nature had crafted him, a strong and unwavering feature that brought to mind the angular perfection of the statues that had survived the ages. It was a defining trait, one that spoke of the strength and resolve that lay beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it seemed to fit him, as if he had been carved by the hands of an ancient artisan intent on embodying the ideal of masculine beauty.

And then there were his hands, the part of him you cherished most. Those hands, both graceful and strong, were like those of a Greek statue, crafted with a care that reflected both power and delicacy. Whether they were guiding him through the fluid movements of a dance or exploring every inch of your body with a precision that drove you to the edge of insanity, his hands conveyed an artistry that was unparalleled. They spoke of his physical prowess, of his ability to channel his strength into the most delicate of touches, and in those moments, you could feel the depth of his connection to you, as if his very soul was intertwined with yours.

Lee Minho, the man who held your heart in his hands, was a raw beauty to behold, a living embodiment of the divine made flesh. His presence, his very essence, was something that captivated you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, and as you gazed upon him, you couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe at the man who stood before you, a man whose soul you firmly believed was tied to yours in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was beautiful.

Your bare skin ignited with a fiery sensation the very moment Minho's warm, naked torso pressed firmly against your back. His presence was a comforting weight, his legs resting on either side of your crossed limbs, encasing you in a protective embrace. You could feel his breath, warm and gentle, fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. As he reached around you, his hands moved with a deliberate tenderness, uncrossing your legs with a fluid grace that left you breathless. The moment his strong legs pinned yours beneath him, you felt an exhilarating surge of vulnerability and trust. His touch was a soothing balm, and as your skin prickled with tiny bumps in response, you surrendered yourself to his guidance, allowing him to mold your body however he wished.

A featherlight kiss brushed the nape of your neck, his plump lips barely grazing your skin, yet the sensation was enough to draw a muted gasp from your parted lips. Minho gently pulled you back, easing you into his embrace until your full weight rested against him, your back flush with his chest. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself biting back a moan as his warmth seeped into your very being. 

Minho had only just begun to touch you, yet already the worries that had once plagued your mind — whether large or small, old or new — began to dissolve, fading into the background as your thoughts grew quieter. With each passing second, you felt your mind and body gradually submit to the serene headspace Minho had so patiently explained to you before. He had been right; there truly was nothing that compared to the bliss of surrendering every burden, every lingering doubt, to the gentle pleasure that was slowly consuming your senses. 

Time seemed to blur as he held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your chest, anchoring you in the moment. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his breathing became your world, a lullaby that lulled you deeper into tranquility. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you interlaced them with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp. In his embrace, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself completely, letting go of everything except the profound connection you shared with him. 

It took a moment for you to realize that Minho had begun gently rocking your bodies from side to side, his embrace warm and secure, as though he was cradling your very soul. His breath, warm against your ear, sent waves of desire coursing through you, a passion so intense it bordered on painful. His voice, soft and tender, murmured words that sent shivers down your spine. "Your pretty head is already so empty, baby," he whispered, each word laced with adoration. "You're doing so good for me already." As his lips trailed tender kisses along every inch of your exposed skin, you instinctively squeezed his fingers, your silent way of letting him know you were still present, still with him. 

Minho’s fingers tightened around yours in response, a comforting reassurance that melted any lingering doubts. "I can't thank you enough for trusting me like this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine reverence. "It’s such an honor to share this moment with you." The delicacy of his words sent a soft whine escaping from your lips, quickly turning into a moan that echoed the vulnerability you felt in his presence. With a final, lingering kiss pressed onto your shoulder, Minho slowly unwrapped his arms from around your torso, his touch lingering like the ghost of a warm embrace. 

He shifted his position with a graceful ease, one knee sinking to the floor while the other foot remained firmly planted, his body hovering over yours like a guardian angel. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, never left yours as he reached for the rope that had been momentarily forgotten between you. With practiced care, he began working the rope free from its tight spiral, each loop unfurling in a fluid motion until it lay in a long, taut line behind you. 

With a few measured tugs, Minho folded the length in half, aligning the two ends with meticulous precision before letting the rope rest lazily over one of your shoulders. The looped end of the rope was held between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes as he let the rough texture brush against your overly sensitive skin. The sensation sent your breath hitching, your heartbeat quickening in anticipation of what was to come. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, to the way his touch promised both restraint and release, as you surrender yourself completely to the moment, to Minho.

Once the rope was positioned just right, Minho wasted no time in pressing his firm chest against your back once more. The warmth of his skin sent a comforting shiver through you, and as his body began to sway, it felt as though you were both caught in an entrancing dance. Slowly, he guided you into a series of circular motions, the gentle rhythm lulling you deeper into a shared trance. The way he moved with you was like a carefully choreographed ballet, each step measured and intentional, designed to draw out the pleasure simmering just beneath the surface.

As Minho pinned your arms beneath his own, a surge of instinct had you clutching the back of his thighs, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensations that were building between you. The heat of the moment intensified, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you with each of Minho’s expert touches. His hands, strong yet tender, guided your movements, and the synergy between your bodies grew with every slow, deliberate motion. The connection was so deep, so visceral, that you lost track of time, completely immersed in the dance of your shared intimacy.

At some point, you became aware that your legs had returned to their original x-patterned position. The realization came just as Minho’s hands, heavy with intent yet comforting in their touch, pressed against your feet. He let them linger there for a moment before slowly, sensually, dragging them up the length of your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thighs, ghosting over your aching arousal, teasing you with the promise of more. Finally, his hands found their home on your waist, and the sensation was so overwhelming that a guttural moan escaped your lips, raw and unbidden. 

Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second. Through the haze of desire, you caught sight of his gaze — an all-consuming love that pierced through the fog of your mind, grounding you in the moment. The way his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of both passion and devotion, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached out with a trembling hand to squeeze his bicep, offering a blissed-out grin in return, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared. Then, with a soft sigh, you let your eyes drift closed once more, allowing yourself to sink back into the warmth of his embrace, the intimacy of this moment enveloping you completely.

A few moments passed in this heavenly embrace, each second stretching into eternity as you basked in the warmth of Minho’s touch. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. But then, the gentle hold on your waist faded, replaced by the firm yet careful grip of Minho's hands as they moved to capture your wrists. With a tender precision, he brought them together in front of your body, the motion so fluid it felt almost like an extension of the dance you were sharing.

He held your wrists together with one hand, a possessive yet loving grasp that sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. His free hand trailed up the length of your arm, a ghostly touch that left your skin tingling in its wake, before finding its place in your hair. His fingers wove through the strands, gripping just firmly enough to draw a moan from your lips. It wasn't painful — far from it — but the pressure was just enough to remind you of the power he held, the control he wielded over your body and senses.

The rhythmic, circular motions he had so carefully orchestrated came to an abrupt stop, leaving you breathless with anticipation. Then, with a controlled force, Minho pushed both of your bodies forward, guiding you down until your chest and stomach were pressed firmly against the ground. Your knees spread to the sides, a position that left you utterly vulnerable and exposed, and the raw, guttural moan that tore from your throat was a testament to the overwhelming arousal that flooded your senses.

As your mind struggled to catch up with this new, intoxicating position, Minho's warm body followed yours, his presence a constant, grounding force. The sensation of his naked flesh draping over your folded form sent shivers of pleasure coursing down your spine, each touch amplifying the closeness you shared. The weight of him pressed against your overly sensitive skin was both a comfort and a thrill, intensifying the already electric connection between you. It was as though every inch of your body was attuned to his, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of Minho, his touch, his breath, his very essence surrounding you, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unbridled intimacy.

Despite the rope held between his teeth, Minho managed to press a tender kiss onto your flushed cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. As his lips lingered, you felt the first tentative grind of his hardened arousal against your lower back, the intimate friction igniting a new wave of sensation that rippled through your body. The slow, deliberate movement caused both of you to rock back and forth in a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was intoxicating, a silent dance that spoke of unspoken desires and deepening connection.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless gasp, your senses immediately drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that blossomed from this newfound contact. Each subtle shift of his hips against you sent shockwaves of arousal spiraling through your core, leaving you painfully wet and clenching around the emptiness inside, desperate for more. The need within you grew with every passing second, a relentless ache that only intensified as your body responded to his touch with soft whines and gasps, spilling from your lips without restraint.

Your eyelids crinkled in pleasure, brows knitting together as your mind struggled to keep up with the storm of sensations crashing over you. But any semblance of control was quickly lost as you felt Minho's hardened length begin to leak onto your lower back, the warmth of his arousal mingling with your own fevered skin. The combination was electrifying, a heady mix of intimacy and desire that left you trembling. 

Minho’s breathing grew strained, the steady rhythm faltering as he momentarily lost himself in his own pleasure, the sound of it like a raw, primal symphony that echoed in your ears. The very air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, each breath, each touch, each whisper of fabric against skin drawing you deeper into the vortex of sensation that consumed you both. And as the two of you rocked together, moving in perfect unison, it felt as though nothing else existed beyond the boundaries of this shared moment, this exquisite blend of passion and connection.

However, the fleeting pleasure of Minho's grinding against your lower back was soon replaced by a new sensation as he shifted positions once again. His movements were deliberate, yet unhurried, as he slowly pulled away, the grinding coming to a hesitant halt. The rope that had been held between his teeth now trailed gently across the expanse of your back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The sensation was enough to elicit a soft moan from your lips, a sound that only deepened when Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back into the solid warmth of his chest. His grip was firm yet tender, sending ripples of electricity across your skin, each pulse intensifying the connection between you.

The way your body instinctively melted into each of Minho's silent commands was intoxicating, a surrender that felt both empowering and liberating. In his hands, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by the depth of your shared intimacy. There was no need to worry or overthink, as your soul-tied lover had taken control of every aspect of your pleasure, guiding you with a deftness that only heightened your arousal with every passing second. The trust between you was palpable, a silent understanding that allowed you to let go completely, to revel in the sensations that Minho was expertly crafting.

Your awareness of his actions dimmed as you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect unison. The steady rocking was a dance of pure sensation, each movement a testament to the deep connection you shared. It wasn't long before you felt Minho's hand release its hold on your hair, and your dazed eyes fluttered open, curiosity piqued by the change in his touch. His free hand joined the other, which had been holding both of your wrists, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as the rope glided smoothly over your skin, its texture a reminder of the gentle power Minho wielded over you.

With slow, deliberate movements, Minho began to wrap the rope around your wrists, his expert hands tying the first knot with a precision that was both arousing and reassuring. The pressure of the rope was firm, enough to make you feel bound, yet not tight enough to cause discomfort. It was a tender introduction, a prelude to what was to come, and the anticipation of it sent a thrill through your body. The way Minho's hands moved with such care and intention made it clear that this was only the beginning, and the thought of what lay ahead left you breathless, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your breath catches as Minho's teeth graze your earlobe, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. He'd just secured the first knot around your wrists, tugging lightly to ensure it held firm. The binding was precise, a testament to his careful attention. "How are we feeling, my love?" he murmured, his voice softer than a whisper, as though the very air around you would break if he spoke too loudly. Even through the fog of your bliss, you managed a silent nod, your senses dulled yet heightened by the intimacy of the moment. Minho's quiet chuckle warmed your heart, its gentle timbre resonating deep within you.

Releasing his grip on your wrists, Minho didn't pause in the rhythmic sway of your bodies. His hands moved with purpose, trailing up and down your arms in a tender effort to ground you in the here and now. The sensation was electric, a soothing contrast to the growing intensity between you. "Use your words for me," he coaxed, his tone a mix of gentle insistence and deep affection. "I need to know you're here with me." The sheer tenderness in his voice drew a whimper from your lips, the weight of your love for him pressing heavily on your chest.

As his chin came to rest softly on your shoulder, you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was one of pure serenity, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you. The sight of him, so calm and full of love, made your heart swell, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. With a small, almost shy smile, you whispered, "I'm here. I'm with you." The words were meant for him alone, a quiet reassurance that you were still present, still grounded in this moment with him.

Minho's smile widened at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that you were anything less than utterly content. But all he found was the evidence of your mind blissfully clouded, your expression soft and open. You managed another nod, followed by a whispered "yes," the word barely more than a breath. He hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your temple before his hand moved to rest against your throat.

The shift in his touch brought a new intensity to the moment, his wrist firm against your throat as he quickened the pace of your shared rhythm. The atmosphere in the room thickened, the air heavy with the weight of your connection. "My love," he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending another shiver through you. "From this point forward, I will be picking up the pace. Just keep in mind that I adore you completely, so if you need me to stop, all you have to do is use the safe word, and I will do as asked. Please nod your head if you understand this, baby. I need you to stay here with me."

The gentle pleading in his voice tugged at your heart, and you felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. His concern, his care, it all spoke to the depth of his feelings for you. With a soft yet firm resolve, you met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Slowly, you nodded, the movement small but full of assurance.

Minho's eyes softened further, the relief evident as he leaned in to capture your lips once more in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. This moment, this connection between you, was more than just physical—it was a profound expression of the love and trust you shared. As the kiss deepened, the rhythm of your bodies followed suit, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, a dance of intimacy that enveloped you both.

Minho presses another gentle kiss to your temple, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your consent. The delicate touch of his lips sends a soothing warmth through you, a silent promise of care and affection. Using the wrist he had previously rested against your neck, he gently guides your head back to rest on his shoulder, his touch both tender and commanding. At the same time, he lifts your wrists slightly by the ropes binding them, a subtle shift that draws you closer to him.

As your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the intensity of the moment, you feel yourself being enveloped by the sensations surrounding you. Minho's movements become a rhythm you can't help but follow, his hips coaxing you to roll your own in an erotic dance reminiscent of the way you move when seated on his lap. The heat of his skin meets the tender, restrained touch of your tied hands, and you instinctively let your fingers brush against his cheek, a soft caress that makes his breath hitch—a delightful response to your affectionate gesture amidst the consuming passion.

You begin to roll your hips in sync with Minho’s guiding movements, the rhythm now an unspoken dance between you. Shifting your head, you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, the closeness a balm to your senses. With swift, practiced motions, Minho directs your bound hands to move in a semi-circle in front of you, a motion that feels like a step in a choreographed routine. The pace of your bodies swaying together grows more urgent and intense, your breaths becoming sharp, matching Minho's as the anticipation of the moment electrifies every nerve in your body. 

As soon as your tied hands completed their arc from one side to the other, Minho eased back, allowing your pliant body to drape across his strong thigh. The soft, powerful support of his leg cradled you, and you surrendered completely to the enveloping tranquility that your mind floated upon. With your eyes still closed, you surrendered to the all-encompassing serenity that seemed to cocoon you.

Once you were settled on his thigh, Minho used his other leg to gently spread your knees further apart. A soft moan, which quickly morphed into a whine, escaped your lips as his firm hand pressed against your chest and traveled slowly down to cup your drenched arousal. But just as quickly, he withdrew, leaving you in a state of aching anticipation.

Minho shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer with the rope that bound your wrists. A hand guided your head forward, and you reluctantly opened your eyes to meet his intense gaze. His eyes, soft yet laden with a dark anticipation, locked onto yours as he resumed the sensual, circular rocking of your bodies. The tender yet unyielding rhythm of his movements sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a thrill at the shift in his gaze, a potent blend of tenderness and longing.

Leaning forward, Minho pushed you backward until your head nearly touched the ground, his lips parting in a teasing promise. Instinctively, you parted your own lips, expecting a kiss, but instead, he breathed into your mouth, the warm, intoxicating air a seductive caress as his eyes remained locked on yours. Just as abruptly, he pulled away, pressing you back firmly against his chest, leaving both of you breathless. 

Your cheeks pressed together, and a thrilling shiver raced up your spine as you watched Minho pull the rope tighter, binding your wrists securely against your chest. The sensation of the rope against your skin, combined with the proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze, created a heady, intoxicating blend of pleasure and anticipation that left you utterly enraptured.

As the session deepens, Minho maintains a steady rhythm, swaying your bodies together in perfect harmony. His skilled hands move with deliberate grace, meticulously tying the rope to ensure your hands remain securely pressed against your chest. The rope's embrace is both encompassing and protective, each knot and loop placed with exquisite care. Minho pauses occasionally, his eyes soft yet attentive, as if silently checking in on you.

The rope winds its way around your shoulders, torso, and then descends to your thighs, hips, and legs. Each pass of the rope feels grounding and intense, its firm grip holding your legs apart to reveal your glistening core. The tightening sensation of the rope, combined with Minho’s unwavering presence, envelops you in a profound sense of vulnerability and trust. As Minho finishes the intricate tying, the final knot meticulously placed, you become aware of the intensity of the emotions coursing through you. A few tears have traced paths down your cheeks, each one tenderly kissed away by Minho.

With a gentle sigh, Minho allows you to rest on the ground, still bound but comforted. He kneels beside you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he interlocks his fingers with one of yours. His gaze is filled with a tender appreciation for the intricate work he has completed. Leaning in, he presses a soft, loving kiss to your lips, his free hand caressing your hair with affectionate strokes. Despite the bonds that encircle you, there’s an astonishing sense of relaxation that washes over your body, a profound feeling of safety you’ve never experienced before.

The realization of how deeply safe and cherished you feel brings fresh tears to your eyes. Minho coos softly, his voice a gentle balm to your soul, as he kisses away each tear with a tenderness that rekindles your love for him. This renewed affection is even more intense and consuming than before. In a moment of pure connection, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with tender passion, a testament to the profound bond you share.

What began as a tender kiss soon transformed into an urgent expression of unrestrained desire. Each touch of your lips against Minho’s was imbued with growing desperation, your moans escaping into the intoxicating dance of your shared kiss. His breath, once controlled, now came in ragged gasps, a stark testament to the fervor that had taken hold. As your previously clouded thoughts cleared, all that remained was an all-consuming craving for his body.

Though your hands were bound tightly against your chest, your fingertips clawed into his chiseled torso, digging in as though to silently convey your deep-seated needs. Minho’s groans were a symphony of pleasure, his brows knitting together as he relished the sting of your touch. The closeness between you was so profound that it blurred the lines of where one of you began and the other ended. This intoxicating proximity had you pressing your hips fervently against his, the ropes he had so meticulously wrapped around your hips digging into both of your heated skins, enhancing the fervor of the moment.

You luxuriated in the way his hands roamed over your bound body, pausing to explore the ropes before continuing their journey. Minho’s movements were deliberate, a testament to his careful attention to your every reaction. He eventually positioned himself between your tied knees, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. His gaze lingered, taking in the sight of your flushed, sweat-drenched skin and the rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you panted.

A moan, almost drunken in its intensity, escaped Minho’s lips as his eyes fell upon your achingly drenched arousal. “God, you’re already so deliciously wet for me,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with admiration. You responded with a desperate whine, arching your hips upwards in a silent plea for him to meet your needs. His eyes softened at your response, and he leaned in to place a brief, affectionate kiss on your lips before trailing his mouth downward. His kisses, messy and fervent, left a heated trail along your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment as he continued to explore.

You writhed beneath his touch, your mouth parting as a continuous stream of moans and gasps spilled forth. Every sensation was magnified by the ropes binding your body, which restricted your movements and made it challenging to maintain eye contact with him. When his breath, warm and tantalizing, brushed against your throbbing core, a cry of delight escaped your lips. 

"Min, please," you whispered, your first unprompted plea since this passionate encounter began. The sound of your desperate request drew Minho's gaze upward, his eyes now burning with an even more insatiable hunger. "Please, baby," you continued to beg, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate the depth of your need. "I need you, please, I really need—"

Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud, guttural moan that tore from your throat as Minho's exquisite lips finally made contact with your sensitive clit. The sensation of his lips enveloping and gently sucking, exactly as you had longed for, was electrifying. His touch was slow and deliberate, his movements methodical, each caress sending waves of unparalleled pleasure crashing over you. 

Minho's tongue danced along the edges of your core, and you bucked your hips into his face, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your tied hands, a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. When his fingers finally entered the warmth of your aching arousal, your eyes fluttered back, a primal moan escaping you as another wave of ecstasy surged through your body.

In the past, you might have confidently declared that Minho was an exceptional lover, but the present moment redefined your understanding of his skill. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a pace that was both torturous and exquisite, plunging in and out of you with an intensity that left you breathless. The sensation was so overwhelmingly blissful that it eclipsed any previous experience, tightening your lower abdomen with a fervor you had never known.

Minho’s gaze was a palpable force, watching you intently as you arched your back in response to his relentless exploration of that sensitive, perfect spot inside you. His free hand pressed firmly against your abdomen, enhancing the pressure and making each thrust of his fingers feel even more profound. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your pulsing clit, lavishing it with tender, expert attention.

The building pressure in your abdomen reached a crescendo, and you were overwhelmed by a powerful wave of pleasure that swept through your convulsing body. Minho's voice reached you as though from a great distance, his words muffled and indistinct amidst the roaring storm of your climax. Your focus remained solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers, which continued to move deliberately in and out of you, guiding you through the final throes of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Minho withdrew his fingers, and you watched with a mixture of awe and lingering desire as he brought them to his mouth. He cleaned your arousal with a slow, savoring sweep of his tongue, his eyes never leaving you as he did so. The sight of him tasting you, coupled with the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips, left you breathless and yearning for more.

As your breathing gradually evened out, Minho’s form loomed over you, his presence both commanding and tender. He crawled with a deliberate slowness, the heat of his hardened length brushing against your stomach with each movement. Supporting himself on his forearms, which framed either side of your head, and balancing on his knees that bracketed your hips, he created an intimate cocoon of sensation and anticipation.

Minho’s eyes sparkled with a gleeful satisfaction as he gazed down at you, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The sight of him made your cheeks flush with a warm, bashful hue, and you responded to his smile with one of your own, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his gaze. Yet, each time his aching, hardened core brushed against your skin, a hitch in his breath made it clear that the night’s pleasures were far from over. The renewed flutter of arousal in your own still-sensitive core sent a thrilling shiver through you.

“You were mesmerizing just now,” Minho murmured, his voice a soft whisper meant solely for your ears. The intimacy of his words deepened the blush on your cheeks, and rather than voicing a response, you pressed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. It was a silent plea for more, a desperate declaration of your lingering need for him. The intensity of your kiss drove Minho to groan deeply, his hips settling onto your pelvis. You felt the undeniable heat of his hardness and the telltale slickness that marked his need.

The contact elicited a shared moan from both of you, and you instinctively arched your hips upwards, meeting his body with an eager urgency. Minho shifted his weight to one arm, his free hand gently cradling your jaw as he pulled away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze held a silent question, one that was answered by your breathless plea. “Please, Min, I’ve never felt so good,” you panted, “I want to have all of you, please.”

His eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in to capture your lips once more. The hand that had held your jaw now descended, wrapping around his aching arousal. He groaned deeply at the touch, momentarily pausing to steady himself before he began to pump his length, spreading his own wetness and heightening his anticipation. When he finally pressed the tip of his length against your core, the breath between you both became a held moment of shared expectation.

With a careful, measured thrust, Minho sheathed himself fully inside you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his tip found that sensitive spot with a precise, overwhelming pressure. Your back arched instinctively, seeking deeper connection. Minho’s forehead pressed against yours, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and intensity. His groans vibrated through you as he surrendered to the enveloping warmth of your pulsing tightness, the sensation of being within you driving him to the edge of his control.

Though Minho was often the type to drive you to the edge with relentless, vigorous thrusts that had you chanting his name like a sacred mantra, tonight was a different kind of exploration—one that delved deeply into the emotional connection you shared. This evening was about savoring the intimacy and connection between you.

The ropes that Minho had meticulously bound around your body pressed gently against your skin, creating a delicious tension that made your blood hum with heightened sensation. Each touch of the rope intensified the bliss that flowed through you, amplifying the pleasure you felt with every slow, deliberate motion of Minho’s hips. He would draw back just enough to tease, then push back into you with a depth that elicited soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Minho, too, was caught in the throes of this more tender passion. His eyes struggled to remain open as the pleasure overtook him, pulling him deeper into the shared experience. When you felt the telltale twitch of his length inside you, it was clear that he was nearing his peak. Determined to enhance the moment, you began to move your hips in time with his, each motion guided by the need to match his rhythm. Your moans grew louder as your sensitive clit grazed against his pelvis, driving both of you toward the precipice.

As Minho’s thrusts became more erratic and fevered, his control slipping as he chased his climax, the intensity between you both surged. Finally, with a thrust that struck your sensitive spot with a forceful precision, you both were pulled into an intimate, breathless crescendo. In that climactic moment, you pressed together, bodies entwined, as you both reached the peak of your pleasure simultaneously.

As the intensity of your shared passion began to wane, minutes slipped by in a languid haze. Your breath gradually settled, finding its rhythm once more, while Minho tenderly withdrew his softened length from your still-throbbing core. The room was infused with a soft glow, and you admired the way Minho’s skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the fervor of your union. You scarcely registered the sweet, murmured praises he offered as he meticulously began to untie the ropes that had bound you so intimately.

Your mind was still enveloped in the intoxicating fog of your shared ecstasy, yet every fiber of your being was alight with a blazing warmth that spoke of deep affection. “I love you, Min,” you breathed out, gently interrupting his gentle murmurings. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. The unspoken emotion between you was palpable, and you continued, “Thank you for taking care of me. You have no idea how much I love you.”

As Minho unfastened the final knot securing your wrists, you did not hesitate. You drew him closer, enveloping him in a wordless embrace that conveyed a depth of emotion words could not capture. The silence of the moment spoke volumes, a shared connection that transcended language, as you both held each other tightly, savoring the quiet after the storm of your passion.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist @hyun-bun @nebugalaxy

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION ( stray kids )

❛ In a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and Minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I'm always saying this, but I really love shibari; it's quite literally one of my favorite kinks. So, thank you to my wonderful mootie, Merin, for making the request! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, this is Y/N's first time participating in shibari, Minho has experience in shibari, intensely emotional sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration, unprotected sex (please don't do this), let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The world outside seemed to fade away as if his bedroom had slipped into a realm of its own, where time slowed and the only reality was the two of you, kneeling on the floor. Every breath shared in the confined space felt amplified, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of your bare bodies pressed against the cool wooden floor, facing each other in a vulnerable dance of gazes that held unspoken promises. His eyes, deep pools of dark intensity, locked onto yours with a fervor you had never witnessed before. Minho's gaze bore into you, filled with a passion so palpable it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was something more—a quiet confidence, an ease born of experience, that radiated from him like a quiet storm. It was a look that only someone who had navigated these waters before could possess.

In contrast, you could feel the uncertainty swirling within your own eyes, a reflection of the storm raging inside you. You imagined how pale your face must appear under the soft light, as your heart pounded relentlessly against your chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. The silence between you both was almost deafening, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. You were acutely aware that this was uncharted territory for you, a space where Minho had already traveled with ease. 

This would be the first time you would surrender so completely, relinquishing not just the control of your body but also the reins of your heart and soul. The thought of it made your pulse race even faster, a flutter of nerves and excitement tangling within you. The rope you had both chosen together, a symbol of trust and shared desire, lay between you on the floor, a silent witness to the intimacy about to unfold. As you knelt before him, you knew that tonight, you would willingly empty your mind, allowing Minho to guide you into a world where he alone dictated the pace, where his touch would define your every movement and sensation. And as the rope waited patiently, you found yourself ready to embark on this journey with him, prepared to lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Minho’s lips finally curled into a gentle, reassuring smile, a subtle yet powerful gesture that sent a cascade of tingles racing across your skin. The moment felt suspended in a delicate balance between anticipation and reality, where the space between you two was charged with an unspoken understanding. The warmth of his gaze enveloped you, pulling you into the depths of his emotions, where you could glimpse the full spectrum of his intentions, his unyielding desire, and the raw intensity of his feelings. In that gaze, you found solace, a calming balm to the storm of thoughts that had been churning within you.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in this intimate bubble. Minho’s eyes spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his commitment to you, and in that moment, all remnants of doubt and anxiety began to dissipate. The air around you, thick with silent anticipation, was finally pierced by the soft melody of his voice, tender and careful as if coaxing your soul to dance with his. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asked, the question a gentle reminder of the trust that formed the foundation of what was about to unfold.

His eyes left yours momentarily, tracing the contours of your expression as if seeking any lingering traces of hesitation. You met his gaze with a timid nod, the ghost of a smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Mercy,” you whispered, the word carrying with it a promise of trust, a signal that you were still willing to journey into this new, uncharted territory with him. 

Minho’s smile widened, a reflection of the satisfaction and joy that your willingness brought him. It was a smile that held a thousand promises, a smile that reassured you of the care he would take as he led you further into this passionate exploration. In that smile, you saw not just a lover, but a guide, someone who would hold you through the most intense moments and bring you safely to the other side. And as you both prepared to step into this new chapter together, the connection between you deepened, wrapped in the shared understanding that, no matter what, you were in this together.

Minho rose to his feet, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the fluid motion of his form, tracing the contours of his body as he moved with a quiet, unspoken elegance. Every inch of him was a masterpiece, a living testament to the beauty that lies in the harmony of strength and grace. As he made his way behind you, you allowed yourself to drink in the sight of him, this man who stood before you like a vision of divine perfection. His naked form, something you had always admired, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty, a reflection of the statues of ancient gods that once graced the grand temples of old.

Minho’s physique was a study in contrasts, lean yet muscular, with each muscle defined in a way that spoke of both power and restraint. His body was a work of art, chiseled with the same care and precision that an ancient sculptor might have applied to marble, capturing the very essence of masculine beauty. Every movement he made was deliberate, infused with a quiet confidence that spoke of his inner strength. There was a grace in the way he carried himself, an elegance that made your knees tremble with admiration, as if you were in the presence of a god who needed no words to command the space around him.

The sharp lines of his jaw were a testament to the precision with which nature had crafted him, a strong and unwavering feature that brought to mind the angular perfection of the statues that had survived the ages. It was a defining trait, one that spoke of the strength and resolve that lay beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it seemed to fit him, as if he had been carved by the hands of an ancient artisan intent on embodying the ideal of masculine beauty.

And then there were his hands, the part of him you cherished most. Those hands, both graceful and strong, were like those of a Greek statue, crafted with a care that reflected both power and delicacy. Whether they were guiding him through the fluid movements of a dance or exploring every inch of your body with a precision that drove you to the edge of insanity, his hands conveyed an artistry that was unparalleled. They spoke of his physical prowess, of his ability to channel his strength into the most delicate of touches, and in those moments, you could feel the depth of his connection to you, as if his very soul was intertwined with yours.

Lee Minho, the man who held your heart in his hands, was a raw beauty to behold, a living embodiment of the divine made flesh. His presence, his very essence, was something that captivated you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, and as you gazed upon him, you couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe at the man who stood before you, a man whose soul you firmly believed was tied to yours in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was beautiful.

Your bare skin ignited with a fiery sensation the very moment Minho's warm, naked torso pressed firmly against your back. His presence was a comforting weight, his legs resting on either side of your crossed limbs, encasing you in a protective embrace. You could feel his breath, warm and gentle, fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. As he reached around you, his hands moved with a deliberate tenderness, uncrossing your legs with a fluid grace that left you breathless. The moment his strong legs pinned yours beneath him, you felt an exhilarating surge of vulnerability and trust. His touch was a soothing balm, and as your skin prickled with tiny bumps in response, you surrendered yourself to his guidance, allowing him to mold your body however he wished.

A featherlight kiss brushed the nape of your neck, his plump lips barely grazing your skin, yet the sensation was enough to draw a muted gasp from your parted lips. Minho gently pulled you back, easing you into his embrace until your full weight rested against him, your back flush with his chest. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself biting back a moan as his warmth seeped into your very being. 

Minho had only just begun to touch you, yet already the worries that had once plagued your mind — whether large or small, old or new — began to dissolve, fading into the background as your thoughts grew quieter. With each passing second, you felt your mind and body gradually submit to the serene headspace Minho had so patiently explained to you before. He had been right; there truly was nothing that compared to the bliss of surrendering every burden, every lingering doubt, to the gentle pleasure that was slowly consuming your senses. 

Time seemed to blur as he held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your chest, anchoring you in the moment. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his breathing became your world, a lullaby that lulled you deeper into tranquility. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you interlaced them with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp. In his embrace, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself completely, letting go of everything except the profound connection you shared with him. 

It took a moment for you to realize that Minho had begun gently rocking your bodies from side to side, his embrace warm and secure, as though he was cradling your very soul. His breath, warm against your ear, sent waves of desire coursing through you, a passion so intense it bordered on painful. His voice, soft and tender, murmured words that sent shivers down your spine. "Your pretty head is already so empty, baby," he whispered, each word laced with adoration. "You're doing so good for me already." As his lips trailed tender kisses along every inch of your exposed skin, you instinctively squeezed his fingers, your silent way of letting him know you were still present, still with him. 

Minho’s fingers tightened around yours in response, a comforting reassurance that melted any lingering doubts. "I can't thank you enough for trusting me like this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine reverence. "It’s such an honor to share this moment with you." The delicacy of his words sent a soft whine escaping from your lips, quickly turning into a moan that echoed the vulnerability you felt in his presence. With a final, lingering kiss pressed onto your shoulder, Minho slowly unwrapped his arms from around your torso, his touch lingering like the ghost of a warm embrace. 

He shifted his position with a graceful ease, one knee sinking to the floor while the other foot remained firmly planted, his body hovering over yours like a guardian angel. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, never left yours as he reached for the rope that had been momentarily forgotten between you. With practiced care, he began working the rope free from its tight spiral, each loop unfurling in a fluid motion until it lay in a long, taut line behind you. 

With a few measured tugs, Minho folded the length in half, aligning the two ends with meticulous precision before letting the rope rest lazily over one of your shoulders. The looped end of the rope was held between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes as he let the rough texture brush against your overly sensitive skin. The sensation sent your breath hitching, your heartbeat quickening in anticipation of what was to come. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, to the way his touch promised both restraint and release, as you surrender yourself completely to the moment, to Minho.

Once the rope was positioned just right, Minho wasted no time in pressing his firm chest against your back once more. The warmth of his skin sent a comforting shiver through you, and as his body began to sway, it felt as though you were both caught in an entrancing dance. Slowly, he guided you into a series of circular motions, the gentle rhythm lulling you deeper into a shared trance. The way he moved with you was like a carefully choreographed ballet, each step measured and intentional, designed to draw out the pleasure simmering just beneath the surface.

As Minho pinned your arms beneath his own, a surge of instinct had you clutching the back of his thighs, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensations that were building between you. The heat of the moment intensified, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you with each of Minho’s expert touches. His hands, strong yet tender, guided your movements, and the synergy between your bodies grew with every slow, deliberate motion. The connection was so deep, so visceral, that you lost track of time, completely immersed in the dance of your shared intimacy.

At some point, you became aware that your legs had returned to their original x-patterned position. The realization came just as Minho’s hands, heavy with intent yet comforting in their touch, pressed against your feet. He let them linger there for a moment before slowly, sensually, dragging them up the length of your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thighs, ghosting over your aching arousal, teasing you with the promise of more. Finally, his hands found their home on your waist, and the sensation was so overwhelming that a guttural moan escaped your lips, raw and unbidden. 

Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second. Through the haze of desire, you caught sight of his gaze — an all-consuming love that pierced through the fog of your mind, grounding you in the moment. The way his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of both passion and devotion, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached out with a trembling hand to squeeze his bicep, offering a blissed-out grin in return, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared. Then, with a soft sigh, you let your eyes drift closed once more, allowing yourself to sink back into the warmth of his embrace, the intimacy of this moment enveloping you completely.

A few moments passed in this heavenly embrace, each second stretching into eternity as you basked in the warmth of Minho’s touch. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. But then, the gentle hold on your waist faded, replaced by the firm yet careful grip of Minho's hands as they moved to capture your wrists. With a tender precision, he brought them together in front of your body, the motion so fluid it felt almost like an extension of the dance you were sharing.

He held your wrists together with one hand, a possessive yet loving grasp that sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. His free hand trailed up the length of your arm, a ghostly touch that left your skin tingling in its wake, before finding its place in your hair. His fingers wove through the strands, gripping just firmly enough to draw a moan from your lips. It wasn't painful — far from it — but the pressure was just enough to remind you of the power he held, the control he wielded over your body and senses.

The rhythmic, circular motions he had so carefully orchestrated came to an abrupt stop, leaving you breathless with anticipation. Then, with a controlled force, Minho pushed both of your bodies forward, guiding you down until your chest and stomach were pressed firmly against the ground. Your knees spread to the sides, a position that left you utterly vulnerable and exposed, and the raw, guttural moan that tore from your throat was a testament to the overwhelming arousal that flooded your senses.

As your mind struggled to catch up with this new, intoxicating position, Minho's warm body followed yours, his presence a constant, grounding force. The sensation of his naked flesh draping over your folded form sent shivers of pleasure coursing down your spine, each touch amplifying the closeness you shared. The weight of him pressed against your overly sensitive skin was both a comfort and a thrill, intensifying the already electric connection between you. It was as though every inch of your body was attuned to his, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of Minho, his touch, his breath, his very essence surrounding you, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unbridled intimacy.

Despite the rope held between his teeth, Minho managed to press a tender kiss onto your flushed cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. As his lips lingered, you felt the first tentative grind of his hardened arousal against your lower back, the intimate friction igniting a new wave of sensation that rippled through your body. The slow, deliberate movement caused both of you to rock back and forth in a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was intoxicating, a silent dance that spoke of unspoken desires and deepening connection.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless gasp, your senses immediately drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that blossomed from this newfound contact. Each subtle shift of his hips against you sent shockwaves of arousal spiraling through your core, leaving you painfully wet and clenching around the emptiness inside, desperate for more. The need within you grew with every passing second, a relentless ache that only intensified as your body responded to his touch with soft whines and gasps, spilling from your lips without restraint.

Your eyelids crinkled in pleasure, brows knitting together as your mind struggled to keep up with the storm of sensations crashing over you. But any semblance of control was quickly lost as you felt Minho's hardened length begin to leak onto your lower back, the warmth of his arousal mingling with your own fevered skin. The combination was electrifying, a heady mix of intimacy and desire that left you trembling. 

Minho’s breathing grew strained, the steady rhythm faltering as he momentarily lost himself in his own pleasure, the sound of it like a raw, primal symphony that echoed in your ears. The very air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, each breath, each touch, each whisper of fabric against skin drawing you deeper into the vortex of sensation that consumed you both. And as the two of you rocked together, moving in perfect unison, it felt as though nothing else existed beyond the boundaries of this shared moment, this exquisite blend of passion and connection.

However, the fleeting pleasure of Minho's grinding against your lower back was soon replaced by a new sensation as he shifted positions once again. His movements were deliberate, yet unhurried, as he slowly pulled away, the grinding coming to a hesitant halt. The rope that had been held between his teeth now trailed gently across the expanse of your back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The sensation was enough to elicit a soft moan from your lips, a sound that only deepened when Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back into the solid warmth of his chest. His grip was firm yet tender, sending ripples of electricity across your skin, each pulse intensifying the connection between you.

The way your body instinctively melted into each of Minho's silent commands was intoxicating, a surrender that felt both empowering and liberating. In his hands, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by the depth of your shared intimacy. There was no need to worry or overthink, as your soul-tied lover had taken control of every aspect of your pleasure, guiding you with a deftness that only heightened your arousal with every passing second. The trust between you was palpable, a silent understanding that allowed you to let go completely, to revel in the sensations that Minho was expertly crafting.

Your awareness of his actions dimmed as you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect unison. The steady rocking was a dance of pure sensation, each movement a testament to the deep connection you shared. It wasn't long before you felt Minho's hand release its hold on your hair, and your dazed eyes fluttered open, curiosity piqued by the change in his touch. His free hand joined the other, which had been holding both of your wrists, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as the rope glided smoothly over your skin, its texture a reminder of the gentle power Minho wielded over you.

With slow, deliberate movements, Minho began to wrap the rope around your wrists, his expert hands tying the first knot with a precision that was both arousing and reassuring. The pressure of the rope was firm, enough to make you feel bound, yet not tight enough to cause discomfort. It was a tender introduction, a prelude to what was to come, and the anticipation of it sent a thrill through your body. The way Minho's hands moved with such care and intention made it clear that this was only the beginning, and the thought of what lay ahead left you breathless, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your breath catches as Minho's teeth graze your earlobe, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. He'd just secured the first knot around your wrists, tugging lightly to ensure it held firm. The binding was precise, a testament to his careful attention. "How are we feeling, my love?" he murmured, his voice softer than a whisper, as though the very air around you would break if he spoke too loudly. Even through the fog of your bliss, you managed a silent nod, your senses dulled yet heightened by the intimacy of the moment. Minho's quiet chuckle warmed your heart, its gentle timbre resonating deep within you.

Releasing his grip on your wrists, Minho didn't pause in the rhythmic sway of your bodies. His hands moved with purpose, trailing up and down your arms in a tender effort to ground you in the here and now. The sensation was electric, a soothing contrast to the growing intensity between you. "Use your words for me," he coaxed, his tone a mix of gentle insistence and deep affection. "I need to know you're here with me." The sheer tenderness in his voice drew a whimper from your lips, the weight of your love for him pressing heavily on your chest.

As his chin came to rest softly on your shoulder, you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was one of pure serenity, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you. The sight of him, so calm and full of love, made your heart swell, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. With a small, almost shy smile, you whispered, "I'm here. I'm with you." The words were meant for him alone, a quiet reassurance that you were still present, still grounded in this moment with him.

Minho's smile widened at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that you were anything less than utterly content. But all he found was the evidence of your mind blissfully clouded, your expression soft and open. You managed another nod, followed by a whispered "yes," the word barely more than a breath. He hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your temple before his hand moved to rest against your throat.

The shift in his touch brought a new intensity to the moment, his wrist firm against your throat as he quickened the pace of your shared rhythm. The atmosphere in the room thickened, the air heavy with the weight of your connection. "My love," he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending another shiver through you. "From this point forward, I will be picking up the pace. Just keep in mind that I adore you completely, so if you need me to stop, all you have to do is use the safe word, and I will do as asked. Please nod your head if you understand this, baby. I need you to stay here with me."

The gentle pleading in his voice tugged at your heart, and you felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. His concern, his care, it all spoke to the depth of his feelings for you. With a soft yet firm resolve, you met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Slowly, you nodded, the movement small but full of assurance.

Minho's eyes softened further, the relief evident as he leaned in to capture your lips once more in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. This moment, this connection between you, was more than just physical—it was a profound expression of the love and trust you shared. As the kiss deepened, the rhythm of your bodies followed suit, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, a dance of intimacy that enveloped you both.

Minho presses another gentle kiss to your temple, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your consent. The delicate touch of his lips sends a soothing warmth through you, a silent promise of care and affection. Using the wrist he had previously rested against your neck, he gently guides your head back to rest on his shoulder, his touch both tender and commanding. At the same time, he lifts your wrists slightly by the ropes binding them, a subtle shift that draws you closer to him.

As your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the intensity of the moment, you feel yourself being enveloped by the sensations surrounding you. Minho's movements become a rhythm you can't help but follow, his hips coaxing you to roll your own in an erotic dance reminiscent of the way you move when seated on his lap. The heat of his skin meets the tender, restrained touch of your tied hands, and you instinctively let your fingers brush against his cheek, a soft caress that makes his breath hitch—a delightful response to your affectionate gesture amidst the consuming passion.

You begin to roll your hips in sync with Minho’s guiding movements, the rhythm now an unspoken dance between you. Shifting your head, you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, the closeness a balm to your senses. With swift, practiced motions, Minho directs your bound hands to move in a semi-circle in front of you, a motion that feels like a step in a choreographed routine. The pace of your bodies swaying together grows more urgent and intense, your breaths becoming sharp, matching Minho's as the anticipation of the moment electrifies every nerve in your body. 

As soon as your tied hands completed their arc from one side to the other, Minho eased back, allowing your pliant body to drape across his strong thigh. The soft, powerful support of his leg cradled you, and you surrendered completely to the enveloping tranquility that your mind floated upon. With your eyes still closed, you surrendered to the all-encompassing serenity that seemed to cocoon you.

Once you were settled on his thigh, Minho used his other leg to gently spread your knees further apart. A soft moan, which quickly morphed into a whine, escaped your lips as his firm hand pressed against your chest and traveled slowly down to cup your drenched arousal. But just as quickly, he withdrew, leaving you in a state of aching anticipation.

Minho shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer with the rope that bound your wrists. A hand guided your head forward, and you reluctantly opened your eyes to meet his intense gaze. His eyes, soft yet laden with a dark anticipation, locked onto yours as he resumed the sensual, circular rocking of your bodies. The tender yet unyielding rhythm of his movements sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a thrill at the shift in his gaze, a potent blend of tenderness and longing.

Leaning forward, Minho pushed you backward until your head nearly touched the ground, his lips parting in a teasing promise. Instinctively, you parted your own lips, expecting a kiss, but instead, he breathed into your mouth, the warm, intoxicating air a seductive caress as his eyes remained locked on yours. Just as abruptly, he pulled away, pressing you back firmly against his chest, leaving both of you breathless. 

Your cheeks pressed together, and a thrilling shiver raced up your spine as you watched Minho pull the rope tighter, binding your wrists securely against your chest. The sensation of the rope against your skin, combined with the proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze, created a heady, intoxicating blend of pleasure and anticipation that left you utterly enraptured.

As the session deepens, Minho maintains a steady rhythm, swaying your bodies together in perfect harmony. His skilled hands move with deliberate grace, meticulously tying the rope to ensure your hands remain securely pressed against your chest. The rope's embrace is both encompassing and protective, each knot and loop placed with exquisite care. Minho pauses occasionally, his eyes soft yet attentive, as if silently checking in on you.

The rope winds its way around your shoulders, torso, and then descends to your thighs, hips, and legs. Each pass of the rope feels grounding and intense, its firm grip holding your legs apart to reveal your glistening core. The tightening sensation of the rope, combined with Minho’s unwavering presence, envelops you in a profound sense of vulnerability and trust. As Minho finishes the intricate tying, the final knot meticulously placed, you become aware of the intensity of the emotions coursing through you. A few tears have traced paths down your cheeks, each one tenderly kissed away by Minho.

With a gentle sigh, Minho allows you to rest on the ground, still bound but comforted. He kneels beside you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he interlocks his fingers with one of yours. His gaze is filled with a tender appreciation for the intricate work he has completed. Leaning in, he presses a soft, loving kiss to your lips, his free hand caressing your hair with affectionate strokes. Despite the bonds that encircle you, there’s an astonishing sense of relaxation that washes over your body, a profound feeling of safety you’ve never experienced before.

The realization of how deeply safe and cherished you feel brings fresh tears to your eyes. Minho coos softly, his voice a gentle balm to your soul, as he kisses away each tear with a tenderness that rekindles your love for him. This renewed affection is even more intense and consuming than before. In a moment of pure connection, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with tender passion, a testament to the profound bond you share.

What began as a tender kiss soon transformed into an urgent expression of unrestrained desire. Each touch of your lips against Minho’s was imbued with growing desperation, your moans escaping into the intoxicating dance of your shared kiss. His breath, once controlled, now came in ragged gasps, a stark testament to the fervor that had taken hold. As your previously clouded thoughts cleared, all that remained was an all-consuming craving for his body.

Though your hands were bound tightly against your chest, your fingertips clawed into his chiseled torso, digging in as though to silently convey your deep-seated needs. Minho’s groans were a symphony of pleasure, his brows knitting together as he relished the sting of your touch. The closeness between you was so profound that it blurred the lines of where one of you began and the other ended. This intoxicating proximity had you pressing your hips fervently against his, the ropes he had so meticulously wrapped around your hips digging into both of your heated skins, enhancing the fervor of the moment.

You luxuriated in the way his hands roamed over your bound body, pausing to explore the ropes before continuing their journey. Minho’s movements were deliberate, a testament to his careful attention to your every reaction. He eventually positioned himself between your tied knees, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. His gaze lingered, taking in the sight of your flushed, sweat-drenched skin and the rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you panted.

A moan, almost drunken in its intensity, escaped Minho’s lips as his eyes fell upon your achingly drenched arousal. “God, you’re already so deliciously wet for me,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with admiration. You responded with a desperate whine, arching your hips upwards in a silent plea for him to meet your needs. His eyes softened at your response, and he leaned in to place a brief, affectionate kiss on your lips before trailing his mouth downward. His kisses, messy and fervent, left a heated trail along your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment as he continued to explore.

You writhed beneath his touch, your mouth parting as a continuous stream of moans and gasps spilled forth. Every sensation was magnified by the ropes binding your body, which restricted your movements and made it challenging to maintain eye contact with him. When his breath, warm and tantalizing, brushed against your throbbing core, a cry of delight escaped your lips. 

"Min, please," you whispered, your first unprompted plea since this passionate encounter began. The sound of your desperate request drew Minho's gaze upward, his eyes now burning with an even more insatiable hunger. "Please, baby," you continued to beg, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate the depth of your need. "I need you, please, I really need—"

Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud, guttural moan that tore from your throat as Minho's exquisite lips finally made contact with your sensitive clit. The sensation of his lips enveloping and gently sucking, exactly as you had longed for, was electrifying. His touch was slow and deliberate, his movements methodical, each caress sending waves of unparalleled pleasure crashing over you. 

Minho's tongue danced along the edges of your core, and you bucked your hips into his face, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your tied hands, a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. When his fingers finally entered the warmth of your aching arousal, your eyes fluttered back, a primal moan escaping you as another wave of ecstasy surged through your body.

In the past, you might have confidently declared that Minho was an exceptional lover, but the present moment redefined your understanding of his skill. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a pace that was both torturous and exquisite, plunging in and out of you with an intensity that left you breathless. The sensation was so overwhelmingly blissful that it eclipsed any previous experience, tightening your lower abdomen with a fervor you had never known.

Minho’s gaze was a palpable force, watching you intently as you arched your back in response to his relentless exploration of that sensitive, perfect spot inside you. His free hand pressed firmly against your abdomen, enhancing the pressure and making each thrust of his fingers feel even more profound. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your pulsing clit, lavishing it with tender, expert attention.

The building pressure in your abdomen reached a crescendo, and you were overwhelmed by a powerful wave of pleasure that swept through your convulsing body. Minho's voice reached you as though from a great distance, his words muffled and indistinct amidst the roaring storm of your climax. Your focus remained solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers, which continued to move deliberately in and out of you, guiding you through the final throes of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Minho withdrew his fingers, and you watched with a mixture of awe and lingering desire as he brought them to his mouth. He cleaned your arousal with a slow, savoring sweep of his tongue, his eyes never leaving you as he did so. The sight of him tasting you, coupled with the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips, left you breathless and yearning for more.

As your breathing gradually evened out, Minho’s form loomed over you, his presence both commanding and tender. He crawled with a deliberate slowness, the heat of his hardened length brushing against your stomach with each movement. Supporting himself on his forearms, which framed either side of your head, and balancing on his knees that bracketed your hips, he created an intimate cocoon of sensation and anticipation.

Minho’s eyes sparkled with a gleeful satisfaction as he gazed down at you, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The sight of him made your cheeks flush with a warm, bashful hue, and you responded to his smile with one of your own, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his gaze. Yet, each time his aching, hardened core brushed against your skin, a hitch in his breath made it clear that the night’s pleasures were far from over. The renewed flutter of arousal in your own still-sensitive core sent a thrilling shiver through you.

“You were mesmerizing just now,” Minho murmured, his voice a soft whisper meant solely for your ears. The intimacy of his words deepened the blush on your cheeks, and rather than voicing a response, you pressed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. It was a silent plea for more, a desperate declaration of your lingering need for him. The intensity of your kiss drove Minho to groan deeply, his hips settling onto your pelvis. You felt the undeniable heat of his hardness and the telltale slickness that marked his need.

The contact elicited a shared moan from both of you, and you instinctively arched your hips upwards, meeting his body with an eager urgency. Minho shifted his weight to one arm, his free hand gently cradling your jaw as he pulled away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze held a silent question, one that was answered by your breathless plea. “Please, Min, I’ve never felt so good,” you panted, “I want to have all of you, please.”

His eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in to capture your lips once more. The hand that had held your jaw now descended, wrapping around his aching arousal. He groaned deeply at the touch, momentarily pausing to steady himself before he began to pump his length, spreading his own wetness and heightening his anticipation. When he finally pressed the tip of his length against your core, the breath between you both became a held moment of shared expectation.

With a careful, measured thrust, Minho sheathed himself fully inside you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his tip found that sensitive spot with a precise, overwhelming pressure. Your back arched instinctively, seeking deeper connection. Minho’s forehead pressed against yours, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and intensity. His groans vibrated through you as he surrendered to the enveloping warmth of your pulsing tightness, the sensation of being within you driving him to the edge of his control.

Though Minho was often the type to drive you to the edge with relentless, vigorous thrusts that had you chanting his name like a sacred mantra, tonight was a different kind of exploration—one that delved deeply into the emotional connection you shared. This evening was about savoring the intimacy and connection between you.

The ropes that Minho had meticulously bound around your body pressed gently against your skin, creating a delicious tension that made your blood hum with heightened sensation. Each touch of the rope intensified the bliss that flowed through you, amplifying the pleasure you felt with every slow, deliberate motion of Minho’s hips. He would draw back just enough to tease, then push back into you with a depth that elicited soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Minho, too, was caught in the throes of this more tender passion. His eyes struggled to remain open as the pleasure overtook him, pulling him deeper into the shared experience. When you felt the telltale twitch of his length inside you, it was clear that he was nearing his peak. Determined to enhance the moment, you began to move your hips in time with his, each motion guided by the need to match his rhythm. Your moans grew louder as your sensitive clit grazed against his pelvis, driving both of you toward the precipice.

As Minho’s thrusts became more erratic and fevered, his control slipping as he chased his climax, the intensity between you both surged. Finally, with a thrust that struck your sensitive spot with a forceful precision, you both were pulled into an intimate, breathless crescendo. In that climactic moment, you pressed together, bodies entwined, as you both reached the peak of your pleasure simultaneously.

As the intensity of your shared passion began to wane, minutes slipped by in a languid haze. Your breath gradually settled, finding its rhythm once more, while Minho tenderly withdrew his softened length from your still-throbbing core. The room was infused with a soft glow, and you admired the way Minho’s skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the fervor of your union. You scarcely registered the sweet, murmured praises he offered as he meticulously began to untie the ropes that had bound you so intimately.

Your mind was still enveloped in the intoxicating fog of your shared ecstasy, yet every fiber of your being was alight with a blazing warmth that spoke of deep affection. “I love you, Min,” you breathed out, gently interrupting his gentle murmurings. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. The unspoken emotion between you was palpable, and you continued, “Thank you for taking care of me. You have no idea how much I love you.”

As Minho unfastened the final knot securing your wrists, you did not hesitate. You drew him closer, enveloping him in a wordless embrace that conveyed a depth of emotion words could not capture. The silence of the moment spoke volumes, a shared connection that transcended language, as you both held each other tightly, savoring the quiet after the storm of your passion.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

hiii my green how are youuu ??😽 i hope you dont mind me hopping in here to request something ><

ive been thinking a lot abt skz and shibari since i read your headcanons and i was wondering if you could write something like this with minho and fem!reader where the reader is the one being tied up ?? something really comforting and intimate, with lots of emotional connection if its okay ?? ofc dont feel pressured and/or rushed !! take your time<33

n e wayy, take care, ilyy🫶🏽🫶🏽

Beautiful Merin, hello! All things considered, I'm doing pretty good! Merin, I will never mind you making requests, they're all truly wonderful 🥰🫶

The way I was giggling and kicking my feet when I read your request, you have no idea how fucking excited I was to finally write something focused on the pure beauty of shibari 😩 I really, really loved writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

Please make sure to drink water! ILY! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION (MDNI)

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 7.2k

hey Green, i’ve just come from the Lee Know one shot you wrote and i’ve already read some of your other works and i’m in love! i see you also write smut so i was wondering if you could write something with Hyunjin? tbh i was thinking of something like it’s the first time he and the reader (fem!) make love, not like losing their virginity or anything. they’re both adults but they’ve been dating for a bit and feel ready for this next part? maybe add a bit of awkwardness to add a bit of realism to it?

if not, totally okay! i just love your writing!

also, a little side note..can i be 🌪️ anon? is that weird? i’m sorry!

Hello 🌪️! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to this but I hope you enjoy it! This took me a while to complete purely because I couldn’t figure out the pacing of it, but I’m finally satisfied with it and I hope you’ll be as well! This was genuinely such a fun request, though, and I feel like a lot of people don't really talk about how lowkey awkward it can be when you're having sex with someone for the first time — regardless of whether either of you are virgins or not, and also regardless of how much chemistry you have with them! Sex doesn't follow a specific guide that everyone enjoys, so it can sometimes take a little bit of trial and error until you figure out what your partner likes and what they don't. We also should always consider the anxiety that a lot of people experience right before as well as during, which can often mess up their performance, which is totally okay!

Anyway, sorry for the mini-rant, I just feel like these are things that should be normalized! Especially when it comes to writing since a lot of these (wonderful, might I add) authors glorify the idea of first time you have sex with your partner goes absolutely perfect. It doesn't mean that it never happens, but it's important to also know this. Okay, seriously, moving on — thank you for your support! <3

Please feel free to send me other requests or asks and I promise I'll try to do better about responding! Again, sorry it took me so long! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

🌧️ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍-𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 🌧️

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 4.5k

🌧️ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍-𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ On a rainy evening, a deepening connection unfolds between you and Hyunjin as you explore your newfound intimacy in the cozy sanctuary of your studio apartment. Amidst clumsy yet heartfelt moments, your bond blossoms into a magical dance of tenderness and desire, celebrated under the gentle rhythm of the falling rain.

𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 18 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a little bit ago by my lovely 🌪️ Anon! I genuinely loved working on this purely for the awkwardness between Y/N and Hyunjin. I just feel like this is something that is not talked about enough, especially within the writing community. It's completely normal to be a bit clumsy and/or awkward the first time you have sex with someone — it doesn't mean that you or your partner is a virgin or is bad at it! Everyone's tastes when it comes to this is different so it might take a second to figure your partner out! And that's totally okay! Alright, anyway, requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, established relationship, it's first time Hyunjin fingers you, neither of you are virgins, it's awkward and a little clumsy at the beginning, very fluffy, please let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

It had been a Saturday to remember, one that etched itself into the tapestry of your memories, marked by the presence of Hyunjin. His charismatic charm had woven itself through your days for the past month, casting a spell of enchantment that lingered in the air. Though the span of time you had spent together might appear fleeting in the grand scheme of things, it felt as if you had experienced an entire lifetime’s worth of moments within those precious weeks.

Each shared glance carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words, creating a silent dialogue that only the two of you understood. Every burst of laughter echoed like a melody, resonating with joy and warmth that filled the spaces between you. The conversations you shared, whether deep and contemplative or light and whimsical, wove a rich tapestry of connection that seemed to transcend the mere passage of days.

It was as though time itself had bent and stretched to accommodate the depth of your interactions. The moments you spent together, whether walking hand in hand through sun-dappled streets or sharing quiet, emotionally intimate evenings under a canopy of stars, left you with the impression that you had journeyed through countless experiences together in just a short while. The intensity of your bond created a sense of timelessness, making each day feel like a chapter in a beautifully unfolding story.

The day dawned under the crisp, invigorating light of morning, painting the world in hues of possibility. Hyunjin stood eagerly by your front door, his eyes sparkling with anticipation and a smile that promised adventure. The air was charged with the excitement of a day uncharted, a journey waiting to unfold as you both boarded the train bound for the newly opened museum.

As the train carried you toward your destination, a sense of exhilaration grew, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of the tracks. The cityscape blurred past, a fleeting backdrop to the conversation and laughter that filled the space between you. Upon arrival, the museum revealed itself as a grand sanctuary of artistry and history, its towering facade inviting you into a world where time seemed to stand still.

Stepping inside, you were enveloped by the cool, hushed atmosphere of the museum, a place where every corner promised discovery. The labyrinthine halls stretched out before you, each exhibit unfolding like a new chapter in your shared journey. Vibrant paintings, intricate sculptures, and ancient artifacts beckoned you closer, igniting lively discussions and thoughtful reflections. With every step, you meandered through galleries side by side, your connection deepening as you shared insights and marvels.

The experience felt timeless, an effortless immersion into a realm of creativity and wonder. You lost yourselves in the stories etched into each piece, the artistry that transcended the mundane and spoke directly to your souls. The hours slipped by unnoticed, each moment adding a brushstroke to the canvas of your day, painting a picture of shared exploration and discovery. In that museum, amidst the echoes of history and the whispers of creativity, you found not only a deeper understanding of the world but also of each other.

After immersing yourselves in the museum's artistic treasures, you both boarded the train once more, the thrill of the day still crackling in the air between you. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks beneath you seemed to echo the excitement of the adventure that awaited. Your destination was your favorite restaurant, a cherished haven where comfort and familiarity wove seamlessly into the fabric of its ambiance.

Upon arrival, the restaurant greeted you with its warm, inviting glow. Soft light spilled from hanging fixtures, casting a gentle radiance over the rustic wooden tables and cushioned chairs. The scent of savory dishes wafted through the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread. As you settled into your seats, the meal became more than just sustenance; it transformed into a canvas for laughter and playful banter.

Each dish that arrived at your table seemed to serve as a catalyst for shared stories and inside jokes. The vibrant colors of the food mirrored the lively exchange between you, as conversations flowed effortlessly alongside bites of deliciously crafted dishes. The restaurant’s lively bustle provided a vibrant backdrop, its hum of chatter and clinking of cutlery blending into the symphony of your shared experience.

The meal, rich with flavor and affection, was more than a mere dining experience; it was an extension of the day's joy and companionship. With each course, you both found yourselves drawn closer, the savory dishes a tangible reflection of the deepening bond between you. As you enjoyed each bite, the connection you had forged earlier in the museum seemed to be solidified, the warmth of the food and the ambiance merging to create a perfect continuation of the day's adventures.

Adjacent to the restaurant stood a quaint psychic shop, its sign casting a gentle, ethereal glow that beckoned with an almost magnetic allure. The delicate, swirling script on the sign seemed to whisper promises of mysteries and hidden truths, igniting a spark of curiosity within both of you. Driven by a shared sense of adventure and intrigue, you decided to venture inside, stepping into a world that seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

The interior of the shop was a treasure trove of curiosities. Dimly lit by the soft flicker of candlelight, the space was adorned with richly embroidered tapestries and shelves brimming with intriguing artifacts. The air was tinged with the heady fragrance of incense, mingling with the faint aroma of old parchment and aromatic herbs. In the center of this enigmatic realm sat the psychic, her presence as compelling as the surroundings.

Her gaze was shrouded in an enigmatic aura as she performed the reading, her eyes glimmering with an inscrutable wisdom. As she declared with a knowing smile that you and Hyunjin were soulmates, her words seemed to reverberate with an almost palpable magic. The statement hung in the air like a delicate thread, weaving itself into the fabric of your shared experience.

The psychic’s cryptic smile was met with a blend of surprise and shyness on your faces. A soft blush crept across both your cheeks, accentuating the nervous laughter that bubbled up between you. Each of you cast furtive glances away, caught between a fluttering sense of embarrassment and an exhilarating hint of delight. The moment felt like a secret dance, a playful intimacy that hung between you, adding a layer of enchantment to the day. The encounter at the psychic shop became a cherished memory, a touch of magic that lingered like a sweet aftertaste, enriching the tapestry of your shared adventure.

As the evening unfurled, you both returned to the serene sanctuary of your cozy studio apartment. The tranquility of the space embraced you like a warm hug, with the soft, rhythmic purring of your cat—curled contentedly on the nightstand—embodying the essence of home’s simple pleasures. The room was gently illuminated by the soft, golden glow of the lamp, casting a soothing radiance that seemed to enhance the peaceful ambiance.

In this haven of calm, you set about preparing warm tea for both of you. The aroma of the brewing tea leaves mingled with the subtle scent of the evening, creating an olfactory embrace that complemented the warmth of the space. As you poured the steaming liquid into delicate cups, the gentle clinking of porcelain was a soft, melodious counterpoint to the quietude surrounding you.

The conversation that followed was a tender and intimate exchange, your voices barely rising above hushed whispers as you both savored the serene atmosphere of the moment. Each word shared was like a caress, adding to the richness of your connection. Cradling your tea cups in your hands, you both reveled in a profound sense of contentment, the day’s adventures seamlessly blending into the gentle comfort of your shared refuge.

The evening unfolded as a quiet yet significant culmination of laughter, connection, and deepening bonds. The day’s escapades, full of vivid experiences and cherished moments, seemed to melt into the soft, welcoming embrace of your studio. This tranquil conclusion transformed the day into a cherished memory, a treasured chapter that would linger tenderly in your hearts.

As the night wore on, the rain began to fall in a steady, soothing rhythm, each droplet creating a symphony of tranquility against the windows. The gentle patter of the rain became a serene backdrop to the evening's unfolding events, wrapping your world in a cocoon of calm. Within the comforting familiarity of your bedroom, the atmosphere was imbued with a sense of warmth and intimacy.

You extended an invitation to Hyunjin, offering him a place beside you on the bed, a gesture that had become second nature over the short time you’ve been together. Yet tonight carried a different energy, a palpable shift that neither of you could ignore—evident in the way Hyunjin’s heavy eyes followed your every move. The ambiance was charged with an emerging affection, an electric undercurrent that seemed to hum softly in the space between you.

Each fleeting glance you shared was laden with unspoken emotions, eyes conveying what words could not. The subtle brush of skin against skin felt like sparks igniting a fire, each touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Your quiet conversations, spoken in hushed tones, wove a delicate tapestry of words and sentiments, each one deepening the connection you felt.

In the stillness of your home, every moment seemed to heighten the sense of anticipation. The rain's gentle cadence matched the rhythm of your hearts, beating in sync as if to the same unspoken melody. The space between you felt charged, a magnetic pull drawing you closer to a deeper intimacy that was steadily approaching, its arrival inevitable and eagerly awaited.

The night continued to unfold in this gentle yet intense dance of emotions, the rain outside acting as a serenade to your evolving bond while you prepared your bed for the night. Each moment spent together was a testament to the growing affection that had blossomed between you, transforming the ordinary into something exquisitely profound. In that cozy sanctuary, under the spell of the night and the rain, you both felt the irresistible pull toward a connection that promised to be as enduring as the rhythmic rain itself.

The tension between you both thickened as you handed him a t-shirt he had intentionally left behind during a previous visit. The fabric of the shirt, worn soft and familiar, passed from your hands to his with a weight that seemed to carry unspoken significance. As soon as he grasped the shirt, a spark of unspoken urgency ignited between you. His lips met yours with a fervor that had been quietly simmering throughout the day, an electric connection that surged with the intensity of all the emotions you had harbored.

The kiss was a profound mingling of longing and desire, a tangible culmination of the feelings that had been building in the quiet spaces between you. It was as if the very essence of the day’s shared moments converged in this single, impassioned exchange. 

Even amidst this deep connection, an endearing awkwardness lingered in the air. As you both clumsily undressed each other, your movements were hesitant and unpracticed, yet brimming with sincerity. Nervous laughter bubbled up between you, a symphony of shared amusement that softened the intensity of the moment. Your hands fumbled gently, each touch a mix of tender care and uncoordinated eagerness, creating a dance of intimacy that was both innocent and heartfelt.

Your gaze remained locked on his dazed eyes, the unspoken emotions between you speaking volumes. Every brush of your fingers, every accidental graze, was charged with a sense of wonder and discovery. The garments fell away piece by piece, leaving you both in only your underwear, vulnerable and exposed yet completely at ease in each other's presence.

The path to the bed was a journey marked by stumbles and shared glances. Each step was a testament to the raw and unrefined nature of your intimacy, a beautiful reminder of the genuine connection you were forging. The nervous energy between you added a layer of charm to the moment, making each interaction feel even more precious.

As you finally reached the bed, the clumsy yet heartfelt nature of your movements only served to deepen the bond you were creating. The tender moments of hesitation and the bursts of laughter wove together, forming a tapestry of intimacy that was uniquely your own. In the gentle embrace of the night, surrounded by the quiet rhythm of your shared breaths, you both discovered a profound sense of closeness that transcended the physical, creating a memory that would linger long after the night had ended.

This clumsy yet heartfelt interaction only added to the night's charm, weaving an intricate tapestry of shared experience. Every hesitant touch, each nervous laugh, became a delicate thread, binding you closer together. As he settled between your legs, the intimacy of the moment deepened, turning every interaction into a genuine and endearing part of your growing bond.

A breathy moan escapes your lips as Hyunjin's kisses trace a delicate path along your jaw, each touch igniting a spark of electricity. When he reaches the sensitive spot just below your ear, a shiver runs through you, heightening your senses. This reaction seemed to bolster his confidence, and with gentle yet assertive hands, he guided you to lay back on the bed.

As you sink into the soft embrace of the mattress, his mouth works its magic, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Each kiss, each caress is a jolt of pure electricity, making your heart race and your breath hitch. The intensity of his touch leaves you yearning for more, each moment an exquisite blend of anticipation and ecstasy.

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, craving the warmth and intimacy of his presence. As he continues his descent, his mouth finds your hardened nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect symphony of pleasure that leaves you arching your back, pressing yourself against him.

In this intimate dance, every movement feels deliberate and profound, each touch a testament to the deep connection you share. The room around you fades into obscurity, leaving only the two of you in a world of your own creation, where time stands still and nothing exists except the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies entwined.

His kisses, like whispers of fire, trail across your skin, igniting every nerve ending with a burning desire. The magic of his mouth, the gentle yet insistent way he explores your body, leaves you trembling with need. Every breathy moan, every gasp of pleasure, becomes a part of this beautiful symphony, resonating in the quiet sanctuary of your shared space.

Your hands find the courage to wander, fingers trembling with anticipation as they begin their exploration. Every touch is an act of reverence, a slow and deliberate journey to memorize the curves and contours of his lean body. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you.

As your hands glide over his torso, you savor the feeling of his defined muscles, each movement a tactile symphony. Your fingertips dance over his chest, tracing the lines of his pecs before drifting down to his abs. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch is mesmerizing, drawing you deeper into the intimate connection you share.

When your hands finally reach his abs, you slow your pace, allowing yourself to fully appreciate the sculpted firmness beneath your palms. The tension in his muscles, the way they contract and relax with each breath, is a testament to his strength and beauty. Your touch becomes more deliberate, a silent communication of desire and admiration.

As you move lower, your fingers find his hardened core, and a breathy groan escapes his lips. The sound is intoxicating, a blend of need and pleasure that fuels your own arousal. He pushes his hips into your hand eagerly, a wordless plea for more, and you can't help but chuckle lightly at his neediness. There's something incredibly endearing about the way he responds to your touch, a vulnerability that makes him even more irresistible.

His groan resonates in the quiet room, mingling with the rhythm of your shared breaths. The intensity of his reaction sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of power and tenderness. As your hand continues to caress him, you revel in the connection between you, the unspoken language of touch and desire that binds you together.

The moment stretches into eternity, every touch, every sound, deepening the bond you share. The intimacy of your exploration, the way your hands map the landscape of his body, becomes a testament to the growing love between you. In this private sanctuary, you find a profound sense of fulfillment, a beautiful merging of souls that transcends the physical and touches the very essence of your being.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting for so long to have this moment with you,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice a soft whisper against the backdrop of your shared breath. His words hang in the air, delicate and poignant, carrying the weight of anticipation and longing. You can see the depth of his emotions reflected in his eyes, a swirling sea of vulnerability and desire that makes your heart ache with a tender ache. The sincerity in his voice, the quiet urgency, speaks volumes about the unspoken yearning that has built up between you.

His words touched you deeply, a wave of emotion washing over you as you absorbed the sincerity in his voice. With a soft, reassuring smile, your hands left his already leaking length, the warmth of his arousal lingering on your fingertips. You reached up, fingers threading through his long, silken hair, feeling its softness and reveling in the intimacy of the gesture.

"Don’t ever apologize, Hyune," you whispered, your voice filled with affection and reassurance. "You’re being wonderful."

Your fingers continued their gentle journey through his hair, each stroke a tender caress that seemed to convey all the emotions you felt. His hair, smooth and luxurious, slipped through your fingers like strands of midnight silk, and you marveled at the way it framed his face, accentuating the depth of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

The two of you lingered in a realm of shared kisses, each one deepening the connection that pulsed between you. What began as gentle explorations quickly evolved into a deliciously messy entanglement of lips and tongues, leaving both of you breathless. Droplets of shared saliva glistened on your mouths, a testament to the fervor with which you embraced each other. Every time your needy cores met, grinding against the thin barrier of fabric that still separated you, a gasp escaped your lips, mingling with his in a symphony of desire.

The friction, though clothed, was a tantalizing prelude to the ecstasy that awaited, a mere glimpse of the pleasure that loomed on the horizon. Each grind, each press of your bodies, sent waves of adrenaline coursing through your veins at an intoxicating speed. It was an addictive rush, leaving you craving more—more of him, more of the sensations that set your skin aflame and made your heart race.

Time seemed to blur, the minutes stretching into an eternity of heated kisses and desperate touches. Your hands roamed freely, memorizing the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, and committing every inch of him to memory. The room was filled with the sounds of your shared passion—breathy moans, whispered names, and the rhythmic beat of two hearts caught in the throes of desire.

It wasn't long before the intensity of your need became almost unbearable. A soft, desperate whine escaped your lips, a sound that conveyed your longing and frustration. You could feel the slickness between your thighs, a testament to how thoroughly he had aroused you. Your body ached with a deep, insistent need, practically begging him for more.

"Please," you whispered, your voice a soft plea as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. The word hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your desire, and you looked up at him with wide, imploring eyes.

Hyunjin's gaze darkened with a mixture of lust and affection, his breath hitching at the sight of you so vulnerable, so open. He leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, his hands moving to cup your face with a tenderness that made your heart swell. The kiss was both a promise and a reassurance, a silent vow that he would give you everything you craved.

As he pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine. "Anything for you," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that resonated deep within your core.

With a slow, deliberate motion, his hands slid down your body, his touch igniting a trail of fire along your skin. The anticipation built with every second, your senses heightened to a fever pitch. Each brush of his fingers, each lingering touch, was a tantalizing prelude to the ecstasy that awaited. You arched into his touch, your body responding instinctively to the promise of pleasure.

His fingers danced tantalizingly close to your drenched core, skimming over the slick heat but avoiding the sensitive places where you needed him most. The tease was exquisite yet maddening, each near-touch sending shivers of both pleasure and frustration through your body. You could feel the dampness of sweat on your skin, mingling with the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Mildly frustrated, a soft whimper escaped your lips as you reached down between your intertwined bodies. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, guiding his hand to where you craved his touch. The movement was driven by a mix of urgency and desperation, a silent plea for him to end the sweet torture.

He chuckled lightly at your eagerness, the sound a blend of amusement and affection that reverberated through your chest. The gentle tease in his voice only heightened your desire, making you acutely aware of how much you wanted—needed—him. Despite his amusement, he didn't leave you waiting for long.

His thumb found your clit, the touch electric and precise, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. A gasp left your lips, the sensation intense and immediate. Without warning, his index finger slipped inside you, filling you completely. The sudden intrusion made you yelp in surprise, your body arching into his touch as a wave of heat surged through you.

He quickly glanced up, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and passion. The thrusts into your core halted, yet he kept his fingers buried deep inside, the sensation still pulsing through you. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice a husky whisper that mingled with the heavy breaths filling the room.

You licked your lips, a slow and deliberate motion, trying to gather your composure amidst the swirling intensity. Your chest rose and fell with each pant, the air thick with anticipation and desire. You nodded, the movement gentle but assured, your body trembling slightly as you held back the urge to grind into his hand. "Yes... just please go slow when you're down there," you whispered, your voice tinged with a blend of need and vulnerability.

His eyes softened at your words, a tender smile curling at the corners of his lips. The connection between you felt almost palpable, a silent understanding that spoke volumes. He nodded in response, his fingers beginning to move once more, but this time with a deliberate slowness that made every touch more intense.

Each movement was a study in restraint, his fingers exploring you with a gentleness that contrasted with the earlier urgency. The deliberate pace allowed you to savor every sensation, the pleasure building in slow, delicious waves. Your body responded instinctively, a soft moan escaping your lips as you felt him delve deeper.

He watched you closely, his gaze unwavering, the concern in his eyes gradually giving way to a renewed desire. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around you both, a cocoon of shared trust and passion. His other hand found its way to your hip, holding you steady as he continued his slow, measured rhythm.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, the earlier frenzy giving way to a tender, almost reverent exploration. Your breaths synchronize, each inhale and exhale a testament to the deep connection that had formed between you. His fingers curled inside you, finding that sweet spot that sent shivers down your spine, drawing out gasps and sighs of pleasure.

As he moved, his thumb brushed against your clit with a featherlight touch, sending sparks of electricity through your entire being. The slow pace allowed the pleasure to build gradually, each wave cresting higher than the last. Your hands reached out, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the sensations.

He responded to your touch, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and intense. The world seemed to narrow down to the two of you, every sensation magnified in the cocoon of intimacy you had created. The taste of him, the feel of his fingers, the sound of your mingled breaths—it all wove together into a symphony of pleasure.

You could feel the tension building within you once more, a slow burn that promised an explosive release. The deliberate pace made every touch, every caress, more poignant, the anticipation heightening your arousal. Your body arched into his touch, a silent plea for more, for everything he could give.

His fingers moved with a steady, unerring rhythm, guiding you towards the edge with a skill that made your heart race. The slow, deliberate thrusts were interspersed with gentle caresses, the combination driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Your moans grew louder, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity.

And then, with a final, deliberate thrust, the tension within you snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in a tidal wave, your body trembling as the orgasm tore through you. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the small space, your vision blurring as the world dissolved into pure sensation.

He held you through it all, his fingers still moving gently, prolonging the waves of pleasure. The aftershocks rippled through you, leaving you breathless and sated. As the intensity faded, you clung to him, your body still humming with the remnants of ecstasy.

In the aftermath, the room was filled with a quiet, almost sacred, stillness. You looked up at him, your heart full of gratitude and love, knowing that this moment was one of many that you would cherish. The night was a tapestry of shared passion and deep connection, a journey that had only just begun.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

hi, i’m sorry i’m doing this as an anon i just get really anxious when requesting and it’s a little embarrassing but i read your guide for requesting and i noticed that you said something about liking the idea of pegging? so if (and only if) you’re comfortable with it, can you write something about a female reader pegging jeongin for the first time? sorry if this is weird, and if you don’t want to then you can just ignore this!!

Hello! I’m so sorry it took me an eternity to get to this request! First of all, there’s absolutely no judgment in making requests anonymously, I love every request regardless. I actually understand the anxiety, I also struggle with it when I make my own requests towards writers I admire and sometimes, if I'm a little intimidated or if it's my first time approaching a certain writer, I also do it anonymously — so it’s all good!

Secondly, I adore pegging! It is seriously one of my all-time favorite kinks along with shibari, it’s just so much fun and I just love the idea of having men unraveling because it just feels so good for them. UGH 😩 THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!

I hope you enjoy this, and again, I’m so sorry for taking so long to finally get to it. Please feel free to send me other requests or asks and I promise I'll try to do better about responding! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

☕️ 𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀 ☕️

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 3.4k

☕️ 𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀 ( stray kids )

❛ As you and Jeongin engage in an intense and synchronized exploration of your desires, the pleasure between you reaches a crescendo. Your intimate connection is solidified with tender expressions of love and a deep, satisfying closeness that comes with trying new things.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 13 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a little bit ago by a lovely Anon! Pegging is seriously one of my favorite kinks, so I absolutely loved writing this. Anyway, requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, smut, romantic sex, Jeongin is very needy, Reader pegs Jeongin for the first time, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

As you step back into your apartment, the lingering dampness of the rain clings to your clothes, a reminder of the photography date that was abruptly cut short. The sky outside is still a sullen gray, with dark clouds hanging low and heavy, casting a muted light through the windows. Jeongin, ever the gentle soul, immediately notices the subtle shift in your mood from the day's disappointment. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, are now tender and reassuring as he guides you towards the balcony.

On the balcony, the rain has softened to a light drizzle, creating a soothing rhythm as it taps against the railing and the potted plants. The air is cool and crisp, and you can almost taste the freshness that follows a storm. Jeongin sets down the mugs of hot coffee on the small table between you two, the rich aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the rain. He hands you one of the mugs, his fingers brushing yours in a gesture that feels both intimate and comforting. 

As you both sit down, the warmth of the coffee seeps into your hands, a stark contrast to the chill that has seeped into your bones from the rain. The balcony, usually a space for casual chatter and laughter, now feels like a sanctuary. The overcast sky and the soft patter of the rain create a serene backdrop that mirrors your mood—a gentle melancholy mingled with an undercurrent of contentment.

Jeongin, always perceptive to your unspoken emotions, leans in close, his presence a quiet assurance. He doesn't speak much, choosing instead to let the silence and the ambiance of the rainy day do the talking. As you sip your coffee, the warmth spreads through you, and you find solace in the shared silence. The rain, though initially a disappointment, now feels like a balm, softening the edges of the day’s abrupt end. 

In this intimate moment, the world outside seems distant, and the two of you are cocooned in a space of your own creation. The clouds may obscure the sun, but they also seem to wrap around you in a protective embrace. With Jeongin by your side, the rain transforms from a symbol of thwarted plans into a beautiful, calming backdrop for a quiet, shared moment. The heavy clouds and the rhythmic rain become a metaphor for the depth of your relationship—unpredictable yet always grounding, filled with moments of both storm and calm.

Eventually, as the rain continues its gentle descent, you and Jeongin decide to move from the balcony into the warmth of your living room. The transition from the cool, rain-kissed air to the cozy interior feels like slipping into a soft embrace. The living room is bathed in a warm, amber glow from the lamps, casting a soothing light that contrasts with the gray gloom outside.

You both settle onto the couch, the anticipation of a movie adding a layer of comfort to the evening. However, as the film starts, it quickly becomes clear that the attraction between you both is far more immediate than the plot on screen. What begins as a casual cuddle soon intensifies into a heated embrace. Jeongin’s lips find yours with a fervor that takes you by surprise, each kiss more urgent than the last. His hands roam with a possessive tenderness, and before long, he’s straddling you, his body pressed closely against yours.

The shift is sudden, and the energy between you becomes charged with a raw, desperate need. Jeongin’s movements are intense, grinding against your thighs with a fervent passion that leaves you breathless. His actions are both urgent and needy, a reflection of the deep connection you share. As he continues, you can’t help but tease him lightly, commenting on his evident neediness. His response is a mixture of playful defiance and arousal, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity.

Though this moment feels new and electrifying, it’s not entirely uncharted territory. You’ve both discussed exploring this kind of physical intimacy before, though life and circumstances had always pushed those plans to the background. Tonight, however, the rain and the quiet intimacy of your home create a perfect setting for finally acting on those conversations. The anticipation of a movie has transformed into an evening of unrestrained passion, as the barriers between you dissolve in the shared space of your living room.

In this space, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable magnetism of the moment. The air is thick with desire, the once-anticipated movie forgotten in favor of the intensity of the now. This spontaneous, intimate exchange becomes a new chapter in your shared experiences, a testament to the evolving depth of your relationship and the spontaneity that continues to define your time together.

As the intensity between you and Jeongin reaches a fever pitch, you feel his desperation mounting, each touch and kiss conveying an urgent need. With a deep breath, you gently push him off your lap, your hands moving with a deliberate softness. You guide him by the hand, leading him towards your bedroom with a sense of both excitement and anticipation. The transition from the living room to the more private space of your bedroom feels almost ceremonial, a shift from playful heat to an intimate, focused connection.

Once inside the bedroom, the atmosphere shifts to one of quiet intimacy. The room is dimly lit, casting a soft glow that highlights the contours of the space and adds to the anticipation of the moment. You turn to Jeongin with a teasing smile, your eyes reflecting a blend of affection and playful command. “Be a good boy for me,” you instruct, your voice low and encouraging. The request carries a weight of familiarity and desire, as you watch him respond with a mix of eagerness and trust.

As he begins to undress, you move towards your dresser, your fingers deftly searching through the drawers. The task of retrieving your strap and lube feels almost secondary to the charged atmosphere that surrounds you both. Each movement is deliberate, filled with a sense of anticipation that heightens the intimacy of the moment. The hidden items, usually stowed away for another time, now come to light as part of the evening’s unfolding plans.

The act of preparing for this new experience is both practical and deeply intimate. As you gather the items, you can feel the weight of the moment pressing in, a mixture of excitement and nervous energy. The bedroom, once a simple space for rest, transforms into a stage for exploration and connection. The evening’s transition from a casual night to an intensely personal experience is marked by your actions and the shared anticipation of what’s to come.

The blend of intimacy and desire creates a palpable energy that fills the room, turning ordinary moments into a profound expression of your connection. In the dim light, surrounded by the personal touches of your bedroom, the evening’s experiences become a meaningful part of your shared journey, weaving together passion, trust, and the promise of deeper exploration.

Your eyes remain locked on Jeongin’s naked form, a mixture of longing and admiration evident in your gaze. Each movement he makes as he climbs onto your bed is a visual feast, his muscles shifting and contracting with a natural grace that both excites and enthralls you. As he settles into position, legs spread in anticipation, the sight of him waiting for you heightens the intensity of the moment.

With a deliberate sense of urgency, you start undressing yourself, the process a blend of hurried motions and purposeful pauses. You can feel the heat of Jeongin’s eager gaze on you, his silent anticipation adding to the electric charge in the room. As you finally reach for the strap, you do so with an exaggerated slowness, savoring every moment of his impatient whines and quiet pleas. The meticulous way you put it on is a tease, each deliberate movement designed to prolong his yearning and amplify the tension between you.

The contrast between his growing impatience and your slow, methodical actions creates a palpable tension that fills the room. Every sound, every shift of his body as he waits, becomes a part of the unfolding scene, heightening the sense of intimacy and anticipation. The act of putting on the strap, though necessary, transforms into a sensual ritual, a deliberate play that draws out the moment and deepens the connection between you.

In this charged atmosphere, the anticipation and desire become almost tangible, weaving together in a dance of patience and longing. Your actions, while seemingly slow, are imbued with a sense of purpose and intensity, making every second count as you prepare for the shared experience that lies ahead. The bedroom, now a space of intense connection, holds the promise of deeper exploration as you both await the culmination of the evening’s anticipation.

At last, with the strap secured and in place, you climb onto the bed, each movement charged with anticipation. You position yourself between Jeongin’s legs, the proximity amplifying the electric tension that hums between you. As you lean over him, your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, a dance of tongues and emotions as you both vie for dominance. The kiss is a blend of urgency and tenderness, each of you exploring and asserting your desire with equal fervor.

Just as the kiss reaches its peak, you’re caught off guard by a sudden shift in positions. In a swift, fluid motion, Jeongin rolls over you, his body pressing you into the mattress beneath him. The unexpected change in dynamics leaves you momentarily breathless, your back landing against the soft surface of the bed. Jeongin’s position is precarious, barely hovering over the strap, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and excitement.

The transition is both exhilarating and disorienting, the quick shift adding an element of spontaneity to the moment. The bed beneath you feels like a grounding contrast to the heated exchange, the softness of the mattress absorbing the impact of the sudden movement. Jeongin’s barely restrained position over the strap adds a new layer of intensity, the contrast between his near-touch and your own heightened senses creating a palpable tension.

The surprise of the shift only deepens the connection between you, a shared sense of spontaneity and mutual desire driving the evening forward. The room, now filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and whispered words, becomes a stage for the unfolding intimacy. As you both adjust to the new position, the anticipation and excitement of the moment merge into a powerful, shared experience, each touch and movement heightening the intimacy of your connection.

As you watch Jeongin reach for the lube you had left on the edge of the bed, your heartbeat quickens with a rush of anticipation. The way he moves, purposeful yet tinged with a sense of urgency, only heightens the intensity of the moment. With a practiced ease, he sets the bottle by your head, his actions filled with a mixture of focus and desire.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in another desperate kiss, the urgency of his touch evident as he begins grinding against your thighs once more. The sensation is intensified, his need more palpable and urgent with each movement. The kiss is both fierce and intimate, a blend of passion and hunger that drives the connection between you both.

Your hands, eager and restless, explore each other’s bodies with a fervor that feels almost frantic. Each touch is driven by a deep yearning, a desire to feel every inch of him in an impossibly swift manner. The heat of the moment makes each caress and touch feel electric, every movement filled with a sense of exploration and intimacy.

As your hands continue their journey, they eventually find themselves focused on massaging his butt, a gesture both affectionate and assertive. The touch is deliberate, a blend of tenderness and appreciation, as you take in the feel of his body beneath your fingers. The act of massaging him adds a new layer to the intimacy of the moment, grounding the passion in a physical connection that speaks volumes.

In this shared space, the energy between you intensifies, each touch and kiss weaving together to create a tapestry of desire and connection. The lube, now a silent witness to your unfolding interaction, sits beside you, ready to facilitate the next step in your intimate exploration. The bedroom becomes a realm of sensory experience, where every touch, kiss, and movement heightens the profound bond you share.

As the grinding continues, Jeongin’s moans become increasingly erratic, each sound a testament to the building intensity between you. His body moves with a desperate rhythm, driven by a need that matches your own. Your hands, guided by a mix of urgency and desire, find the bottle of lube once more. With a deft, practiced motion, you squirt a generous amount onto your fingers, the action done without breaking the kiss. The lube’s coolness contrasts sharply with the heat of the moment, adding a new layer of sensation to your shared experience.

With your dry hand, you spread his cheeks, an intentional gesture that grants you better access. The movement is both assertive and tender, a blend of control and care that heightens the intimacy of the moment. As you explore the new angle, a moan escapes your lips, the sound a raw expression of the pleasure you’re feeling from his tightness. This moan is soon harmonized by Jeongin’s own loud and fervent sounds, each moan blending into the symphony of your shared desire.

The atmosphere around you is charged with palpable tension, the sounds of your combined pleasure filling the room and amplifying the connection between you. Every touch, every movement is a step further into a deeper intimacy, with the moans and sounds echoing the intensity of the moment. In this shared space, the boundaries between you both dissolve, leaving only the pure, unfiltered experience of your connection.

As your fingers delve deeper, exploring the contours of his insides, Jeongin’s grinding becomes more demanding, each movement a testament to his rising need. The room is filled with the sounds of your expert actions mingling with his escalating pleasure. The atmosphere is electric, the air thick with the shared intensity of the moment.

Jeongin shifts from being draped over you to sitting up, his posture a dramatic contrast to the previous closeness. His head is thrown back, eyes closed tightly as he loses himself in the sensations. He sets his own pace and rhythm, guiding the intensity with a self-assuredness that only enhances the moment’s raw energy. His movements are confident, each shift and grind an expression of his pleasure and control.

You watch with a sense of deep fascination, captivated by this new side of Jeongin that you’ve longed to witness. The sight of him so completely lost in his own pleasure, so responsive to your touch, is intoxicating. Despite him having the control and setting the pace, there’s a subtle, exhilarating power that you experience through the act of making him fall apart with just your fingers. This dynamic shift, where his pleasure is so intricately tied to your actions, fills you with a profound sense of satisfaction.

You relish the moment deeply, savoring the intimate power you hold over his pleasure and the new layer of connection it reveals. This experience, both powerful and intimate, allows you to explore and enjoy a different facet of your relationship, enhancing the depth of your bond and fulfilling a longing you’ve carried for some time.

You sit up slightly, positioning yourself just enough to wrap your hand around Jeongin’s throat. Your grip is firm but controlled, squeezing just enough to make him look directly at you. Your eyes, sparkling with a potent blend of desire and dominance, meet his with an intensity that makes him moan involuntarily. The sight of your unwavering gaze, filled with longing and command, sends a shiver through him.

As you pull your fingers out, a chuckle escapes you at his immediate complaints and whines. His body shifts restlessly, trying to keep you in place, the tension between your reactions creating a charged, almost playful atmosphere. However, his protests quickly cease when you gently guide him back over the strap, your touch both assertive and reassuring. You keep him there, the movement deliberate as you reach for the lube once more.

With practiced ease, you squirt a generous amount of lube onto your hands, the cool, slick substance contrasting with the heat of the moment. You spread the lube over the length of your strap, the motion smooth and purposeful. As you look up at Jeongin, your gaze is met with a sight that nearly drives you to the brink of madness—his eyes, dazed and full of need, reflecting an intense mix of vulnerability and desire.

The sight of his expression, so completely consumed by longing, heightens your own arousal and desire. It’s a potent reminder of the connection you share and the depth of the moment. The intimate power you wield, coupled with his visible need, creates a dynamic that is both exhilarating and profoundly satisfying. The balance of control and surrender, reflected in his dazed eyes, becomes the focal point of the evening, deepening the intensity of your shared experience.

Jeongin, guided by instinct and desire, doesn’t need any further prompting. With a confident yet eager movement, he places a hand on your bare chest, gently but firmly pushing you back against the mattress. The action is both commanding and intimate, a physical assertion of his desire. As he shifts, he emits a loud whine, the new sensation of the strap replacing your fingers creating a rush of pleasure and surprise.

He pauses briefly, settling fully onto your lap, giving himself a moment to adjust to the new sensation. His movements are deliberate, a blend of anticipation and need as he begins his anticipated bounces of pleasure. The room is soon filled with the almost explicit sounds of his pleasure—the slick, rhythmic noises of his movements, each one a testament to his pursuit of satisfaction.

You watch, completely enthralled by the sight before you. Every sound and motion from Jeongin heightens your own arousal, making the scene an intoxicating display of raw, unfiltered desire. Your hands instinctively reach for his leaking length, your fingers wrapping around it with a firm yet gentle grip. As you stroke him in sync with his movements, the pleasure he experiences intensifies, his moans becoming louder and more fervent. The synchronized rhythm of your touch and his movements amplifies the pleasure for both of you, creating a powerful and immersive experience.

The dynamic of the moment—his pleasure, your touch, the sounds filling the room—creates a vivid, exhilarating tapestry of connection and desire. The intensity of the scene, driven by your mutual need and responsiveness, weaves together a deeply satisfying experience that leaves you both captivated and deeply entwined in the moment.

Unsurprisingly, Jeongin’s moans reach higher pitches as the pressure in his abdomen builds, his rhythm growing increasingly erratic. The intensity of his pleasure is palpable, a mix of rising urgency and need. Observing his struggle, you decide to assist him by moving your own hips in a matching rhythm, syncing with the speed he initially set. The adjustment brings a renewed sense of harmony to your movements, amplifying the pleasure for both of you.

Your free arm wraps around him, drawing him closer as he drapes himself over you once more. He buries his face in your neck, seeking comfort and connection in the closeness. His entire body tenses, each groan guttural and full of raw emotion. The intense moment crescendos, and he relaxes almost instantly when your movements slow to a stop. The room is then filled with the sound of your combined panting, a testament to the exertion and ecstasy you’ve both experienced.

As the intensity fades, Jeongin rolls to the side, a thin layer of sweat clinging to both of your skins. You turn to face him, your wide smile reflecting the deep satisfaction and affection you feel. He meets your gaze with a loving expression, his eyes softening as he whispers, “I love you so fucking much.” The words, though simple, carry a profound depth of emotion, resonating with the closeness and connection you’ve shared in the moment. The exchange solidifies the bond between you, marking the culmination of a deeply intimate and emotionally charged experience.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

can i request a fwb with hyunjin x male reader? love your stuff 💕💕💕

Hey babe! Your request has been posted! Thank you so much for the support, it was so fun to write! Also, a little side-note: this piece contains agoraphilia, which was not a part of the initial request, but I hope you don't mind it! If you do, please feel free to send me another request and I'll try again! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

🍿 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 🍿

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 3.2k

🍿 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ In the hushed shadows of an empty cinema, you and Hyunjin find yourselves doing anything except watch the film.

𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 + male reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 12 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested by a lovely Anon! It was especially fun to explore the agoraphilia kink and it might or might not have awakened something in me, sorry not sorry. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, FWB trope, agoraphilia (the kink related to having sex in a public space), handjob, blowjob, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The large screen cast a solitary glow in the otherwise dark and empty cinema room, its flickering light the only beacon amidst the shadows. The film, having premiered only a week ago, played out its animated scenes, but your attention was never captured by the vibrant characters or the lively plot. It was the heart of the week, the sun hanging high in the sky outside, and the cinema was hushed in a midday silence. The movie, a colorful tapestry of whimsy designed for children's delight, had been carefully selected by Hyunjin as part of a deliberate plan.

He knew that a matinee showing of a children's film would ensure privacy, a quiet refuge from the bustling world outside. The choice spoke volumes of his thoughtfulness, a gesture meant to cocoon you both in a rare moment of undisturbed togetherness. The dim ambiance and the occasional laughter from the screen seemed distant, like echoes in a cavern, as the true magic unfolded in the space between your entwined fingers and shared, whispered words.

His hand rested with a gentle weight on your upper thigh, a touch that felt both grounding and electric. Though his gaze appeared firmly fixed on the screen ahead, you could sense the unspoken intentions behind his seemingly casual posture. His fingers, warm and slightly calloused, felt like they were weaving a spell of anticipation and desire.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt him inch just a fraction closer to your already eager core, a subtle yet powerful movement that sent ripples of longing through your body. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, the flickering light from the screen casting playful shadows across his face. His smirk, a tantalizing curve at the corners of his lips, told you he was fully aware of the effect he had on you. It was a dance of silent communication, a game of tension and teasing that left you breathless and wanting more.

The room seemed to shrink, the outside world fading into oblivion as every fiber of your being focused on the closeness of his touch and the promise of what it held. The distant sounds of the film became a mere backdrop to the intimate symphony of your shared moment, each second stretched out, dripping with delicious anticipation. His smirk deepened as he felt your reaction, a silent victory that only fueled the fire between you both.

It wasn’t long before Hyunjin’s hand found its way to the apex of your thighs, pressing firmly against your clothed core. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, and suddenly breathing felt like a conscious effort rather than a natural reflex. Each inhalation was shallow, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm dictated by his tantalizing touch.

Your hands clung to the armrests of your seat, knuckles white with the force of your grip, as your body involuntarily arched and buckled against his hand. The need for more, for deeper contact, pulsed through you, a throbbing ache that begged for release. Hyunjin, sensing your desperation, was unreserved in his approach, his fingers moving with practiced skill as they massaged your length through the fabric of your jeans.

The roughness of the denim contrasted deliciously with the tenderness of his caress, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a fire stoked by his every motion. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed the outline of his own arousal, straining against the confines of his pants. The sight sent a jolt of satisfaction through you, feeding your ego and heightening the intensity of the moment.

In the dim, secluded theater, with only the flickering light of the screen to witness your secret encounter, the world outside ceased to exist. Each touch, each whisper of movement, was magnified in the hushed silence. Hyunjin’s breath, warm and shallow, mingled with yours, creating a private symphony of shared desire. His eyes, dark and intense, flickered with a mix of mischief and ardor, reflecting the storm of emotions that raged within you both.

There was never any kissing between the two of you, no trace of affection mingled with the deeply intimate actions that had become your shared ritual. Lips never met in tender embrace, and there were no soft whispers of endearment. Instead, the connection you forged was raw and elemental, stripped of the frills of romance. Behind closed doors and within the shadows of dimly lit rooms, you found a thrilling liberation in the mutual use of each other’s bodies. Each encounter was a secret symphony of touch and sensation, free from the constraints of emotional entanglement.

The exhilaration of this clandestine arrangement was a heady intoxication, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through your veins each and every time. The absence of romantic gestures and the lack of emotional responsibility created a unique and intoxicating blend of freedom and anticipation. You both existed in a world where the only currency was the explicit pleasure you pursued together, a hedonistic exchange that left no room for the complexities of caring beyond the immediate moment.

This arrangement, devoid of conventional intimacy, was pure bliss—a potent addiction that occupied your thoughts through every waking moment. The craving for these encounters became an ever-present undercurrent in your daily life, a hunger that only grew stronger with each rendezvous. The physical connection, unburdened by the expectations of love or the weight of emotional commitment, was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could lose yourselves in the primal joy of unrestrained passion.

Each touch, each breathless moment, was a testament to the unique bond you shared—one that thrived in the dark, away from the scrutinizing eyes of the world. The thrill of secrecy, the raw, unfiltered pleasure, was an addiction that neither of you could resist. It was a dance of shadows and light, a tantalizing game that blurred the lines between reality and desire, leaving you both perpetually yearning for the next encounter.

Growing weary of the languid touches that teased more than satisfied, you decided to seize control from Hyunjin. Your fingers, light and teasing, trailed a deliberate path up to his painfully hard arousal. The unexpected contact elicited a raw, unguarded moan from his plump lips, his eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Yet, his glare only made you chuckle softly, a sound that vibrated with quiet confidence and amusement.

Determined to unravel him with your touch, you felt a rising tide of desperation to see him surrender. Your movements became more purposeful, almost urgent, as you deftly tugged his pants and underwear down just enough to liberate his beautiful, aching member. The sight of him laid bare before you sent a thrill through your veins, your own need intensifying at the vision of his vulnerability.

Hyunjin sighed in relief, the tension momentarily ebbing away, only to be replaced by a darker, more intense gaze. His eyes, heavy with desire, watched as you surveyed the dimly lit cinema room, ensuring your clandestine encounter remained undisturbed. Satisfied that you were alone, you slowly sank to your knees between his legs, the anticipation of what was to come heightening the electricity in the air.

The dim glow of the screen cast ethereal shadows over your form, accentuating the intimate tableau you created together. Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent acknowledgment of your shared hunger and the shifting power dynamic. As you positioned yourself, the world outside the darkened room ceased to exist, leaving only the palpable tension and the promise of exquisite release.

His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each exhalation a testament to his struggle to maintain composure. Your hands, now steady and confident, moved with a precision born of intimate knowledge, eager to draw out every shiver and gasp. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered need, created a cocoon around you both, a sanctuary of desire where every touch, every glance, spoke volumes.

Hyunjin’s quiet moans filled the space, mingling with the distant sounds of the film, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed in the secluded darkness. Your control, your neediness, intertwined seamlessly, crafting a moment of pure, unadulterated passion that left both of you breathless and yearning for more.

Hyunjin was already leaking, a tantalizing sight that made your mouth water with anticipation. The glistening evidence of his arousal only spurred you on, your desire mounting with every passing second. You wrapped your fingers around his throbbing length, feeling the heat and the pulse beneath your touch. Slowly, deliberately, you began to stroke him, each movement measured to draw out his pleasure.

As your hand moved, Hyunjin’s reaction was immediate and intense. He threw his head back, his face a portrait of pure ecstasy. His mouth fell open, a silent cry of pleasure escaping his parted lips, and his eyes squeezed shut as waves of sensation washed over him. The sight of him, so undone by your touch, bolstered your confidence, fueling the fire of your own arousal.

With a surge of boldness, you finally took him into your mouth, the familiar taste and texture igniting a spark within you. You fought to suppress a moan, the urge to vocalize your pleasure nearly overwhelming. The sensation of him filling your mouth, the weight and warmth of him, was intoxicating. You reveled in the control, in the power you wielded over his pleasure.

Hyunjin’s response was visceral. He hissed through clenched teeth, his head snapping forward to watch you. His eyes, dark and intense, were filled with a mix of surprise and unrestrained desire. His brows furrowed, the tension etched across his features, but his jaw remained slack, a testament to his struggle to contain his sounds. The effort to maintain some semblance of control was evident, yet you could see him teetering on the edge, each moment threatening to push him over.

Your movements were slow, deliberate, savoring the taste of him and the way his body responded to your ministrations. The flickering light from the screen played across his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his lips trembled with every suppressed sound. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered connection, created a heady atmosphere that wrapped around you both.

Every subtle shift of his hips, every strangled breath, fed your own desire. The rhythm you established, the ebb and flow of pleasure, was a dance you both knew well. The darkened cinema room, the backdrop of the distant film, became a world unto itself, where the only reality was the shared ecstasy and the bond forged in the heat of passion.

With each stroke, each gentle suction, you brought him closer to the edge, the anticipation building between you. Hyunjin’s gaze never wavered, locked onto you with a mixture of awe and desperation. The connection, so deeply physical, was underscored by the unspoken understanding that this moment, this exchange of pleasure, was something sacred and profoundly intimate.

It was almost uncanny to experience Hyunjin’s unusual silence. You had grown so accustomed to the symphony of his voice, the way he filled intimate moments with his melodic praises and unrestrained moans. His words, often slurred by the intoxicating waves of pleasure, were a chorus of erotic melodies that resonated deep within you, igniting your own desires. The quiet now was both a stark contrast and a thrilling challenge, a testament to his struggle to maintain control.

Yet, even in his silence, the intensity of his need was unmistakable. His normally expressive self found new ways to convey his desperation, his fingers tangling in your hair with a grip that spoke volumes. The usually tender touch now firm and commanding, guiding your head in a rhythm that matched his urgent desires. The sensation of his fingers fisting your hair, each tug a silent plea for more, sent shivers down your spine.

Hyunjin’s hips began to move with a mind of their own, thrusting to meet the rhythm you established. Each upward motion synchronized with the downward movement of your mouth, creating a perfect harmony of motion and sensation. His normally vocal nature was replaced by a more physical expression of his need, every thrust a wordless cry of pleasure. The quiet, punctuated only by the sound of your movements and his ragged breaths, created an atmosphere thick with unspoken longing.

The flickering light from the screen danced across his face, highlighting the tautness of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. The restraint he showed, the effort to maintain some semblance of composure, made the moment even more electrifying. His usual clinginess, now intensified, was a physical manifestation of his pleasure, his body seeking yours with an almost desperate fervor.

As you moved together, the dance of your intimacy became a testament to your deep connection. Each motion, each shared breath, wove a tapestry of desire that wrapped around you both. The darkened cinema room, once a simple backdrop, now felt like a secret world where only the two of you existed, bound by the intensity of your shared experience.

Hyunjin’s control wavered with each passing second, the struggle evident in the way his body tensed and relaxed in quick succession. The quiet was a fragile thing, threatened by the rising tide of his pleasure. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours, communicating volumes without a single word. The normally eloquent Hyunjin was now a creature of pure sensation, his need for you transcending language.

Every movement, every touch, was a symphony of silent communication, an intricate dance of desire and control. As you continued, the thrill of his intensified clinginess and the unusual quiet created a heady mix, a potent blend of intimacy that left you both breathless and yearning for more.

Your free hand moved to caress his balls, the delicate yet firm touch sending jolts of intensified pleasure through Hyunjin’s already electrified body. The effect was immediate and profound; his actions became increasingly erratic, a beautiful chaos of movement that reflected the storm of sensations you were conjuring within him. His face, a canvas of raw emotion, scrunched up gorgeously in response, each twitch and contortion a testament to the bliss you were eliciting.

As the tension mounted, he leaned forward, his need to be closer to you overwhelming his senses. His movements pushed your nose against his pelvis, the intimacy of the action driving both of you to new heights of arousal. You could feel his release building, a palpable tension that seemed to vibrate through his entire body.

When he finally reached the peak of his pleasure, you felt the hot, thick rush of his release spill down your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, filling your mouth to the point of gagging. The fullness was both a challenge and a thrill, a testament to the depth of your connection and the intensity of the moment. You struggled to breathe, the sheer volume of him making it difficult, but you relished every second of it.

Eventually, Hyunjin’s iron grip on you relaxed, his fingers loosening their hold on your hair. You pulled back, gasping for air, the sudden rush of oxygen a stark contrast to the suffocating fullness you’d just experienced. The cool air on your face and the lingering taste of him in your mouth created a heady mix of sensations that left you reeling.

Hyunjin’s gaze softened, the fierce intensity giving way to a tender vulnerability. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure he’d just experienced. You could see the gratitude and the residual pleasure in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared.

The dim light of the cinema cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the lingering flush of arousal on his cheeks. The room, once a simple setting, now felt like a sacred space where the boundaries between you had dissolved. Every detail, from the softness of his touch to the taste of his release, was etched into your memory, creating a moment that was both ephemeral and eternal.

As you both recovered, the world outside seemed distant and unimportant. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered connection, had created a bubble of reality where only the two of you existed. The echoes of pleasure and the warmth of your shared experience lingered in the air, a promise of more moments like this to come.

Just like that, you returned to your seat, slipping back into the plush cushion as if nothing extraordinary had transpired. With a composed air, you swallowed the lingering evidence of your intimate adventure, the remnants of Hyunjin’s release settling deep within you. The calm facade you wore was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that had just raged between you.

Beside you, Hyunjin was utterly spent, his chest rising and falling in an effort to catch his breath. His skin glistened faintly under the dim cinema lights, a sheen of sweat marking the intensity of your shared moment. His eyes, still glazed with the remnants of pleasure, never left your figure. The way you appeared so nonchalant, so composed, despite the passionate exchange that had just unfolded, captivated him.

Your core throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, a testament to the desire that still simmered within you. The anticipation of what was to come made it difficult to focus on anything else. You shifted slightly in your seat, the ache intensifying with every subtle movement, a constant reminder of the unfinished business between you.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on you, a silent promise of continued pleasure hanging in the air. The unspoken understanding that the fun was far from over added an electric tension to the room. The film continued to play, its plot a distant murmur, overshadowed by the anticipation of what awaited you both once the credits rolled.

As you both sat in the dim light, the world outside the cinema seemed to fade away. The mundane reality of your surroundings contrasted sharply with the charged intimacy you shared. The darkened room, filled with the flickering glow of the screen, became a private haven where your desires could roam free, undisturbed by the outside world.

Hyunjin’s fingers twitched slightly, a subtle indication of his renewed interest. The thought of continuing your escapade in the confines of the car sent a thrill through you, your body responding eagerly to the prospect. The anticipation built steadily, each passing moment bringing you closer to the next chapter of your passionate adventure.

The film’s soundtrack provided a background score to your thoughts, each swell of music mirroring the rising tension between you. Your composure remained intact, but beneath the surface, a tempest of desire brewed, ready to be unleashed once more. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, only added fuel to the fire, making the wait both torturous and deliciously exciting.

In that shared silence, the air thick with unsaid words and unmet needs, you both found solace. The bond forged in those stolen moments of pleasure was a testament to the depth of your connection. The promise of what was to come loomed large, a tantalizing prospect that kept you both on the edge, eagerly awaiting the privacy of the car where your desires could be fully realized.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

Oh Merin, I’m so so glad you enjoyed this 🥹 Thank you so much for all the support you’ve given me for all this time and for the patience, you’re seriously such a treasured gem 💕🫶

🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ You and your lover, Changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where Changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression.

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 + g. neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ) 2.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a while ago by my beloved mootie, Merin! It was such a sweet prompt, honestly, and I am really happy with how it came out. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, Established relationship, Y/N is afraid of initiating any kind of intimacy, I would consider this to be vague smut — maybe it should be labeled as suggestive? Probably not actually, romantic sex, making a mess with wet paint during sex, descriptions of anxiety, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

“You have to turn around or I won’t do it,” you huff with feigned annoyance, a thin veil over your mounting anxiety. The words come out sharper than intended, a desperate attempt to mask the tremor in your voice. Changbin pouts, his lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both endearing and maddening, but he complies, turning his back to you. The playful pout is a façade, a small rebellion against the uncertainty that lingers in the air between you.

He had asked you to use him as a canvas, an unusual request that was meant to surprise and unsettle you. The idea was simple in theory but fraught with emotional complexity. During your free time, painting was your solace, a means to escape into a world where you could create beauty out of nothing. You were accustomed to painting on your own skin, using it as a blank slate for your artistic expression. But this situation was different. Changbin, your lover, was not just a body; he was a living, breathing embodiment of your deepest feelings and insecurities. His presence was electric, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over you with the slightest glance or touch.

The mere thought of painting Changbin was both thrilling and terrifying. His skin, normally the subject of your artistic fantasies, now became the canvas upon which your emotions would be laid bare. Each brushstroke would be an intimate declaration, a blend of color and sensation that went beyond mere artistry. The stakes felt incredibly high, and the vulnerability you felt was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about the painting; it was about the raw, unspoken exchange of trust and affection that came with it. As you prepared your paints and brushes, the flutter in your chest spoke louder than words, a testament to the profound impact Changbin had on your life.

Eventually, all of your painting supplies were meticulously arranged, a testament to your preparation and anticipation. The array of colors and brushes, each placed with care, awaits the moment when they will come to life. Despite Changbin’s back being turned to you, despite the full control you have over this artistic endeavor, and despite the gentle, tender nature that defines him, an inescapable fear grips you tightly. It’s a fear that seems to rise with each breath you take, a curse that has followed you through the months of your relationship, even after four years of friendship.

You still find it nearly impossible to initiate any form of intimacy, a struggle that feels like a heavy weight on your heart. Changbin, ever perceptive and understanding, is acutely aware of your struggle. You can't help but wonder if this request to be your canvas was his way of gently nudging you past your barriers, a subtle invitation to confront your fears. The sight of his toned, bare back, illuminated by the golden sunlight streaming through your windows, is almost too breathtaking to bear. The natural light caresses his skin, highlighting the contours and making him look like a living masterpiece.

You reach for the paintbrush with a hesitant hand, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to steady them. Each brushstroke will be a step toward bridging the gap between your fears and your desires. The internal turmoil roiling within you feels almost insurmountable, yet Changbin remains a pillar of patience and quiet support. His silence is filled with anticipation, a silent encouragement that heightens the intensity of the moment. As you begin, his breath hitches, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability and trust that this act of painting symbolizes.

“Don’t think, love,” Changbin murmurs softly, his voice a gentle whisper that seems to float in the space between you. There is a delicate fear in his tone, as if the very act of raising his voice might shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy you both are nestled within. His words are meant to soothe, to gently guide you through the swirling maelstrom of anxiety that threatens to engulf you. “Let your hand decide what to do first, like it does with every other painting.”

His encouragement is tender, a quiet plea for you to relinquish the hold of overthinking and simply trust in your own instincts. The way he addresses you, with such care and understanding, reveals his deep awareness of your inner struggle. The idea of allowing your hand to move freely, unburdened by conscious thought, is both comforting and daunting. It’s a call to embrace the organic flow of creativity, to let your artistic instincts take the lead just as they do with every other canvas.

In his gentle insistence, there is an underlying promise of safety and acceptance, a reassurance that you are not alone in this moment. His soft voice, laden with affection, is a beacon that guides you through your hesitation, offering a pathway to overcome the fear that clutches at your heart. As you absorb his words, you feel a shift within, a subtle easing of the tension as you prepare to let your hands move with the grace and freedom that Changbin so patiently encourages.

You exhale shakily, a soft, uneven breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes for a fleeting moment. The brief respite is a small sanctuary from the storm of emotions raging within you. With a deep, albeit hesitant, breath, you allow the brush to make its tentative contact with his back. The sensation is both thrilling and disconcerting, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you’re trying to navigate.

Your heart pounds erratically, lodged firmly in your throat, as if each beat is a protest against the simplicity of the act. The sensation of the brush against his skin is strangely overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a touch of absurdity at the intensity of your reaction. The thought strikes you with a sting: why should something so seemingly simple provoke such a profound response?

You frown at the self-criticism, a mix of frustration and self-doubt clouding your thoughts. The very act that should be a natural extension of your creativity now feels like an insurmountable barrier. You remain frozen in place, the brush hovering delicately against his back, your mind tangled in a web of conflicting emotions and the weight of your own insecurities.

“First contact, good,” Changbin says softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. His praise, though directed at the simplest of actions, carries a weight of sincerity that pierces through your anxieties. The way he acknowledges your effort with such kindness and appreciation makes your heart swell with a mix of emotions.

Each word of praise from him feels like a tender caress, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. It’s as if his approval alone has the power to lift the heaviness from your shoulders. Yet, amidst the comfort of his support, a pang of sorrow tugs at your heart. You can’t help but feel that Changbin, with his unwavering patience and boundless kindness, is deserving of so much more than you can offer.

The realization settles heavily within you: he is too good, too pure, and his affection for you only highlights the depth of your own insecurities. The disparity between his gentle, unselfish nature and your own self-doubt feels almost unbearable. As you grapple with the bittersweet ache of his praise, the profound sense of his worth and the feeling of inadequacy intertwine, leaving you with a lingering ache for him and the love you fear you might not fully deserve.

“I can’t do this,” you sniff, your voice trembling as you pull the brush away from his back. The words are more a cry of frustration than a simple admission of difficulty. Your hands feel unsteady, and the weight of your own insecurities feels almost too much to bear in this moment of vulnerability.

Changbin remains motionless, his presence a steady, reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil. Despite your agitation, he does not waver. His voice cuts through your self-doubt with a calm and unwavering reassurance. “You did good, love, you made the first contact — now keep going.”

His encouragement is gentle, yet insistent, a soft nudge to continue despite the internal resistance that threatens to pull you away. The words carry an undercurrent of faith and support, a reminder that progress has been made and that there is a path forward. Changbin’s steadiness provides a counterbalance to the storm of emotions within you, his calm demeanor a beacon of hope as you grapple with the feeling of inadequacy. His trust in your abilities and his unwavering patience offer a precious glimmer of confidence, urging you to overcome the hesitation and embrace the next step.

You found yourself caught between two conflicting desires: the longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and softness of his skin beneath your fingertips, and the impulse to abandon the entire exercise in a wave of self-doubt. It was a precarious balance, and every moment felt fraught with the tension of your inner struggle. Yet, it was Changbin’s gentle, affirming praise that kept you tethered, a constant reassurance that dispelled the doubts threatening to hold you back. His words, tender and encouraging, provided a steady anchor amidst the churning sea of your uncertainties.

Changbin’s beauty, so striking and profound, seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity. The sight of him, so effortlessly captivating, made it difficult to process your own emotions. The paintbrush in your hand danced across his back with a new fervor, as if guided by an unseen force. The vibrant hues of oranges and yellows spilled across his skin, transforming his usually plain canvas into a vibrant display of color and emotion. The image you painted was a burst of fireworks, a visual symphony meant to capture the depth of the feelings he stirred within you.

Occasionally, your free hand would find its way to his back, a tentative gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. It was a gesture of closeness and reassurance, a small but significant effort to bridge the gap between your hesitations and his unwavering support. Each touch was a deliberate step towards overcoming your fears for his sake. As you put the final touches on the painting, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. The work, now complete, was a testament to the emotions Changbin had evoked and a reflection of the journey you had navigated together.

After admiring and praising your work through the bathroom mirror, Changbin returned to kneel before you, a look of dazed contentment lingering in his eyes. The intimate moment you’d shared while painting him had left an imprint on him, and it was evident in the softened, reverent way he now regarded you. His voice, barely more than a murmur, was tinged with a gentle, almost reverential tone as he took your hands in his and requested you to touch his face.

The intensity of his gaze was nearly too much to bear, a silent plea that seemed to pierce through your defenses. You almost refused, the weight of his unspoken emotions making it difficult to act. In a bid to soften the moment and manage your own trepidation, you asked him to close his eyes. His response was immediate and graceful, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips as he complied with your request.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted them to cup his face, the act both intimate and nerve-wracking. The contact was met with an immediate reaction — a shiver that coursed through his body, a physical manifestation of the deep emotional connection that had been kindled between you. The sensation of his warm skin under your trembling fingers was both grounding and electrifying, a testament to the vulnerability and trust that had been shared in this quiet, tender moment.

The shoulders were your next focus, and your fingertips traced their contours with a delicate touch, as light as a feather. Each movement was deliberate, a gentle exploration that sent ripples of sensation across Changbin's skin. You watched intently as goosebumps emerged, spreading across his body in response to your touch. Despite the palpable reaction, his eyes remained closed, a gesture of trust that deepened the intimacy of the moment.

Changbin's hands rested calmly on his knees as he continued to kneel before you, his posture a silent testament to his patience and willingness. He didn’t shift or flinch, his stillness adding to the weight of the moment. It was an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a profound blend of emotions that left you on edge and in awe.

As you allowed your hands to move freely, a newfound sense of power and connection emerged. You ventured across his chest, tracing the ridges of his biceps and the smooth planes of his belly. Each touch was a discovery, a chance to map the landscape of his body and to feel the subtle changes in his breathing and muscle tension. The freedom to explore his skin, to feel the warmth and texture under your hands, was both a privilege and a revelation, marking a deepening of the bond you shared.

Eventually, a surge of bravery propelled you forward, and you allowed your lips to gently meet his. The contact was electric, an immediate and fervent exchange as he responded to your kiss with equal passion. Changbin sighed contentedly into your mouth, his lips moving with a depth and intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling between you. You surrendered to the warmth and connection of the moment, letting him lead the kiss as you immerse yourself in the shared intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the atmosphere shifted, and soon the two of you found yourselves on the ground. The transition was both spontaneous and fluid, a natural progression of the intimate exchange that had begun with your kiss. In the heat of the moment, your hands, which had once traced delicate patterns on his back, now inadvertently smeared the artwork you had so carefully created. The paint, which had once been a canvas of emotions, was now spread across both your bodies.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his skin, while he moved with a rhythm that was both euphoric and synchronistic. The paint became an unwitting participant in your passion, staining your bodies as you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of the experience. The ground beneath you was forgotten, replaced by the intense connection and shared vulnerability that defined the moment.

His rhythmic movements were a symphony of whispered confessions of love, each tender murmur sending your mind drifting away on a cloud of pure pleasure. The combination of his words and actions created an overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation that filled every corner of your consciousness. Each whisper was a thread weaving into the fabric of your shared ecstasy, intensifying the connection between you.

The melodies of your intertwined breaths and muted moans became the only sounds that reverberated through your apartment, a private concert of intimacy and passion. The room was enveloped in the hushed symphony of your bodies moving together, a melody of love and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

A thin layer of sweat formed a glistening sheen on both of your skins, the evidence of your fervent connection. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, fading light that mingled with the dimming hues of night, creating a soft glow that highlighted the tender vulnerability of the moment. As the daylight surrendered to the encroaching darkness, the scene became a portrait of intimate beauty, a snapshot of a night filled with profound emotional and physical connection.

It was no surprise when you both reached the pinnacle of your shared experience simultaneously. The strained, almost primal sounds that escaped you both were a testament to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that enveloped you. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

Amidst the euphoria, the purity of the love you had just shared became palpable, stirring emotions so deep that tears began to roll down your cheeks. Each tear was a manifestation of the profound connection and overwhelming affection you felt for him. Your heart ached with a fierce love, and you found yourself wanting to express it with every fiber of your being.

He responded to your silent confession with words of his own, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. As he kissed away each tear that stained your cheeks, his eyes held a softness that you had never seen before, a gentle radiance that spoke of the depth of his feelings. A tender smile curved at his lips, amplifying the beauty of the moment. His presence was nothing short of devastatingly beautiful, and in that intimate, vulnerable space, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and disbelief at your fortune. To have a lover so deeply attuned to you, so wonderfully perfect in your eyes, was a gift you could scarcely believe you had received.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

*boop* hi green :3

i hope your birthday went well and you had fun for the whole day<3

i think you wont be surprised when i say i came with yet another request... but !! i came up with this idea yesterday during my lectures and honestly i dont think there's anyone else than you who could write it perfectly so here i am<3

so, i was think about changbin with a shy, reserved s/o who's scared of intimacy - not only sex but simply initiating physical contact with him and being seen naked. and one day changbin would suggest doing some kind of ‘excercise’ where both of them would slowly and patiently undress each other and binnie would instruct them to touch him - his face, chest, back, everything. the reader would obviously be scared, but gradually would try to overcome their fears. there might be some tears, maybe the reader would be like “binnie, i can’t do this, please close your eyes” but eventually would end up tracing their fingers down changbin’s body.

it might end up with a soft, fluffy smut with lots of praises but it doesn’t have to, just write whatever you feel comfortable with<3 thank you so so much, please take your time, i’ll be patient❤️

sending you lots of love, mwah😽

Merin 😭 when you said you’d be patient I don’t think you expected me to take a whole seven months to post this IM SO SORRY IM SO EMBARRASSED 😖😖😖 This fic has honestly been through it like I lost count of how many times I wrote this, deleted it, rewrote it, deleted it, rewrote it…only for me to end up going for my original plan 💀

As you might remember, my birthday was spent pretty much in bed since I was sick but the following seven months have been…something! It’s all good though and I’m quite content with what my life looks like at the moment, you know, all things considered. I’ve been writing so much lately so I’m really happy about that. What about you babe, how have you been???

As always, feel free to request anything else and I promise I’ll try to do better about responding because what the fuck even was that IM SORRY AGAIN 😭😖 Anyways I love you so much and I’ve missed you so much mwah! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 🎇

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 2.8k

🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ You and your lover, Changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where Changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression.

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 + g. neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ) 2.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a while ago by my beloved mootie, Merin! It was such a sweet prompt, honestly, and I am really happy with how it came out. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, Established relationship, Y/N is afraid of initiating any kind of intimacy, I would consider this to be vague smut — maybe it should be labeled as suggestive? Probably not actually, romantic sex, making a mess with wet paint during sex, descriptions of anxiety, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

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“You have to turn around or I won’t do it,” you huff with feigned annoyance, a thin veil over your mounting anxiety. The words come out sharper than intended, a desperate attempt to mask the tremor in your voice. Changbin pouts, his lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both endearing and maddening, but he complies, turning his back to you. The playful pout is a façade, a small rebellion against the uncertainty that lingers in the air between you.

He had asked you to use him as a canvas, an unusual request that was meant to surprise and unsettle you. The idea was simple in theory but fraught with emotional complexity. During your free time, painting was your solace, a means to escape into a world where you could create beauty out of nothing. You were accustomed to painting on your own skin, using it as a blank slate for your artistic expression. But this situation was different. Changbin, your lover, was not just a body; he was a living, breathing embodiment of your deepest feelings and insecurities. His presence was electric, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over you with the slightest glance or touch.

The mere thought of painting Changbin was both thrilling and terrifying. His skin, normally the subject of your artistic fantasies, now became the canvas upon which your emotions would be laid bare. Each brushstroke would be an intimate declaration, a blend of color and sensation that went beyond mere artistry. The stakes felt incredibly high, and the vulnerability you felt was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about the painting; it was about the raw, unspoken exchange of trust and affection that came with it. As you prepared your paints and brushes, the flutter in your chest spoke louder than words, a testament to the profound impact Changbin had on your life.

Eventually, all of your painting supplies were meticulously arranged, a testament to your preparation and anticipation. The array of colors and brushes, each placed with care, awaits the moment when they will come to life. Despite Changbin’s back being turned to you, despite the full control you have over this artistic endeavor, and despite the gentle, tender nature that defines him, an inescapable fear grips you tightly. It’s a fear that seems to rise with each breath you take, a curse that has followed you through the months of your relationship, even after four years of friendship.

You still find it nearly impossible to initiate any form of intimacy, a struggle that feels like a heavy weight on your heart. Changbin, ever perceptive and understanding, is acutely aware of your struggle. You can't help but wonder if this request to be your canvas was his way of gently nudging you past your barriers, a subtle invitation to confront your fears. The sight of his toned, bare back, illuminated by the golden sunlight streaming through your windows, is almost too breathtaking to bear. The natural light caresses his skin, highlighting the contours and making him look like a living masterpiece.

You reach for the paintbrush with a hesitant hand, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to steady them. Each brushstroke will be a step toward bridging the gap between your fears and your desires. The internal turmoil roiling within you feels almost insurmountable, yet Changbin remains a pillar of patience and quiet support. His silence is filled with anticipation, a silent encouragement that heightens the intensity of the moment. As you begin, his breath hitches, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability and trust that this act of painting symbolizes.

“Don’t think, love,” Changbin murmurs softly, his voice a gentle whisper that seems to float in the space between you. There is a delicate fear in his tone, as if the very act of raising his voice might shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy you both are nestled within. His words are meant to soothe, to gently guide you through the swirling maelstrom of anxiety that threatens to engulf you. “Let your hand decide what to do first, like it does with every other painting.”

His encouragement is tender, a quiet plea for you to relinquish the hold of overthinking and simply trust in your own instincts. The way he addresses you, with such care and understanding, reveals his deep awareness of your inner struggle. The idea of allowing your hand to move freely, unburdened by conscious thought, is both comforting and daunting. It’s a call to embrace the organic flow of creativity, to let your artistic instincts take the lead just as they do with every other canvas.

In his gentle insistence, there is an underlying promise of safety and acceptance, a reassurance that you are not alone in this moment. His soft voice, laden with affection, is a beacon that guides you through your hesitation, offering a pathway to overcome the fear that clutches at your heart. As you absorb his words, you feel a shift within, a subtle easing of the tension as you prepare to let your hands move with the grace and freedom that Changbin so patiently encourages.

You exhale shakily, a soft, uneven breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes for a fleeting moment. The brief respite is a small sanctuary from the storm of emotions raging within you. With a deep, albeit hesitant, breath, you allow the brush to make its tentative contact with his back. The sensation is both thrilling and disconcerting, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you’re trying to navigate.

Your heart pounds erratically, lodged firmly in your throat, as if each beat is a protest against the simplicity of the act. The sensation of the brush against his skin is strangely overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a touch of absurdity at the intensity of your reaction. The thought strikes you with a sting: why should something so seemingly simple provoke such a profound response?

You frown at the self-criticism, a mix of frustration and self-doubt clouding your thoughts. The very act that should be a natural extension of your creativity now feels like an insurmountable barrier. You remain frozen in place, the brush hovering delicately against his back, your mind tangled in a web of conflicting emotions and the weight of your own insecurities.

“First contact, good,” Changbin says softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. His praise, though directed at the simplest of actions, carries a weight of sincerity that pierces through your anxieties. The way he acknowledges your effort with such kindness and appreciation makes your heart swell with a mix of emotions.

Each word of praise from him feels like a tender caress, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. It’s as if his approval alone has the power to lift the heaviness from your shoulders. Yet, amidst the comfort of his support, a pang of sorrow tugs at your heart. You can’t help but feel that Changbin, with his unwavering patience and boundless kindness, is deserving of so much more than you can offer.

The realization settles heavily within you: he is too good, too pure, and his affection for you only highlights the depth of your own insecurities. The disparity between his gentle, unselfish nature and your own self-doubt feels almost unbearable. As you grapple with the bittersweet ache of his praise, the profound sense of his worth and the feeling of inadequacy intertwine, leaving you with a lingering ache for him and the love you fear you might not fully deserve.

“I can’t do this,” you sniff, your voice trembling as you pull the brush away from his back. The words are more a cry of frustration than a simple admission of difficulty. Your hands feel unsteady, and the weight of your own insecurities feels almost too much to bear in this moment of vulnerability.

Changbin remains motionless, his presence a steady, reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil. Despite your agitation, he does not waver. His voice cuts through your self-doubt with a calm and unwavering reassurance. “You did good, love, you made the first contact — now keep going.”

His encouragement is gentle, yet insistent, a soft nudge to continue despite the internal resistance that threatens to pull you away. The words carry an undercurrent of faith and support, a reminder that progress has been made and that there is a path forward. Changbin’s steadiness provides a counterbalance to the storm of emotions within you, his calm demeanor a beacon of hope as you grapple with the feeling of inadequacy. His trust in your abilities and his unwavering patience offer a precious glimmer of confidence, urging you to overcome the hesitation and embrace the next step.

You found yourself caught between two conflicting desires: the longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and softness of his skin beneath your fingertips, and the impulse to abandon the entire exercise in a wave of self-doubt. It was a precarious balance, and every moment felt fraught with the tension of your inner struggle. Yet, it was Changbin’s gentle, affirming praise that kept you tethered, a constant reassurance that dispelled the doubts threatening to hold you back. His words, tender and encouraging, provided a steady anchor amidst the churning sea of your uncertainties.

Changbin’s beauty, so striking and profound, seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity. The sight of him, so effortlessly captivating, made it difficult to process your own emotions. The paintbrush in your hand danced across his back with a new fervor, as if guided by an unseen force. The vibrant hues of oranges and yellows spilled across his skin, transforming his usually plain canvas into a vibrant display of color and emotion. The image you painted was a burst of fireworks, a visual symphony meant to capture the depth of the feelings he stirred within you.

Occasionally, your free hand would find its way to his back, a tentative gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. It was a gesture of closeness and reassurance, a small but significant effort to bridge the gap between your hesitations and his unwavering support. Each touch was a deliberate step towards overcoming your fears for his sake. As you put the final touches on the painting, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. The work, now complete, was a testament to the emotions Changbin had evoked and a reflection of the journey you had navigated together.

After admiring and praising your work through the bathroom mirror, Changbin returned to kneel before you, a look of dazed contentment lingering in his eyes. The intimate moment you’d shared while painting him had left an imprint on him, and it was evident in the softened, reverent way he now regarded you. His voice, barely more than a murmur, was tinged with a gentle, almost reverential tone as he took your hands in his and requested you to touch his face.

The intensity of his gaze was nearly too much to bear, a silent plea that seemed to pierce through your defenses. You almost refused, the weight of his unspoken emotions making it difficult to act. In a bid to soften the moment and manage your own trepidation, you asked him to close his eyes. His response was immediate and graceful, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips as he complied with your request.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted them to cup his face, the act both intimate and nerve-wracking. The contact was met with an immediate reaction — a shiver that coursed through his body, a physical manifestation of the deep emotional connection that had been kindled between you. The sensation of his warm skin under your trembling fingers was both grounding and electrifying, a testament to the vulnerability and trust that had been shared in this quiet, tender moment.

The shoulders were your next focus, and your fingertips traced their contours with a delicate touch, as light as a feather. Each movement was deliberate, a gentle exploration that sent ripples of sensation across Changbin's skin. You watched intently as goosebumps emerged, spreading across his body in response to your touch. Despite the palpable reaction, his eyes remained closed, a gesture of trust that deepened the intimacy of the moment.

Changbin's hands rested calmly on his knees as he continued to kneel before you, his posture a silent testament to his patience and willingness. He didn’t shift or flinch, his stillness adding to the weight of the moment. It was an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a profound blend of emotions that left you on edge and in awe.

As you allowed your hands to move freely, a newfound sense of power and connection emerged. You ventured across his chest, tracing the ridges of his biceps and the smooth planes of his belly. Each touch was a discovery, a chance to map the landscape of his body and to feel the subtle changes in his breathing and muscle tension. The freedom to explore his skin, to feel the warmth and texture under your hands, was both a privilege and a revelation, marking a deepening of the bond you shared.

Eventually, a surge of bravery propelled you forward, and you allowed your lips to gently meet his. The contact was electric, an immediate and fervent exchange as he responded to your kiss with equal passion. Changbin sighed contentedly into your mouth, his lips moving with a depth and intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling between you. You surrendered to the warmth and connection of the moment, letting him lead the kiss as you immerse yourself in the shared intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the atmosphere shifted, and soon the two of you found yourselves on the ground. The transition was both spontaneous and fluid, a natural progression of the intimate exchange that had begun with your kiss. In the heat of the moment, your hands, which had once traced delicate patterns on his back, now inadvertently smeared the artwork you had so carefully created. The paint, which had once been a canvas of emotions, was now spread across both your bodies.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his skin, while he moved with a rhythm that was both euphoric and synchronistic. The paint became an unwitting participant in your passion, staining your bodies as you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of the experience. The ground beneath you was forgotten, replaced by the intense connection and shared vulnerability that defined the moment.

His rhythmic movements were a symphony of whispered confessions of love, each tender murmur sending your mind drifting away on a cloud of pure pleasure. The combination of his words and actions created an overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation that filled every corner of your consciousness. Each whisper was a thread weaving into the fabric of your shared ecstasy, intensifying the connection between you.

The melodies of your intertwined breaths and muted moans became the only sounds that reverberated through your apartment, a private concert of intimacy and passion. The room was enveloped in the hushed symphony of your bodies moving together, a melody of love and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

A thin layer of sweat formed a glistening sheen on both of your skins, the evidence of your fervent connection. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, fading light that mingled with the dimming hues of night, creating a soft glow that highlighted the tender vulnerability of the moment. As the daylight surrendered to the encroaching darkness, the scene became a portrait of intimate beauty, a snapshot of a night filled with profound emotional and physical connection.

It was no surprise when you both reached the pinnacle of your shared experience simultaneously. The strained, almost primal sounds that escaped you both were a testament to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that enveloped you. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

Amidst the euphoria, the purity of the love you had just shared became palpable, stirring emotions so deep that tears began to roll down your cheeks. Each tear was a manifestation of the profound connection and overwhelming affection you felt for him. Your heart ached with a fierce love, and you found yourself wanting to express it with every fiber of your being.

He responded to your silent confession with words of his own, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. As he kissed away each tear that stained your cheeks, his eyes held a softness that you had never seen before, a gentle radiance that spoke of the depth of his feelings. A tender smile curved at his lips, amplifying the beauty of the moment. His presence was nothing short of devastatingly beautiful, and in that intimate, vulnerable space, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and disbelief at your fortune. To have a lover so deeply attuned to you, so wonderfully perfect in your eyes, was a gift you could scarcely believe you had received.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

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💭 GUIDELINES ‣ LIBRARY ‣ TAGLIST & ANONS ‣ REQUEST LIST ‣ PINNED ‣ TIP JAR

📨 REQUESTS ARE CLOSED 📨 WORK COUNT: O22 📨

스트레이 키즈 ── OT8. ( stray kids )

🌏─────SHIBARI | 0.9K — HEADCANONS | MDNI | i love shibari with my entire soul and i feel like we as a society don’t talk about it enough — particularly about how emotional it can be if done right. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

🌏─────POTHEADS | 1.8K — HEADCANONS | MDNI | green decides what kind of stoners the stray kids members are. (NO READER) REQUESTED

🌏─────IN THE ABSENCE OF YOU | 4.4K — HEADCANONS | in which the members of stray kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

⭐️─────CAUGHT IN THE ACT | 15.6K — HEADCANONS | the reactions of each member of stray kids when they're caught kissing you by another member. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

방찬 ── CHAHN BAHNG. ( bang chan )

⭐️─────USE OF THE SAFE WORD | 1.9K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | chan had always been the sweetest human ever, but after you’d both had a rough week, you both find out that you had different ways of decompressing. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

🌏─────HOW HE CARES | 2.2K — ONE-SHOT | an episode of 2 kids’ show reveals just how deep your friendship with chan runs. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

🌏─────SAFE HAVEN | 1.6K — ONE-SHOT | chan takes care of you while on your period. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

이민호 ── LEE MINHO. ( lee know )

🌏─────I’M ON YOUR SIDE | 1.8K — ONE-SHOT | following the devastating death of your sister, you find yourself navigating a world that throws you into the deep end of piling bills and worries that you were unsure of how to handle. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

🌏─────PUPPY LOVE | 1.0K — HEADCANONS | in which high school lee minho is so madly in love with you that he's willing to follow you anywhere, anytime. (MALE READER) REQUESTED

⭐️─────BONDS OF PASSION | 7.2K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | in a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN. ( changbin )

🌏─────WHEN COLORS CARESS | 2.8K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | you and your lover, changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN. ( hyunjin )

🌏─────ERASE ME FROM YOUR MEMORY | 0.6K — ONE-SHOT | half a year after you and hyunjin break up, you find that you’ve somehow healed. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

🌏─────CINEMATIC SECRETS | 3.2K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | in the hushed shadows of an empty cinema, you and hyunjin find yourselves doing anything except watch the film. (MALE READER) REQUESTED

⭐️─────RAIN-SWEETENED HEARTS | 4.5K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | on a rainy evening, a deepening connection unfolds between you and hyunjin as you explore your newfound intimacy in the cozy sanctuary of your studio apartment. amidst clumsy yet heartfelt moments, your bond blossoms into a magical dance of tenderness and desire, celebrated under the gentle rhythm of the falling rain. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG. ( han )

🌏─────‘TILL FOREVER FALLS APART | ~7.2K — SERIES | MDNI | in which two disabled idols find comfort in each other’s arms. (FEMALE READER) STATUS: ON-GOING TAGLIST: OPEN

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK. ( felix )

🌏─────EVERYTHING IS YOU | 3.3K — ONE-SHOT | through every single hardship you’ve ever endured, felix always waited for you, ready to bring you into the safety of his embrace. so when you’re stuck amidst the complicated emotions following your father’s passing, the first and only person you sought for comfort was your best friend. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

⭐️─────THE LAST STRAW | 3.5K — ONE-SHOT | after a final argument with your toxic, manipulative mother over your irresponsible younger brother, you decide to cut ties with your family, only to be overwhelmed by doubt and panic until your supportive boyfriend, felix, reassures you that choosing yourself was the right decision. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN. ( seungmin )

🌏─────YOU CAN BURST INTO FLAMES | 1.2K — ONE-SHOT | seungmin helps you get through a thunderstorm by showering you with tender love and singing to you. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

⭐️─────STILL FRAMES | 7.5K — ONE-SHOT | after fainting during a photography class outing, you're tenderly cared for by a seemingly cold classmate, seungmin, leading to an unexpected and heartwarming connection between the two of you. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN. ( i.n )

🌏─────BLAME ME IF YOU WANT | 1.1K — ONE-SHOT | you deluded yourself into thinking you and jeongin were meant to last forever. but after some time where he felt distant, you come to find out why. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER)

🌏─────EUPHORIA | 3.4K — ONE-SHOT | MDNI | as you and jeongin engage in an intense and synchronized exploration of your desires, the pleasure between you reaches a crescendo. your intimate connection is solidified with tender expressions of love and a deep, satisfying closeness that comes with trying new things. (FEMALE READER) REQUESTED

⭐️─────ECHOES OF US | 12.6K — LONG-FIC | after a painful breakup, you and jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you. (GENDER NEUTRAL READER) REQUESTED

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

© MINHOSBITTERRIVER | do not plagiarize, repost or translate my works on this platform or any others.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD (but guys it’s so good you HAVE to read it IM BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP ABOUT IT)

hands-down, undoubtedly, definitely my favorite chan fic ever 🥹 i can’t even begin to explain just how much i absolutely LOVED every single word of it. i loved the message behind this story: it’s okay to lose sometimes, it’s okay to be imperfect, it’s okay to fail. i think these are things that we as a society really struggle to accept especially when it comes to ourselves and there was something so beautiful about him finding himself in the end and coming to terms with the fact that yeah, he’s a loser and what about it?

SPOILER OVER (but again y’all READ THIS MASTERPIECE PLEASE)

and to star, i just wanna praise-bomb you so bad because you so so so deserve it. you’re such a phenomenal writer and i honestly just always enjoy your writing, WELCOME BACK! thank you for sharing your work, and thank you for the comforting advices you’ve offered through this fic, i love you so so much MWAH 🩷

No Guts / No Glory

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

W/c: 26.2K

Warnings: depictions of bodily harm, descriptions of blood, mentions of drinking, dry-humping, oral sex (male receiving)

Synopsis: Conducting a series of interviews about up-and-coming boxer Bang Chan leading up to his title fight puts you in a complicated situation when you begin to develop feelings for him.

18+. Mdni!

•

“I believe the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

•

Calloused fingers adjust the lavalier microphone a little higher up onto the collar of his button-down shirt- knees bent, legs spread to occupy a generous amount of space, even for a guy as big as he is. A gentle noise emits from the silver chain around his wrist as he interlocks his fingers together, twiddling thumbs and placing them neatly onto his jeans. And then he takes a deep breath, as the door across the room swings open, outlining your intimidating figure.

The room is tense when you finally saunter in, clipboard balanced in the crook of your elbow as you do your best to avoid eye contact with the subject of the video while you assume your position on the chair across from him.

Your hand darts out to greet whom you can only assume to be a manager of some sort, giving him a closed-lip smile and a polite nod before taking your seat again. And when there’s nobody else in the room requiring your attention, you let your gaze fall to him at last, doing a once-over of his intimidating figure.

Warm tan skin complements his lightened brown hair, swept neatly out of his face to reveal his narrowed honey eyes. His sharp eyebrows seem to straighten, pulling down into a stoic expression as he observes you right back. His wide nose flaunts a sharp bridge, much like the masculine jawline that clenches as he remains quiet- and juxtaposed against all of it, soft, plump lips, which form into a smile as he greets you, pulling back to expose a dazzling set of teeth.

“Christopher Bang Chan,” he says to you, reaching a hand out and clasping his fingers around yours. His grasp is firm, but intentional, like he’s making every effort to seem professional. And it’s nothing you haven’t seen several times before- in wrestlers, and swimmers and boxers alike.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you say to him, omitting any form of introduction entirely. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”

“Are we rolling?” Chan asks, gesturing to the camera with a wave of his index finger.

“This is just a test for my use,” you explain to him. “You don’t need to acknowledge the cameras.”

He gives an understanding nod, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat. And then, as the little red blinking light indicates that the camera is indeed recording, you begin to speak.

“Could you state your name for the camera? In a full sentence, please.”

“Hi,” he begins with a nervous chuckle. “My name’s Christopher Bang Chan. You guys know me as Bang Chan- or just Chan, really.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms.

“How long have you been boxing?”

“I’ve been boxing for…” his eyes roll up to the ceiling, hand finding its way to his chin as he remains lost in thought for a moment. “About fourteen years. Started when I was twelve, never looked back. Still have my first pair of boxing gloves hanging in my mom’s house, if you can believe it.”

Amused laughter fills the room, Chan’s eyes forming little crescents as he thinks back to the bright blue Kanpeki sparring mitts that hang on a single nail in his parents’ living room.

“Chan- why boxing?”

“Why not?” He retorts with a cheeky smile. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Seriously, boxing…boxing is… something that makes me feel alive. When I’m in the ring throwing punches like I’ve been trained my whole life to do, and people are standing behind me who’ve been there the whole way and I can hear them cheering, I’m alive. There’s nothing else that matters in that moment. It’s just pure skill, pure passion for what I do. I don’t feel that way about much else.”

His accent is thicker than you’d anticipated it to be- a sultry, Australian accent accompanies his serious intonations, and he speaks as though he’s telling a story, pulling you in captivating you with his entire being. He sounds smarter than the other athletes you’re used to, as though he could have done a variety of career paths if not for boxing. At least something relating to speaking, you’re sure, as he concludes his response with a gentle nod.

“And you’re just months away from the biggest fight of your career,” you then say, cocking your head slightly.

“Can you tell us about where you’re at with that, mentally?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s really nothing I haven’t trained for before,” Chan replies candidly. “I’m at the gym training every single day, we’re working around the clock to make sure I’m at my best for this event. And at the same time, I’m new to title fights- I really have no expectations going into it. I just want to do my best.”

Chan’s lips purse together as he scans your expression for a reaction to his statement, but all he’s met with is a nod as you gesture to the cameras.

“That’s all we need for now,” you call out to the camera crew. “You can wrap up while we finish discussing.”

Chan’s eyebrows are raised as he glances around the room curiously, staff members conversing amongst themselves as expensive-looking cameras are disassembled and stowed away into leather casing.

“I’ll give you a minute,” his manager says, rising from his spot to rush after another staff member. And just as you’d feared, it’s just Chan and yourself at a painfully close proximity.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan chimes in from his spot on the chair, observing the way you shuffle through a stack of papers.

“Y/n,” you say plainly. “The interviews and filming will take place over the next month. Think of it as a sort of docuseries for sports fans- the next hottest thing since last year’s boxing burnout.”

“Hottest thing?” he repeats curiously. “That’s a generous compliment, I wouldn’t call myself the hottest-”

“Up-and-coming,” you correct him. “New, fresh. Fascinating to the masses. They love you now, they’ll be itching to see how you perform. And then you’ll be in the big leagues with all the other athletes. It’s the sort of people I interview.”

Chan purses his lips together again, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“How long have you been interviewing?”

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say sternly. “I don’t expect anything from you. Just show up, give me answers and don’t be late. Anything else I can assist with?”

Chan searches for something to say, wanting so badly to work some of his classic athlete charm on you the way he has for his entire career thus far. But as you pull off your glasses again, tucking them into the pocket of your blouse, he realizes he’ll just have to come to terms with the professional dynamic you’ve so boldly established here with him already.

“That’s all,” Chan says finally. “I’ll see you at the next one, then?”

“Don’t be late,” you say again.

And he can still catch a glimpse of your ponytail as you exit, swaying side-to-side in tandem with purposeful strides as you disappear from his sight.

*

“How’d it go?”

“Standard.”

“Anything notable?”

“He’s a boxer, Lin. Just like anything you’d expect from them- immersed in his sport, rich, not much substance to him.”

“Then I presume the docuseries is going to be smooth sailing from here.”

Lin prods at a particularly thick piece of lettuce in her salad, an obnoxious crunch filling the silent space that falls over you both amidst the otherwise loud cafeteria. Of course it’s natural for her to draw this simple conclusion- one of the lead producers, she’s always heads down in the editing portion of your films, trimming out unnecessary dialogue and uploading B-roll to accompany the complex story behind your subjects. But it’s always the same story- soulless, busy men, far too consumed by their own masculinity and an insatiable appetite to win, no matter the cost.

At first it’s the local media who take a particular liking to them, publishing flashy articles about all their grand endeavors and illustrating the glass shelves of trophies their parents flaunt. And then by some “miracle”, sometimes a “gift from god himself”, they land a title fight- describing the opportunity with stars in their blank eyes, all the while still media trained to project a humble image. That’s where you come in, a journalist with a keen eye to see right through them, still earning the big bucks as you assist in upholding the headache-inducing humble image they’re so set on. And following a series of interviews, once they’re far too gone to even assimilate with normal folk like yourself, they’ll win said respective fight, make it on to the biggest blogs and television publications, and then effectively lose themselves to the new celebrity title. You’ve seen it several times now- in tennis players, wrestlers, swimmers. And boxers- especially boxers.

As you watch Lin poke around at the remainder of her salad, you glance at the room beyond her seated figure, where your colleagues are busy with their own lunches and still heads down in their work, laptops propped open and hands typing away as they chew. It’s always like this when a new series of yours is in its early stages of filming, everybody scrambling to prepare their notes and film work as the schedule is finalized. Not a minute can be wasted on a project like this- the subjects’ time is more valuable than anything right now. Every minute Chan graces the studio, every word he utters is footage, publication- more money.

“Y/n?” Lin questions, snapping you out of your visible trance.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you have everything you need.”

You ponder her words for a moment, thinking back to your itinerary, to the list of printed questions still secured on your clipboard and even Chan, the image of the lavalier mic hanging loosely from the collar on his shirt replaying in your head.

“I think so,” you say finally, shrugging and prodding your index finger at the still-wrapped sandwich that rests upon the table.

“Come on,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You just have to suck it up for a few weeks, and the pay-off will be worth it. Remember the last one? People are still crazy about that guy, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m just tired, I guess. It’s all so voyeuristic. It’s exhausting trying to learn the details of somebody’s life like this.”

“Voyeurism can be a good thing,” she interjects. “The more intimate this process is, the better. We want the people to know every inch of him.”

“I know,” you reply sheepishly. “You’re right.”

“We have to see right through ‘em,” she responds, securing the lid on her Tupperware and rising from her seat. “Hey, I have to go edit another thing. I’ll see you when the next set of footage is done, though?”

“Yeah,” you say to her, watching as she stuffs her belongings into a canvas bag and hoists it over her shoulder.

“This could totally be another big break,” she states, as she begins in the other direction. “This could be huge for us all over again.”

*

It’s typically recommended to arrive at least 15 minutes early to every studio interview. In some cases, 30 is more favorable. And yet it’s a notion athletes just can’t seem to comprehend most days, sauntering in well past the starting time with a duffel bag slung over their broad shoulders, not so much as an apology uttered as they assume their spot across from you.

And Chan, you learn very quickly, is no different from the rest.

“Sorry,” he says as he finally enters, your gaze fixed on the wall across from you as the floodlights illuminate his muscular figure in your peripheral vision.

You say nothing in return, gently tapping a capped pen on the exposed flesh where your skirt meets your upper thigh. And Chan takes reluctant strides toward you, cocking his head slightly as he glances around the room and gestures to the vacant chair across from you.

“Is this… should I sit down? Or…”

Your figure remains turned away from him, giving a small nod as you remain in your spot, ushering for Chan to take his seat. And he does, slinging his bag onto the floor and leaning back in his chair.

“Wow, it’s bright in here,” Chan remarks, chuckling lightly.

“You’re late.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swallowing nervously as he scans your cold expression. Narrowed eyes meet his, not a hint of a smile present on your pursed lips as you convey your vexation.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says nervously, his eyes softening in attempts to reconcile the tension he’s brought upon you. “My training ran a little longer than I hoped. I tried to leave early, but my coach-”

“Look,” you interrupt, finally letting your gaze meet his and sighing frustratedly. “I interview guys like you on the daily. You show up late, zero regard for my time or my effort, play the game and then win all the prizes that come with it. This is just a stepping stone in your career- I get that. Just please, could you at least try to make this as easy as possible for both of us so that we can be done faster? We’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Chan falls silent when you finish speaking, smoothing a loose strand of hair down with his index finger and nodding politely.

“I’m sorry,” he voices for the second time today. “It won’t happen again. This series is really important to me.”

“I would hope so,” you tell him. “Now state your name for the camera. Full sentence, please.”

“This camera?” He inquires, pointing at one straight across from him. “Or that one over there?”

“Just state your name,” you repeat. “I have you at all angles. It doesn’t matter where you look.”

“Can I look at you, then?”

You sigh for what feels like the millionth time today, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance and crossing your legs at the ankles. You can’t quite tell if he’s doing this on purpose, or if he genuinely hasn’t conducted a formal interview like this prior to yours.

“Yes, you may look at me. That’s typically how a conversation goes.”

“Right, then. My name is Christopher Bang Chan.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms with a grin.

“Chan, in just three months you’ll be competing in the biggest fight of your life- the Golden Gloves Championship, against your counterpart Kang-Dae, a competitive boxer who’s been training almost as long as you have. In a recent interview, he told me the two of you are making a deliberate effort not to meet just yet, despite training at some of the same local spots. Can you tell us your reasoning for that, as well as what that’s felt like up until now?”

A short breath escapes Chan’s lips, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“I’ve heard remarkable things about Kang-Dae,” Chan begins. “It was something we made a mutual decision to follow through on. You know, just being mindful of training techniques and respecting each other’s space. It feels a little weird sometimes when I remember while I’m training- it’s like, was he using this bag before I was? I’ve sort of built him up to be this really dedicated player to the game, in my head at least.”

Chan smiles back when you do, taking note of the way your shoulders seem to visibly relax in his presence. He lets his ankles uncross, twiddling his thumbs as his legs spread loosely in front of him.

“So uh… yeah, it’s been… it’s not easy, knowing we’re going head-to-head in just one month. But I’m training really hard, and I know he is, too. I have a lot of respect for him.”

You nod at his words, glancing down at the clipboard of questions and notes on your lap in front of you.

“Chan, you’ve mentioned several times how hard you’ve been training for this. From the gym, to practice with your coach, to mentally preparing for all of this. What are you doing when you’re not training?”

The question marks the first of a series of personal ones, ones that really seek to tear down your subjects’ walls and reveal their true identity to audiences. They love the voyeuristic aspect of gory details- and your subjects love to talk about themselves.

“I’m hardly ever not training,” Chan says with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I guess I just sleep as much as I can. If not maybe… running, doing stretches, all that. I’m at the point where I have to be physically pried away from the gym by my coach. It’s that bad.”

He laughs lightly as he speaks, his eyes forming little crescents the way they always do when his plump lips pull into a grin. And then you mirror his expression, lips pulling into a smile as you pry for more answers.

“Can you tell us how you first got into boxing? What was that like?”

“First time,” he echoes. “Was when I was 12 years old. My dad bought me a pair of gloves after I saw this series about Baik Hyun-Man, an Olympian boxer who swept his category in… 1988? 89? God, he was phenomenal.”

“A docuseries?” You chime in, furrowing your brows together.

“Yeah. Think it was like, 4 episodes where they interviewed him following his sweep at the Olympics that year. I remember him being so well-spoken and fascinating.”

A small smile tugs involuntarily at your lips as Chan speaks, a sort of glint present in his eyes as he recalls the events. He seems so full of passion when he speaks of his source of inspiration, the same way he speaks of his own craft.

“That was made by our network,” you say finally. “That was one of the first series I saw, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you reply, maintaining a keen smile. “It made me want to get into interviewing. He had such a way with telling his story.”

The room falls quiet as a sharp breath escapes Chan’s lips, a look of disbelief painted upon his chiseled features. He begins to say something, and then he’s quiet again, craning his neck at the camera to the right of your seated figure.

“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish shake of your head. “I don’t mean to get off topic here.”

“No, it’s… that’s really fucking cool. I mean, what are the odds, you know?”

It’s really not some miracle that you happened across the same formative media- you’re pretty sure every parent had Baik Hyun-Man’s docuseries playing on television on repeat shortly after it aired. The way he spoke of his achievements, so self-assured in the way he gestured directly into the camera and urged kids to chase their dreams, too. Inspiring journalists and athletes alike- it was the network’s biggest thing the year it aired. And evidently, a boxer’s dream, to put the sport on pedestal for the whole world to admire.

“Anyway,” you say finally, glancing back down at your clipboard. “You were indulging me in the details of your start to boxing.”

“Right,” Chan voices. “I was 12, with these clunky boxing mitts- blue ones, just like I asked for. And one of those inflatable punching bags hanging in our garage. At first, it was just jabs, I wasn’t really interested in classes or anything like that. It wasn’t until I started boxing with my dad, that’s when he pushed me to keep this going. Said I threw punches like a pro- at least the best I could do at age 12. I owe a lot of this to my dad, I don’t think I would’ve pushed myself to do any of this without him. And to chase this dream, of winning a title fight.”

“Well your dream doesn’t sound very far out of reach, by the sound of it,” you say to him, raising a singular eyebrow and cocking your head.

Chan just smiles, an earnest expression washing over him, and you take note of the way his ears flush a deep shade of red. He’s not one to take compliments very well- he falters somewhere between confident, yet flustered, and it’s endearing, like much of his persona is. Though it may be well-crafted, it’s still charming.

“I dunno,” Chan says with a click of his tongue. “Losing is always a possibility.”

“It is,” you affirm. “But I’m sure you’ve faced your share of losses in the past, too. What does losing mean to you?”

Chan furrows his brows together, a little thrown off by the question posed to him. He’s not sure he’s ever carefully dissected the implications of what it means to lose something- to funnel your entire being into what defines you, only for the tangible payoff to slip from your grasp and dissipate into a void of nothingness. And consequently, to familiarize yourself with the suffocating emotions of regret, pain, loss- even shame. It’s never been an option for him- it’s never even been an occurrence.

“I’ve never lost,” he says finally, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“You’ve never lost?”

“I’ve never lost,” he repeats. “I’ve played matches that weren’t as good as others, or just barely scraped by with a win. But I’ve never lost.”

“So losing isn’t something you’ve even considered.”

“No, I’ve definitely considered it,” he contends. “Some matches, you take a good long look at the guy across from you, and it’s sort of like staring your future in the face. Like, this is it, this is the guy I’m going to lose my streak to.”

“Yet it’s never happened?”

Chan clicks his tongue again, crossing his legs at the knees this time and cocking his head, the same overconfident expression painting his chiseled face.

“I don’t lose,” he states simply. “There’s always the chance that I may lose. But I never do.”

A simple nod of your head signifies the end of this portion of the interview, and Chan finally exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding all this time.

“I think I have all I need for today,” you say to him, avoiding the meticulous eye contact he seeks from his spot across from you. “Could you just leave your mic on that table over there?”

“Did I sound a little cocky there?” Chan queries as he fidgets with the lavalier microphone. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just a stupid fact I like to toss around.”

“Facts are facts,” you respond, toying with your own lavalier microphone, yet not moving from your spot. “You’re permitted to say whatever you want. This is your series, after all.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to scare people here. I’m just-”

“Frighteningly competent?” You interrupt. “Well-versed in the art of boxing? Aware of the power you hold?”

He’s quieter now, lips pursed together and eyes scanning your expression for a hint of forgiveness. But you don’t grant him any- in fact, you’re admittedly a little disenchanted by his words, which seem to put him right up against all the other boxers you’ve interviewed. Impetuous words which detract from his character as a whole, emphasizing only his worst traits. Self-righteous, self-centered, disdainful, even.

“I’ve interviewed a lot of people like you,” you explain to him, for what feels like the second time this evening. “If you sound cocky, it’s because you are cocky. You’re allowed to be, though.”

“But that’s not what I want people to get from this series.”

“Then what is it that you want?” You ask Chan, rising from your seat and gathering your papers, his gaze fixed on yours still.

He’s quiet, no adequate wording passing him by that may sum up what he seeks to put out into the world. Perhaps he’s never looked so introspectively like this before- perhaps he hasn’t even considered what he wants the world to make of him.

“I’m telling your story, not writing it,” you continue.

His lips part to say something, but a silence overtakes the room once more, words which seek to defend himself dissipating in the back of his throat much like his thoughts do.

“Just something to think about,” you conclude, the lavalier microphone rolling around between the pads of your fingers as you meet his gaze finally.

His eyebrows arch in an almost pleading manner, as though he hopes you might have a change of heart and take some mercy on a skilled boxer like himself. But you don’t- not when you have the ability to see right through him like this, the same way you do with all the others.

An arrogant athlete, on an exponential and unbroken winning-streak, complete stranger to the concept of losing or being humbled.

“Losing isn’t something you’ve even considered,” your words replay in his head. “What is it that you want?”

He ponders, to no avail, as the floodlights outline your departing figure.

*

“So he’s just never lost a match?”

“Never. And he’s a cocky prick about the fact.”

“That’s unprecedented. I don’t think we’ve ever interviewed somebody with a winning streak like his.”

Lin’s fingers hover over the keyboard of her laptop, slicing footage and importing b-roll as you assume the spot next to her. She moves quickly as she always does, hardly even needing to decipher whether the clips flow into each other adequately- it’s second nature for her to know.

“This looks good,” she voices, pupils rapidly scanning the bright screen which reflects against the lenses of her wireframe glasses. “But the network agrees we need to get a little more personal.”

“What do you mean?”

She pauses her actions, pulling off her glasses and snapping them closed between her teeth before she speaks.

“You guys had a moment somewhere in there. It’s undoubtedly the most interesting bit. There’s a bit of chemistry when you’re relating to him.

“What?” You question, furrowing your brows together as she continues to work.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s remarkable you found something in common with the guy. Knackered journalist and devoted boxer set aside their differences to agree on one thing- ‘The Iron Gentleman’ really was a sight to marvel at.”

“We didn’t have a moment, Lin. He’s watched a series almost every athlete did when it aired.”

“I’m just saying there’s something… very human, about the whole thing. Try to get to get closer to him. Corner him- find out what makes the guy tick. I need you to read him like a diary and publicize it to the masses. It’s not going to be easy- that’s why you’re doing it.”

Your gaze remains on her computer screen, eyeing the footage you vividly remember having filmed alongside him. It’s paused on a still-shot of you sitting across from him, transfixed on his chiseled features as he explains something indistinguishable to you, playing back at Lin through the chunky black headphones she wears around her neck.

The thought is migraine-inducing, to attempt to get any closer to Bang Chan than you already are. Upon your two interactions, you’ve already taken him to be as arrogant, conceited and obsessed with his sport as you’d assumed him to be. And while it rings true that there may be more to him than meets the eye- a story trying to reveal itself to you, a truth yearning to make itself known among all this superficiality, it’s likely one he’s not keen on making known to you.

“First part airs this Friday,” she states, nodding her head to some electronic background tune as she resumes her editing. “Just promise me you’ll try to get more personal with him. Find out where he trains, scope out the spots he frequents.”

“I’m not stalking the man for the purpose of a series, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“It’s not stalking,” she counters quickly. “It’s familiarizing yourself with the video subject.”

You chuckle lightly at Lin’s request, holding your hands up in surrender and rising from your spot beside her.

“Sure, fine.”

Lin’s hands cup the speakers of her chunky black headphones, finally adjusting them over her ears as she continues working. And she shoots you one last thumbs-up before you retreat from her office.

*

For several days thereafter, the thoughts consume you, to recall Lin’s requests for a more personal relationship to the interview subject. There hasn’t been an instance yet in which you’ve been made to falsify the closeness of a subject to you- in fact, you’re usually encouraged to keep your distance, knowing very well that a story can get compromising when the lines between boundaries are almost blurred.

You think back to her suggestion to scope out the spots he frequents, which seems like an impossible task when you’re already bearing the burden of trying to know him at all. And one evening, as her words replay in your troubled mind for the umpteenth time, the solution finds you first- in the form of said cocky athlete himself.

The streets are eerily dark at the hour, nothing more than the occasional pass of a car along the blackened road as you keep to the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of your coat and your gaze fixed on the towering buildings ahead. It’s not uncommon to depart the office at ungodly hours during the process of filming a docuseries like this one, especially since you usually opt to keep Lin company while she makes final edits. The neighboring buildings are already cleared out for the night, the parking lots are mostly empty, and the world is quiet as you trudge the short walk back to your apartment.

At the corner of the intersection, a small convenience store, dimly lit by the ominous flicker of street lamps, and largely uninviting to the fleeting passerby. But one you’re familiar with, often opting to make a quick stop for a bite to eat before you go home for the night.

The chime of a bell on the door announces your arrival, making your way past shelves of baked goods to where the pre-packaged foods lie. And aside from the slow lull of jazz music over the muffled speakers, it’s quiet in the convenience store, nothing except the faint sounds of shuffling surrounding you as a cashier stocks produce by the register.

“Do you guys have them in yet?” A voice calls loudly as the door swings open, the bell ringing erratically with its movement. It’s piercing- obnoxious, even, to disturb the once much-appreciated peace of the shop like this. And who else present to disturb the peace at this hour, except for an athlete, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he takes long strides toward the fridge.

“Oh, you do!” he emphasizes, pulling open the handle of the fridge in a hasty motion, as he begins to pile armfuls of what appear to be popsicles in the desperate grasp of his toned arms.

“Did you know these are like, three times the price if you purchase them online?”

The cashier says nothing, giving the athlete a small bow as he continues stockpiling and talking his ear off to no one in particular- and then the athlete pivots on one foot, locking his gaze with yours, a soft chuckle emitting from between his plump lips.

“Are you following me?”

“Me?” You counter, scoffing lightly at him. “I was literally in here before you.”

“I always come here after practice. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I’m always here after work,” you argue, crossing your arms and maintaining your stance. “I could say the same.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing to the counter with a nod of his head. “Put it down. I’ll pay.”

“What- no, there’s no need to pay for me. I’m just leaving.”

“Come on,” Chan protests. “You’re trailing after me as though I might be in here buying something seedy. It’s clever- I’ll give you that. Let me pay for you.”

Your eyes narrow in response, reluctantly approaching him and setting down your own dessert of choice onto the counter by the register. The cashier begins to scan your items, the rhythmic beep filling the awkward silence that overtakes you two as Chan keeps his gaze fixed on your standing figure. And then he pulls a black leather wallet out from the loose-fitting gym shorts he wears, grasping a card between his middle and index finger and handing it to the cashier.

He says nothing still, maintaining an almost satisfied expression on his face as the cashier bags his horde of popsicles, and then he gestures to the door once again with a nod of his head.

Chan assumes a spot on the curb by his parked car- a fairly humble two-seater. And the plastic convenience store bag sits open between the two of you as he works on his first popsicle of the evening, twirling the wooden stick between his slender fingers as the sticky residue trickles down and houses itself on the concrete below.

“How’s it coming along?” Chan breaks the silence, eyeing you out of the peripherals of his big brown eyes. “The series, I mean.”

“Fine,” you reply, doing your best not to mirror his mess as you work on a small cup of vanilla ice cream. “The first interview is all set to air.”

“I heard. I hope you didn’t have to edit out too much of my awkward conversation.”

A light chuckle escapes your lips, shaking your head as you dip the wooden spoon back into your cup.

“No, you did well. I’m actually surprised at how genuine you come off to the cameras.”

“Surprising that I’m genuine? I’ll do my best to take that as a compliment.”

“It’s hardly one,” you voice back. “All you athletes are the same. But I suppose you are well-versed in the art of boxing and media-training alike.”

You’re quiet for a moment as you observe the quiet streets across from you both.

“I’ve always said the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. You make an impressive subject.”

“All me, thank you very much.”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head as he practically chews through the remainder of his popsicle, toying with the bare wooden stick as a silence overtakes you both.

He studies the concrete for a moment, the gentle scrape of the wooden popsicle stick on the ground making itself known as he searches for the words to say. And then the soft rustle of the plastic convenience store bag, as he digs through and collects his second popsicle of the evening.

“Are you scared?” You query, your voice a little quieter than before as you prod at your vanilla ice cream with the wooden spoon.

“Scared?”

“Yeah, for the series to air. People are going to start recognizing you when you go out. It always happens.”

Chan cocks his head in response, a satisfied smile pulling onto his lips as he ponders your words. And then his expression seems to drop again, grasping the popsicle stick between his fingers as he observes the way it melts in his touch, the residue trickling gently onto the pads of his fingers and down the bases of his wrists.

“I’m not scared,” Chan says finally. “I get punched by people for a living. There’s so little that actually scares me at this point.”

You think back to Lin’s request to get a little more out of him, pondering his words for a moment as you inhale before speaking once again.

“Then, if I may ask- what does scare you?”

And deep down, you know it’s unlikely you’ll receive a substantial response- it’s like pulling teeth searching for honesty from an athlete, and Chan is evidently no stranger to this phenomenon of insincerity and projection.

The low hum of a car engine is heard as the only other car in the parking lot begins to exit. You take note of the still-flickering street lamps, the vacant roads across the convenience store. And the way Chan’s breath hitches in the back of his throat, as if he’s conjured up an answer far too heavy to relay from between his parted lips, letting it instead dissipate once more as he laps at the sticky popsicle residue on his inner forearms.

“What scares me,” he begins, tongue tracing the outline of sherbet liquid along his veiny arms. “Is the rest of these popsicles melting. Come on, I have a freezer back at the gym.”

“Are you asking me to go with you? I’m going home, not to some sweat-ridden gym with your stash of popsicles.”

“I’m not letting you walk home at this hour, if that’s what you think you’re doing. Come on, it’s just a two minute drive from here and then I’ll take you back to your place.”

“I’m fine, thank you very much.”

Chan waits for you to say something else, silently hoping you’ll just agree without protest. But when you don’t, he gathers the plastic bag by the thinning handles, steadying himself with one hand on the concrete and standing up beside you.

“I’ll meet you in the car,” he says plainly, brushing his shorts off and averting your gaze.

The blinding glow of his car’s headlights reflect off the convenience store windows across him, and Chan watches as you bring a hand up to shield your eyesight while you rise from the curb. You can’t make out his expression in the flood of light that now surrounds you, but Chan’s lips curl into a knowing smile as you approach the passenger’s side, letting yourself in beside him and shifting the bag of popsicles out of your spot.

Of course, he’ll never know that you’re only agreeing to tag along in the unique instance you can gather something of substance for the purpose of your series, the way the network is now pushing you to do.

“Two minutes,” you voice back to him. “And then I want to be dropped off at my place.”

“Seatbelt?”

Your hands find their way to the buckle, pulling it across your torso and fastening it with a frustrated sigh.

“Two minutes,” you emphasize again.

Chan just chuckles lightly, extending an arm behind your headrest as he begins to pull out of the parking lot. And then he begins toward his training gym, in the same direction as your place of work.

*

“Don’t touch anything. I’m just gonna pop these in the freezer.”

Chan takes long strides down the gym with his plastic bag in hand, flipping on a series of light switches as he passes and illuminating the space with harsh white lighting.

At one end of the room lie rows upon rows of heavy weights, scattered carelessly and in no particular order along the rubber carpeted flooring. The other end of the room houses a long line of punching bags, cylindrical black leather masses that hang from metal chains and adhere to the dark gray walls that border the gym. And in the corner of the gym, your eye is drawn to a large boxing ring, elevated onto a black square surface, with tight black ropes that line the perimeter.

Though you’ve interviewed your fair share of athletes, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so intimately close to their place of work like this before, and it’s admittedly fascinating to finally visualize the gym he speaks of when he interviews.

Your hand caresses the rope which lines the boxing ring, looped around and pulled taut around each metal pillar at four of the corners, and you wonder how many times Chan has ducked to traverse beyond these ropes in a practice run or even a match. It’s the same ring which plays a role in his winning streak- and the same ring his opponent, Kang-Dae practices in, making strategic entrances around the clock so as not to accidentally run into each other.

As you admire the boxing ring, you fish a small digital camera out from the purse slung around your shoulder, snapping a generous set of photos and zooming in to all the intricate details.

“It’s been around since the 80’s,” a voice says, startling you amidst the silence. “Home to some of the greats. I practically live here.”

Chan’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, the plastic bag now absent as he examines the boxing ring, too.

“The same one Kang-Dae practices in,” you reply.

“Exactly.”

He nods toward the back of the room, the curls of his hair largely concealed by the black beanie he wears on his head falling loosely into his eyes as he glances over at a boxing bag.

“I’m told he’s partial to the ones at the back of the room. I never use those ones- it’s weird using the same equipment he does.”

You nod slowly at his words, imagining what you envision Kang-Dae to look like, throwing punches at the bag in the back of the room. He’s probably similar to that of Chan’s stature- lean, muscular, chiseled features. And maybe even a handsome face to go with all of it.

“Which ones do you use, then?”

Chan chuckles lightly, meeting your gaze as he answers. “Middle of the ring,” he states with a shrug. “Gotta get used to standing in it.”

You observe the way Chan glances back at the boxing bag hanging in the center of the boxing ring, the chain fastened along a metal track so that it can be moved in and out of the vast space. And then you toy with the camera in your grasp once more, your fingers delicately grazing over the shutter release as you eye the space ahead.

“Could I…record you in it?” You ask him hesitantly, averting his curious gaze when he turns to look back at you.

“For the series?” He asks, a growing smile making itself known as he gestures to the ring.

“Yes, for the series. I’m not really looking to have a personal collection of photos of you, if that’s what you think is happening.”

Chan tosses his head back in amused laughter, and then he gestures to the ring with a wave of his hand, bowing a little and instructing you to lead the way.

The ring is considerably more intimidating from the center of the elevated platform. A glance around the room feels like you’re in the middle of an active match, and you can’t possibly comprehend how Chan does this with hundreds of eyes on him, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standard of a consistent winner. In fact, you can’t imagine how anybody could muster up the courage to be stood here on their own accord.

“This is where the magic happens,” Chan says, his hands on his hips as he cranes his neck to examine the top of the punching bag.

You bring the camera up as he speaks, shutting one eye and snapping a photo of Chan next to the punching bag, adjusting the zoom a little to more closely capture the scene as you snap a few more photos. When you’ve gathered an adequate amount, you then transition to record the scene, holding the camera in front of your chest as you watch Chan position himself in front of the punching bag.

“Can you show us a few tricks?”

Chan’s eyes form little crinkles as he smiles, cocking his head and stretching his arms up above him in preparation. His black tank top rides up a little as he does, exposing the toned strip of flesh between his waistline and the hem of his shirt, and you shake your head a little when you take notice, forcing your attention back on his upper body.

“Anything?” Chan asks, glancing at the camera.

“Yeah,” you shrug in reply. “Just show us a few moves.”

His hands form fists in front of him, knees bent slightly and his legs angled toward the punching bag. And then he pulls back, chin tucked against his upper body, swiftly pushing his fist forward and hitting the bag with an echoing thump.

“That’s a cross,” Chan explains, glancing back toward the camera. “Just a straight punch.”

He pulls back once more, delivering another harsh punch to the bag, and then his right arm bends out at the elbow, striking at an entirely new angle.

“That one’s a hook,” he says a little louder this time. “Sort of how you get in from the side.”

“Show us your hardest,” you call out to Chan, adjusting the lens to capture his full stance. “Imagine it was somebody you hated.”

Chan cocks his head slightly, an overconfident smile on his chiseled face as he positions his arms in front of him. And then he retracts again, throwing a much stronger punch this time, his hand shooting upward from waist-level, a harsh thud echoing around the ring as his fist makes impact. He throws another one with the other hand now, and then another, and then several more, teeth gritting as sharp breaths escaping his lips while he throws punch after punch, the bag swaying with every firm strike.

Your camera lens adjusts as he moves, capturing the entirety of his swift movements, zooming into his skilled hands and then panning up to his face, where his nostrils flare and his eyebrows seem to slant into a frown.

He looks passionate as he moves, his whole being seeming as though it’s being overcome with intense emotion, namely some form of resentment, you think, as he strikes the bag over and over again. You watch through the viewfinder of the camera as he keeps his angry gaze on the bag, growing irate when it sways back toward him, where he proceeds to hit back ten times harder. You study his face through the grainy film, at an expression you’ve never studied on him before this. He looks different- almost scary.

“That’s good,” you call out, to no avail, as Chan delivers another robust hit to the bag.

“I got it,” you call out a little louder, and after one last strike from the angle of the exposed flesh on his stomach upward to the bag, he finally stops, catching the bag when it sways back toward him and grasping it firmly in both hands.

Chan keeps his head down, looking a little ashamed as he catches his breath. You can hear the heavy pants that escape his lips when he turns to meet your gaze at last,

his eyebrows narrowed sternly as he looks at you. And then he brings a bruised knuckle up to his forehead, wiping off beads of sweat that trickle down his temple and flicking them off to the side with a wave of his hand.

“Uppercut,” he says hoarsely.

“Hm?”

“The move,” Chan continues. “Good for opponents.”

And then he hangs his head once more, flipping up his shirt to wipe off the remainder of sweat that accumulates on his tanned skin. You force your gaze onto his concealed face, not daring to examine the toned set of abs visible to you at this proximity.

“Best for people you hate,” he then speaks into the fabric of his shirt. And you simply nod meekly in response, stuffing the camera back into the pocket of your coat.

*

“Say it again, but to the camera this time” You say to Chan between laughter, as he brings another wooden stick up to his lips, working his tongue around the base with a harsh sucking noise.

Two minutes at Chan’s training gym have quickly turned to two hours, and in all his persuasive athlete ways, he’d somehow convinced you that he required another popsicle before drawing a close to the evening.

“These are the best popsicles in the city,” Chan states, holding the half-melted treat up by his face as though he’s advertising it.

“It’s just the right amount of sherbet. Not too much, but just enough to satisfy a sweet tooth. I’m genuinely convinced there’s not a single thing that couldn’t be cured with one of these things.”

“Got fired at work,” you challenge.

“Easily cured by a popsicle.”

“Fight with your spouse.”

“Popsicle.”

“Lost a boxing match,” you voice to him, almost doubling over in laughter when he sucks in a sharp breath and cocks his head.

“It’s a tough one. But with the right amount of sherbet, I promise you’ll make it out unscathed.”

Shared laughter fills the room as he laps up the remainder of his dessert, and then he tosses yet another popsicle stick aside, swinging his legs off the ledge of the raised boxing platform and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As you set aside the camera once more, he hoists himself up a little further as he grasps the taut strings that surround the ring, and then he lies back entirely on the smooth surface, shutting his eyes briefly as a silence washes over you both.

Chan’s hands fold over his chest, atop the thin fabric tank top that rides up again to expose the band of his boxers, and when he feels you staring, one eye opens to meet your gaze again, a curious smile on his face.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head to avert his stare. Your fingers loop around the taut rope, too, plucking at the wired material and watching it vibrate with the recoil.

Chan maintains the smug smile for a moment, a little amused at your evident shyness. And then he pats the spot behind you, beckoning you to join him in assuming a spot on the floor of the boxing ring. You begin to tell him that you should really be heading home, well aware of how long you’ve already occupied the gym, likely committing some form of trespassing by staying here. But as your eyes scan his lying figure, you think back to the interviews- it’s a miracle you’ve gotten him to loosen up even this much around you. Maybe if you stay, you can coax some form of truth out of him; a story worth telling.

So with a gentle sigh, your fingers loosen their grasp around the rope, lying flat against the smooth surface of the ring, at a close proximity alongside Chan’s languid body. It’s probably prohibited somewhere within the unspoken rules of being an earnest journalist, to lie down beside an interview subject like this. But when your hands finally fold over your own chest, the only feeling present is that of calmness, of unwavering stillness, as the low buzz of the overhead lights emits from above you.

Chan keeps his eyes shut for a while, and amidst the deafening silence, it’s almost too loud when he finally swallows a knot in his throat and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.

“Sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off,” Chan admits quietly. “I feel like I can still hear the commotion all around me.”

Echoes of training ring through his ears as though they’re lullabies engrained deep into his memory- the strikes to hanging leather bags, the heavy grunts that escape parted lips as men lift weights three times their size, the hot showers that run around the clock as athletes relish in their wins and dwell all their losses. Even with eyes shut tightly, Chan swears he can still see pairs of eyes observing him carefully, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standards of a consistent winner.

Angle your fist upward. Quicker on the footwork. Harder. Faster.

Atta boy. Be a man. Be a winner.

It’s only when his coach has gone home for the evening, when the other athletes file out of the training gym one by one, towels slung over their broad shoulders and duffel bags packed with spare gloves and changes of clothes. It’s when he’s the last shower of the night, letting scorching water roll off his toned body, steam fogging the mirrors until his own reflection is indistinguishable to him once more. And it’s when he’s concluded throwing practice punches in the now-empty ring, his muscular back parallel to the floor of the ring just like this, and his eyes fixed on the gray industrial ceilings and recess lights. It’s only then that he isn’t so easily defined by a winning streak.

In fact, his wins mean nothing in the absence of other athletes, who are also defined by the numerical realities of trophies gained and matches lost. The world feels much clearer to him like this, no longer clouded by the gym chatter and bruised knuckles that seek permanent shelter in his conscience. He’s just Bang Chan- not a winner, not even a boxer. Just Chan.

And though he allows it to consume him entirely, often replacing his curiosity for the world around him and a lingering loneliness with the insatiable appetite to fight, win, conquer- he knows deep down that it’s still not all of him. There remains a sort of fragility tucked somewhere beyond all this rigidness- there’s still a heavy humanness underneath these conjectures that he’s the ‘perfect boxer’.

What is a winning streak relative to an empty boxing ring? What is a spectator relative to a participant? What are concealed identities relative to a lifetime of falsifying new ones?

“What does it feel like?” You ask Chan, and he opens his eyes to examine the gray pipes that run along the ceilings once more.

For a fleeting moment, the dual identity he keeps tucked away makes its way to the forefront, silently admonishing how this all really feels to him- how the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, among a myriad of other admissions.

“It’s a bit much,” Chan responds with a deep sigh. And then he sits up once more, gesturing to the wall of photos across you, neat rows of famous boxers who once inhabited this ring so triumphantly assuming a spot within these gym walls permanently.

“See that?” Chan queries. You sit up, too, following his gaze to the largest photo in the middle, a confident smile painted on the monochrome subject’s face.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” you voice from beside him. “The boxer.”

He’s a little impressed when he turns to face you again, perhaps not having taken you very seriously the first time you dubbed yourself a fan of his, too.

“I want to be like him,” Chan confesses, his voice just above a whisper. “I want to be a winner. I want people to view me like that- always.”

Your words don’t make it past your tongue, which you bite impassively, instead nodding your head and letting a silence fall over you both. You don’t grant him the encouragement he seeks- in fact, you don’t even grant him a proper response.

You simply hum- and whether the verbalization serves as a form of agreement, or as utter dismay for concealing anything beyond the most predictable version of him he brings to you- that is for him to decipher.

*

Part one of Chan’s docuseries is aired that same week, just after five, on your network’s channel.

You watch on your television, completely immersed, as the familiar tune of your intro starts up, your phone already flooded with texts from colleagues who also tune in to the event.

“He’s so charming,” one texts you, as Chan appears on the screen, recalling stories of his early boxing days and verbally admiring the efforts of his opponent, Kang-Dae.

“Great start to the series,” your boss relays in her message to you, as Chan details his impressive his winning streak, a cocky smile plastered on his handsome face.

“I feel like you bring out something special in him,” Lin’s text reads- one which you read over several times, while your shared moment with Chan plays in the background, both of you reeling over the old documentary which preceded your careers. The very same clip you requested Lin cut out of the docu series- a clip that wasn't planned.

Your attention falls entirely on the way his face lights up as he speaks of the Iron Gentleman, contrary to the rest of the interview, where he delivers otherwise predictable responses and maintains a polite disposition. There’s a lighter tone to his voice when he’s made aware that you’ve also seen the series- and a visible sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, impressed by the niche similarity you both share. Although unplanned, Lin is right- it’s undoubtedly the highlight of the interview, to watch him break down his walls and give the audience a glimpse into something beyond his boxing career. Part one of his series is certainly not a complete story- but it alludes to the notion that he does harbor a much more complex version of it, somewhere deep down inside of him.

And when the first reviews begin to roll in , Lin is the first to greet you, a piece of paper grasped firmly in her hands as she rushes up to meet you before you’ve even made it to your desk.

“The people love him,” she says enthusiastically, trailing beside you as you shuffle past to your desk.

“Listen to this,” she continues. “The network follows up-and-coming boxer Christopher Bang Chan as he prepares for the biggest fight of his life- in what just may be the biggest docuseries since that which preceded Hyun Man’s championship ring fight.”

“What?” You exclaim, halting your motion of digging through your purse to lock eyes with her ecstatic expression.

“I know!” she replies, practically shoving the paper toward you and directing your gaze upon the printed words. “Read the rest of it!”

Your eyes scan the dark black ink printed along the top of the newspaper, Lin’s finger directing you to where the paragraph continues with the gesture or her manicured finger.

“We were immediately captivated not only by Bang Chan’s remarkable looks, which seem to give models a run for their money, but by the essence in which he speaks of his craft- educational, yet alluring. It’s hard to ignore the chemistry in which interviewer y/n maintains as she tells his story, and we’re equally as satisfied with both subjects’ visible passion for the athletes which once dominated the network’s airtime. The series, which will air until Bang Chan’s Golden Gloves Championship fight, will follow his tale to stardom- and the underlying story he seeks to share with the world in the process.”

Lin lets out an excited squeal when you conclude speaking, patting your hand as she retrieves the paper once more and scans the bold text for the nth time this morning.

“People are seriously into him,” she emphasizes, raising her eyebrows in a knowing manner. “All these intimate looks at his life have people talking like crazy. I mean, we haven’t seen ratings this high since I can’t even remember when.”

You chuckle lightly, fishing around again for your phone in your purse and shrugging in her direction.

“Sure, he’s a little charming, I’ll give him that. People are just sorta drawn to people like him, I suppose.”

“Sorta?” Lin questions. “There’s other networks calling us to request they take over the series from here. They’re dying to know everything about him. Especially because of his winning streak.”

With your phone in hand, you pause again, meeting her gaze and furrowing your brows.

“Really? Why’s it so special to everybody?”

“Because,” she begins. “There hasn’t been an athlete competing in the Golden Gloves Championship with a winning streak like his in maybe 20 years. It makes his title fight appealing to everybody that way, not just to sports fanatics. He’s a handsome boxer and who never loses- and our network’s about to capture the biggest win of his life.”

You finally assume your spot on the swivel chair by your desk as she hovers over you, trying your best to make sense of the words as they leave her lips.

All around you, the office seems particularly busy today, colleagues chatting amongst themselves, sauntering quickly by your desk with video equipment and manila envelopes in hand. The sounds seem to crescendo as you take note of the phone lines that ring nonstop, filling the space with a constant shrill sound as colleagues rush to take messages. Amidst the overlapping voices, you can hear them conversing about ratings, requests for interviews and plans for the remainder of the series. And as you turn back to Lin, you also take note of the big smile plastered across her face- an expression you don’t typically see on an otherwise aloof producer like herself.

“You took my advice, and look where it’s gotten us already,” she says to you. “If you can manage to pull more out of him, I think we’ll have something really good here. Get closer- dig deeper.”

“I’m really trying here, but I don’t know how much closer I’ll be able to get,” you tell her.

Lin shrugs as she watches you glance at your phone, your eyes widening at the sight of several missed calls and texts.

“Took a message for you,” she says with a subtle purse of her lips. “He asked you to swing by the gym. Get out there- and bring every camera you have. He doesn’t take a breath before the camera shoots it.”

You glance past Lin’s standing figure at the giant glass windows of the office, the sun largely obscured by the cloudy weather and the towering buildings that surround it. It’s suffocating at this hour, just a little too busy for your liking, the atmosphere looming with talks of Chan and Chan and more Chan.

You know stopping by the gym will likely just irritate you more, and yet when Lin’s eager expression scans the paper in her hands once more, pupils dancing over written accounts of Chan’s passion for boxing and an underlying story the general public is somehow convinced you’ll unveil to them, you let out a frustrated sigh, gathering your purse once again and pushing your chair back in against your desk.

And Lin shoots you a small, yet knowing smile, as she observes you make your way back to the office entrance.

*

“Harder. No hooks this time.”

Hit.

“There you go! Now let’s see it all together.”

Chan ducks as his trainer throws a hit, and then his left fist darts out to deliver a harsh jab as he maintains his quick-paced footwork around the ring.

You watch from the entrance of the gym as he circles around the ring, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration and beads of sweat trickling down his clenched jaw. His punches echo thunderously around the gym, his sneakers squeaking along the floor as he ducks again to evade another hit. And then he delivers one more hard punch to the palm of his trainer’s mitt, pulling away when his trainer gives a simple nod in response.

“Very good. Take five.”

Chan lets his head hang loosely as he catches his breath, his trainer undoing the velcro mitt straps around his wrists and making his way to the equipment room with them. You approach cautiously, one hand clutching the strap of your purse over your shoulder, as the other fiddles nervously with the hem of your shirt.

Chan takes note when you approach, his head snapping in your direction from where he remains standing. And then he approaches, too, a smile on his lips as he struts toward you and adjusts the black bandages around his knuckles.

“You actually showed!” Chan remarks with a chuckle.

“You asked me to stop by,” you say in response, observing the way he pulls the wires border apart to duck and hoist himself off the platform, now standing in front of you as he leans casually against the ring.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much of a choice. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Chan chuckles lightly. “I just like your company.”

“That’s it? You know I’m supposed to be working, right?”

“Relax,” Chan assures you. “I called your office this morning. Told them we needed you here to collect some boxing paraphernalia of the sort. Didn’t get any protest from the big boss.”

Your eyes narrow as Chan reaches behind him and brings forth a plastic water bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous swig. You observe the way he downs half of the bottle in one guttural swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing twice as he now finishes off the water, and then pulls it away from him once more with a gentle pop as the suction from between his lips is broken. A single drop of water trickles down beside his plump lips, and he brings one veiny arm out in front of him to wipe it with his inner wrist, careful to avoid making contact with his bandages.

When Chan notices you staring, he gestures to his bandaged hand with a nod of his head as he speaks. “They get all gross when I wet them,” he explains simply. “Ever had athlete’s foot on your hands?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a small laugh.

He holds your gaze for a moment, as though he wants to ask something, and then he rejects the idea entirely, standing up a little straighter when his coach returns from the equipment room at the back.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, a stern expression on his face as he approaches.

“Oh, uh… sorry, I’m-”

“This is y/n,” Chan interjects. “She’s the interviewer we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s you!” His coach exclaims, scoffing as does a once-over of your timid figure. He’s much broader than Chan is, his buff arms folding over themselves as he leans back against the ring beside Chan. You quickly recognize him as the gentleman who accompanied Chan during your first introduction to him.

“I watched the first part when it aired,” he states. “You somehow make him seem interesting. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Chan laughs and shakes his head, a pink blush creeping upon his cheeks as you laugh, too.

“You can call me Mr. Seo,” his coach says finally, extending a calloused hand to you, his fingers grasping firmly around yours as you shake. “I’ve been training the guy since he was just a little shorter than he is now.”

“Alllll right,” Chan interrupts with a chuckle. “You’re free to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Seo retorts sarcastically. And then turns to face you once more, furrowing his brows as he points a finger in your direction and cocks his head slightly.

“You’ll be at the fight, correct?” He inquires.

“We’re televising it,” you respond with a nod. “I’ll be there to watch.”

Chan’s eyes flicker over your gaze momentarily, and then over Mr. Seo’s expression as he nods.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Mr. Seo says with a chuckle. “I think there’s still a person somewhere deep inside there.”

Chan shakes his head sheepishly and then averts your gaze when you turn to look at him again.

“We’re done for the day, yeah?” He asks in a low voice, practically begging Mr. Seo to make his departure from the gym.

“Yeah,” Mr. Seo responds, his eyebrows raising in your direction as he cocks his head again. “I’m on my way out. It was great meeting you!”

You nod at Mr. Seo, watching as he gathers a black bag off the floor and hoists it over his shoulder.

Chan keeps his head hung as Mr. Seo gets further away from both of your still-standing figures, and then he glances up only when he hears the heavy door push open to indicate his exit.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, a heavy tension making itself known between you. You wonder briefly what could have offended Chan about Mr. Seo’s remark- and then you make a mental note to badger Chan about it later, when he’s properly on camera.

“I need to make a little day trip,” Chan finally says with a click of his tongue. “So you’re coming with.”

“Depends where we’re going.”

“About an hour up north. I left some boxing equipment, and I need it back.”

You hold back a smile as Chan leans back against the ring once more, his eyebrows raised at the same time his lips pull back into a smirk. He maintains a knowing grin as he holds your gaze, as though he already knows you can’t decline the offer. And he’s right- despite fulfilling the role of a work subject, and being forced to spend time with him at practically all hours of the day, there’s something about him you just can’t bring yourself to say no to.

You also can’t help but wonder what’s in this for him- sure, he maintains the fact that you need video footage. And you do, still finding yourself eager to capture all the intimate moments of his life which you already know contribute to his charming persona, one which audiences have been captivated by after just one episode of his series. But you can’t help but feel as though he may possess more motives for keeping you around this closely. Maybe it’s a product of the series’ early success- and maybe it has something to do with the truths he can’t seem to utter.

*

True to the way he lives his life at full-speed, Chan drives fast. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, making smooth turns with the palm of his hand as he sits slouched comfortably in the driver’s seat, his vacant hand resting over the center console between you.

The conversation flows with ease, as though you’ve always known him, and Chan details all the mundane intricacies that come with being a boxer for the entirety of the car ride. He doesn’t speak of anything more personal than his start to boxing, yet he upholds his privacy with such dexterity, making cautious attempts to reroute the conversation when it steers any closer to him than he intends it to. And though he makes himself out to be one of two things at any given moment, chuckling lightly as he defines himself somewhere between “perfervid and steadfast”, there’s an underlying tenderness to him, the kind you can observe only in the transient moments in which he doesn’t speak of his work.

You catch a glimpse of it when he laughs at his own jokes, eyes forming little creases under his temples when he fills the space with the melodic sound of “ha ha’s” at tales of his childhood. You notice it in the way he speaks of the people he holds close to him, dubbing Mr. Seo a “lifesaver”, a “best friend” and a “hero” in the same breath. And it’s present every time he asks you a question, his eyes full of concentration as he waits for you to detail your work to him in return, usually met with the gentle reminder that he need not interview the interviewer. Yet he remains the first athlete to try and do so in your presence- a fact you’re undoubtedly charmed by.

When Chan announces your arrival at the undisclosed location, you do a double-take, furrowing your brows in confusion when he comes around to open the passenger’s car door for you.

“Where are we?” You query, stepping out and glancing at the scenery which surrounds you both.

You’re knee deep in the suburbs and well on the outskirts of city life, the clean-paved roads lined with modest-sized homes and yellowing lawns. The overcast skies are much clearer without the obstruction of skyscrapers and billboards, and in the far distance, you can make out the euphonious hum of a mourning dove’s coo.

“I told you,” Chan replies. “Here for some equipment.”

He gestures for you to follow up the cement steps that lead to a single painted door at the front, and once you’re both positioned at the entrance, he rings the doorbell confidently, glancing down at the coir doormat and prodding at it with the sole of his shoe.

“Mom bought new ones,” he says simply, and your head snaps in his direction.

“Mom?”

Before he can properly answer, the door is swung open with the heavy creak of the latch, and you’re met with who you can only presume to be Chan’s mother, a warm smile on her face as her arms extend out to him for an embrace.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and laughing lightly. Her eyes form little crinkles the same way his do, and her features robustly resemble all of his.

“And you,” she now says as she pulls away. “Must be the movie-maker.”

You smile politely at her, eyes flickering over Chan momentarily before you nod in response.

“I’m just the interviewer,” you say in response. “I do get a few pieces of footage here and there, too. It’s nice to meet you.”

Your invitation for a handshake is interrupted by her arms embracing you, too, which you reciprocate in a warm hug.

“I left my training gloves,” Chan voices to her. “Did you see them anywhere?”

“I left them on the console table. You’re always forgetting something.”

Chan smiles in response, and then he kicks off his shoes when she gestures for him to come inside. You mirror the action, following his lead into their house, and then you trail after Chan to the console table where a pair of black boxing gloves lie.

As he collects them, you take in the atmosphere, eyeing the decor curiously as his mom assumes a spot on the couch.

It’s a humble little household, no bigger than any of the other houses on the street, but there’s clear indication that it’s lived-in, from the framed photos that line the walls, to the cabinets of trophies that accompany the furniture. You thumb over the strap of your camera as you walk in strides, knowing the network will be elated you managed to get this close to your interview subject. From the photos in frames atop the glass coffee tables, to the collection of medals that decorate the space by the cabinets, every reward and heirloom is more footage, more praise, higher ratings.

And above the couch, a pair of bright blue boxing gloves hung on a single nail, exactly like Chan previously mentioned.

“Are those your first boxing gloves?” You ask suddenly, drawing attention from Mrs. Bang as she cranes her neck to look at them. Chan gives a half-smile as he turns to look at them, too, and then he nods before speaking.

“Yeah, that’s them. They were a little too big for me when I bought them.”

“I was so proud of him,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “I had to buy a second pair just to display his first.”

You smile in her direction as she folds her hands in her lap, and then your hands run over the bag you wear slung over your shoulder.

“Could I possibly film you answering a couple questions?” You ask Mrs. Bang suddenly, fishing around for the digital camera you brought along with you. “Just a few basic ones about Chan. I promise it won’t take long.”

Your gaze turns to Chan to gauge his reaction, and you’re met with an encouraging nod as he gestures to his mother.

“Of course!” his mom says, smoothing down her dress as she beckons you over. “I’m an open book.”

You take the seat across from her, running your index finger over the release shutter as you fidget with the settings. And then you catch Chan’s gaze once more, your eyes flickering at his anticipatory expression and then beyond his figure into the hallway.

“Chan, do you mind if I interview her… alone?” You request, heartbeat quickening in your chest. “These are really basic questions. I just find that people are a little more detailed when the film subject isn’t directly present.”

Chan shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants awkwardly, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he glances at his mother. A silent few seconds go by, and you conclude that his lack of response indicates disapproval of the request.

“I can also just not conduct the interview if that’s better for you-”

“No, that’s fine,” Chan says finally. “I’ll wait out in the garage.”

He gives a small nod in the direction of his mother, as if to request that she uphold the self-contained image he projects, and then he pivots on his heel, disappearing past the hallway toward the direction of his once makeshift gym.

“I wanted to ask you about what Chan was like growing up,” you begin as you turn toward her again, positioning the camera on a side table and adjusting to fix on her face. “Was he always so set on being a boxer?”

“Oh, precisely,” she says, folding her hands over her crossed knees. “I couldn’t get him to do nearly anything outside of going to the gym. At age 12, he was lifting weights twice his own. And by 14, he was training with Mr. Seo. Did you know he missed his own graduation ceremony to participate in some fight?”

“I didn’t know that,” you say with a chuckle.

“He did. He’d also box himself inside that little garage every summer, just practicing. I had to drag him inside for dinner most days.”

“So he’s always had this sort of tunnel vision.”

“Yes, I think so. He was never outside with the other kids, never really had many friends. It wasn’t for a lack of making them- he just found more joy in training with Mr. Seo than doing anything else a typical kid his age would do.”

You nod as she speaks, and then you watch as her lips curl into a small smile.

“In the summer, he would practice all day long in our dingy little garage. It was always scorching hot, so I’d bring him his favorite ice cream to cool down. I think watching his excitement for those ice cream bars is the last time I can recall him feeling like a little kid. He grew up so fast.”

“Sherbet ones,” you voice to her, and she points to you with a cheerful smile on her face.

“Yes, those ones!”

You chuckle as you think of the ones she speaks of, not having guessed they were a staple which preceded his career, and not just some random fixation of his.

Mrs. Bang shakes her head as she recalls memories, and then she cranes her neck to eye the hanging boxing gloves again.

“Sometimes I worry about him,” she confesses in a low voice.

You observe the way her eyebrows furrow into an expression of concern, and you tilt your head when she hangs hers, trying your best to make sense of the shift in tone.

“What do you mean?” You ask, knowing very well these aren’t in fact, the basic questions you promised Chan you would be aiming at her.

“He gets so wrapped up in it- especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does, all he thinks about.”

Mrs. Bang shakes her head for a moment, and then she meets your gaze again, speaking in a rushed tone.

“He didn’t sleep for three days once,” she announces. “Do you know how hard it was to see him like that?”

You don’t reply immediately, taking note of the visible tears that brim her eyes, which she wipes away with the gentle stroke of a manicured finger.

“He’s so down on himself all the time,” Mrs. Bang continues. “He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

“Like what?”

She sniffles loudly once, shrugging her shoulders and flickering her gaze over the camera, as though suddenly remembering she’s being recorded.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Bang admits. “Maybe you’ll figure it out for us.”

She purses her lips sheepishly when she concludes speaking, resuming the action of wiping off her runny mascara, and then you turn to the camera quickly, shutting off the recording and collecting it in your grasp once more.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it so depressing,” she says in a frail voice.”I think a lot of us are just worried about what this fight could mean for him. For his future.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” you say to her quickly. “It’s admirable that you’re so preoccupied with his career. I can just cut out that last part.”

Mrs. Bang just folds her hands neatly in her lap, but she says nothing to you, no verbal request to omit the footage or steer clear of publicizing the concern she houses for her own son. The thought passes you by, momentarily, to ask her if she’s okay being this vulnerable on camera- but when Mrs. Bang clears her throat and speaks again, you swallow your words, straightening your posture and turning your attention onto her seated figure once more.

“He’s a born winner,” she finishes. “I guess that comes at a cost.”

And the cost isn’t so easily visible to you at such proximity to Chan, who spends the duration of lunch shoving food around his plate with the tip of his fork, uttering a simple “yes” when asked if he’s been sleeping, and “maybe” when asked about his interest in a family trip after the big match. And then he turns the attention back to you, with a nod of his head in your direction, urging you to detail your career back to Mrs. Bang, the same way he does.

“I’m a journalist,” you tell her, politely dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I interview a lot of athletes. Your son’s just one of many.”

“How riveting,” she says back, resting her chin atop her folded hands. “So I assume you’ve grown rather close in the process, then?”

You chuckle lightly, biting back from divulging her in the fact that you’ve only agreed to be here because your network is keen on the confidentialities of Chan’s personal life.

“You could say that. I always joke that the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them.”

Chan keeps his chin tucked, eyes glued to his plate as you glance over at him as Mrs. Bang lets out a laugh.

“He’s very talented, though,” you continue. “It’s an honor to know him like this before his biggest win.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “And so the purpose of this is to capture his life before the title match?”

Chan’s head lifts a little to look at you, knowing very well that he’s the defining factor in all of this, and yet he doesn’t take the liberty of making it known to his mother.

“The purpose is whatever he chooses it to be,” you explain to her. “It’s a story- more like a message of sorts. Really anything that defines him as a person, not just an athlete.”

Mrs. Bang nods once more, and then her eyes flicker over Chan as he evades her eye contact.

“I’m excited for part two,” she finishes. “I think you’re doing a fine job at knowing him."

*

“He took you to meet his mom?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” you reply quickly, as you gesture to the camera Lin grasps between her hands. “He needed to get some equipment. It just happened to be at his mom’s place.”

She scoffs as she thumbs over the camera buttons, her lips pulling into a smile as she observes the thumbnails of your various clips.

“It’s a fucking gold mine,” she emphasizes. “This is exactly what we’re looking for.”

Lin watches curiously as one of the clips begins to play, an indistinguishable dialogue emitting from the camera as a close-up shot of his mom is shown.

“What’s the gist of them?” She inquires, toying with the camera strap.

“His mom seems worried for him,” you remark, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over the palms of your hands as you speak in a reluctant tone. “She alludes to something he’s hiding- maybe some sort of double life he leads. Of course I don’t think he’s that interesting, but he’s definitely a little closed-off when he wants to be.”

“She couldn’t say more?”

“She doesn’t know more. He’s a mystery to his own family, it seems.”

Lin lets out a singular breathy chuckle before ejecting the memory card and grasping it carefully between her fingers.

“Nice work,” she voices. “Part two is finally going to get personal.”

You think over her words momentarily, envisioning the way Chan so confidently brought you along with him that evening, allowing you to photograph the cherished corners of his childhood home, from the blue boxing mitts his mother held onto all those years, down to the sacred conversations of his mother in clear distress. And although you weren’t explicitly ordered not to publicize the footage, it feels wrong- just a little too… voyeuristic, to pass along to the network like this.

“Wait,” you say to Lin, uncovering the palms of your hands and gesturing to the memory card. “There’s a few clips on there I meant to delete.”

“Like what?”

“Just some extra footage we didn’t need. I’ll delete it and give it right back-”

“We can sort it out later,” Lin says, with a shake of her head. “I’ll give you a once-over before we publish the next part. Don’t worry about it.”

You meet her gaze as she finishes speaking, and she shoots you a small smile before setting the memory aside on her desk.

“Tell me,” Lin begins, leaning back in her desk chair. “What’s he like?”

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your own chair, as you shrug in response.

“I don’t know. He’s a perfectionist, that’s for sure. And he’s a little hesitant to be honest about himself.”

And then you sigh, locking eyes with the ceiling as you avert her gaze. A small smile creeps upon your face, as you think of Bang Chan, and the charming way he recounts stories of his career, always keen on asking about yourself in turn and maintaining his polite composure.

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” you then admit to her, after a brief moment of silence. “Of course he’s still an unbroken winner, at the end of the day. And that has its own implications. But I suppose he’s not all bad.”

Lin smirks a little at your confession, nodding as she folds her hands in her lap and raises her eyebrows.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” she teases. “He requests for you an awful lot these days.”

And you shake your head in response, your gaze falling to the memory card still placed on the desk in front of her.

“He just wants company,” you say to her, thinking back to the footage of him that exists on the little plastic card. “He just likes good company.”

*

And perhaps “good company” really is all which Chan seeks, you grow to realize, as the occurrences in which he’s dragging you along to some mundane task grow tenfold during part two of his series’ filming sessions. You familiarize yourself with his gym, his childhood home, even the leather interior of his two-seater when he’s speeding down the highway and indulging you in stories of his days spent training. Always a camera aimed at him, always a frame-by-frame analysis of how much he’s grown to love heavy lifting days the most, or how he’s partial to darker clothing because it offsets the paleness he flaunts when he’s been inside training all day. The monotonous setting of your office is quickly transitioned to that of Chan’s training gym, where you’ll typically occupy a bench by the gallery wall while he throws punches with Mr. Seo in the ring.

Chan is well aware of your tendency to film him during training sessions, earning the new title of a “show-off” by Mr. Seo’s standards, when he’s perfecting all his jabs in front of you, keen on his footwork and lifting weights three times his normal. And from behind the lens, you often hold his gaze a little too long, cocking your head to observe the way his brown tresses cling to his chiseled face with sweat. Or perhaps the way his thin athletic t-shirts seem to ride up his body with every punch, exposing the thin strip of flesh where his toned obliques grace your presence.

And the high ratings mean the network is eager to get more out of him, encouraging you to stay a little longer where you can, or to ask questions that scrape below the surface of who Chan really is.

Be intentional with your questions. Get him vulnerable.

And you certainly make attempts to, especially persistent at following all of his intimate moments with a camera in and hand a series of follow-up questions.

Of course Chan certainly won’t admit it, far too caught up in the pressure to maintain the image of a “perfect boxer” to let his guard down around you, but he is comfortably vulnerable in your presence, fascinated with the prospects of the series as it pertains to his winning streak, and often immersed in thoughts that don’t only involve himself.

As a memory card remains plugged into your laptop, importing clips of Chan’s conversations of carefree footage for Lin- laughing, smiling, your eyes scan the still frame of him, beaming, one popsicle in hand and a hand outstretched to the camera. He looks lighter this way- in fact, you’re not sure you would take him to be a boxer at all if not for the knowledge you possess.

When Chan concludes his round of punches, he makes his way toward you in purposeful strides, hoisting himself off of the ring and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He queries, assuming a spot on the bench beside you and slouching back comfortably.

“You don’t need to interview the interviewer,” you remind him, fingers hovering over the mousepad of your keyboard. He shoots you a knowing smile, the flesh by his lips creasing as he holds it there momentarily.

When you look up to meet his gaze, he holds it- a little too long to feel appropriate, but not in a way that begs you to cease your actions. He’s still just as charming as you’d concluded him to be following your first interaction- but he’s also real, tantalizing. The look is almost dizzying when a soft hum emits from the back of his throat, as though he’s laughing at you, as though he knows he drives you mad in more ways than just one.

And his intense brown eyes seem to soften as he flickers his gaze over your contented expression.

“Let’s do something tonight,” Chan says in a mellow tone. It’s hardly a question, and more of a command, as he drums on his knees with the pads of his fingers.

“Why, you need another grocery run?” You retort with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he holds your gaze.

“I like your company,” Chan confesses. “This gym wears me out.”

You turn your attention back to your computer as a blush creeps on your cheeks- Chan knows very well that your camera is now well saturated with footage- in fact, you could probably go several days in his absence and still have enough footage to pull together the next part.

“And by ‘do something’ you mean what, exactly?”

“There’s a bar down the street.”

“I don’t like bars.”

“Me either,” Chan says quickly, followed by a soft chuckle.

You turn to hold his gaze once more, narrowing your eyes a little as though you’re challenging him.

“Bad practice for athletes,” he states simply.

“Then I guess we’ll have to forfeit.”

Chan pauses for a moment, and then his lips pull into another smile, a small blush making its way on the tips of his ears before he speaks again.

“Come to my place,” he says plainly. It’s a request perhaps too bold for somebody who’s meant to serve the sole purpose of a video subject, and yet the offer is nothing short of tempting- for video purposes, and possibly for your own interest, too.

He thinks it over a moment, not having devised any form of a plan for the evening, but holding onto his hopes that you’ll agree, nonetheless.

“Just… indulge me in your presence, yeah?” he finishes.

You begin to tell him that you can’t, that this is probably going too far as it stands, to be spending every waking hour with him the way you now do. But the reminder lingers, that you’re meant to be breaking down his walls, gathering all of his private affairs for the purposes of this series. And perhaps, also, because he’s still hard to say no to.

“Can I bring my camera?” You ask him, and Chan nods, amused.

“You can bring your camera,” he affirms. “Film whatever you want.”

He keeps his gaze on yours again, his brown eyes flickering over your pursed lips as you observe him at this painfully close proximity. A single bead of sweat trickles from his temple down to his cheek, and as your hand instinctively reaches out to wipe it off of him, the echoing sound of footsteps interrupts you, your head snapping in the direction of a voice as it calls out to you both.

“Popsicles are out,” Mr. Seo says when he appears, boxing mitts grasped firmly in his grip. “I’m out of here for the evening, but you’re free to go restock if you feel so inclined.”

Your bodies almost force themselves away from each other, and you rise from the bench to give Mr. Seo a small bow when he’s stood in front of you.

“Hi Mr. Seo,” you say nervously. “I can make a quick trip-”

“We’ll go together,” Chan interrupts.

Your gaze snaps in his direction, where he’s now standing, too, and he nods again to affirm his answer.

Mr. Seo glances at you briefly, perhaps at just enough of an angle to presume that he knows your emotions are a little elevated. But then he simply shrugs, nodding affirmatively in your direction.

“Yeah,” he says plainly. “I’ll see you for tomorrow’s session.”

That same evening marks the first instance in which Bang Chan is reminded that he’s now perceivable to the masses- in the form of sold out popsicles. You watch as he cluelessly questions the cashier, furrowing his brows and recalling how they had restocked just days prior.

“Why would popsicles be sold out so quickly?” Chan voices, staring down the freezers against the wall as though his favorite dessert might somehow materialize from nothing.

And as your eyes remain fixed on the A4 paper that hangs loosely from the glass door, detailing “no popsicles” in scribbled handwriting and adhered by a single strip of masking tape, you make sense of it before you can even verbalize it.

“Because of you,” you voice with a chuckle.

“Me? That’s a stretch, I bought, like, three the last time I was here. That’s hardly enough-”

“Your series,” you interrupt, approaching the fridge and giving it a once-over. “You mentioned them in the first part. I think your fans have taken a liking to them.”

Your gaze meets Chan again, waiting for him to say something along the lines of what the athletes typically do when they’ve had their first brush with newfound fame. And yet Chan doesn’t smile back- in fact, the expression he wears on his face is anything but content, his lips pulling into a frown you can only describe as somber.

The chime of the door indicates the arrival of more people, and suddenly Chan can feel pairs of eyes boring into his soul from every corner of the convenience store, the undivided attention of customers analyzing his every move and holding him to the same impossible standard he’s become so accustomed to.

He’s aware that they’re picking apart his appearance, his mannerisms, translating his pixelated figure into the real-life tangibility of his broad stature. The girls seem to laugh into their sleeves as they traverse the store, and the men shoot him envious looks, as though any one of them might be Bang Chan’s opponent in the flesh. He thinks back to his opponent, who he knows trains in the same gym near this very convenience store. And then his eyes scan the room nervously, calculating the chances that one of these men may indeed be Kang-Dae. The men he rules out are paired against the likelihood that they’re either for him, or entirely against him, like they might actively be rooting for his downfall. Like they may eagerly be awaiting a broken winning streak.

And if the sight of an empty freezer isn’t soul-crushing enough, he may very well mistake this to be a boxing match, by the way his heartbeat quickens in his chest, eyes on him eagerly awaiting his next move and silently commentating as though they control him. The thoughts race through his mind once more, as he ponders the relativity of a winning streak to an empty boxing ring, a spectator relative to a participant. A city-wide obsession with popsicles for fleeting, superficial fame- and a voyeuristic fascination with the sacred intricacies of his personal life.

What are you so afraid of?

Your voice rings in his mind, and he cringes when he takes several steps away from your looming figure, averting the gaze of every customer in the store as his own heartbeat echoes loudly through his ears.

“Let’s go,” he says, beginning toward the door again.

“Already?” You question, glancing at the full shelves of alternative dessert options. “You don’t want to grab something else?”

“I want to go home,” Chan emphasizes through gritted teeth.

And when he’s exited the store before you, the blank stares shared amongst you, and the store clerk, and the customers who most definitely recognize him, seem to only affirm the discomfort he feels.

*

Home to Bang Chan isn’t always the one he grew up in- it’s also his humble apartment on the east side, up three stories high, the walls heavily resembling that of a bachelor pad’s. It’s not very hospitable, you quickly notice, as the room is only incrementally brightened by the on switch of a floor lamp in the corner. And as he gestures to a black leather couch across a luxurious flatscreen television, you can’t help but wonder how many girls he’s charmed into this exact position, comfortably sat on his couch as he makes his way over with two glasses of white wine.

“I’m impressed,” you say quickly, giving the living room another once-over.

“How so?”

“You have good taste in furniture. And your hosting qualities aren’t too shabby. Is white wine your go-to for journalists?”

“Very funny,” Chan says with a grin. “You’re the first to have made it this far.”

“Then can I ask what the occasion is?” You inquire, as he assumes the spot beside you. “Aside from indulging you with my company.”

Chan sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of you both, exchanging it for a remote control and switching on the television.

“Something I wanted to watch with you,” he says simply. You observe as he starts up what you think to be a movie at first, his arm sprawling over the back of the sofa as he sits back comfortably. And then, when the familiar sound of an introduction fills the room, you don’t have to wait long to know what it is.

“I should’ve guessed,” you say quietly from your spot next to him, as you bring the glass of wine up to your lips. Chan nods, a smile upon his face as renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man assumes a seat in a studio much like yours, and then begins to speak.

“I’ve been boxing for ten years,” he says, following a brief introduction. “It’s my passion. My life’s dream.”

The peripherals of your eyes shift to Chan’s seated figure, where he’s watching intently, a sort of shimmer in his eyes as he indulges in the film for what may be the hundredth time now. It’s one you remember well, too, always having memorized his graceful responses to questions and his aversion to engage in any form of slandering his opponents.

And as Chan watches, you make careful movements to retrieve your camera from your bag, starting up a fresh recording and angling it toward him.

“God, isn’t he the coolest?” Chan remarks, and you chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

He gestures to the television with his index finger, sitting up a little when Hyun-Man is filmed pulling on a pair of blue boxing gloves.

“Those are the ones!” Chan says excitedly. “That’s why I picked blue ones for my first pair.”

You chuckle at Chan’s enthusiastic reaction, and then you adjust the camera so that it’s zoomed into his face a little more.

“Chan,” you voice to him, and he turns a little to face you, humming in response. “What exactly is it about him you’re so fascinated with?”

He thinks it over momentarily, and before he can answer, you’re speaking again.

“He was only a championship boxer for a whole two years, you know. He holds one of the shortest-spanning careers in your field.”

Chan purses his lips, hanging his head as he thinks over your words.

“I know,” he responds.

And he’s very knowledgeable of the fact that although Baik Hyun-Man was the first heavyweight boxer of his kind to make it to the Olympics, he was retired and gone just two years after his biggest fight. Not a product of fading relevancy, but rather a personal choice of his, to step away from the spotlight, step down from his career and live a life beyond just the sport in which he excelled at.

“You will face your share of losses,” he had said in his final speech to the masses. “And you can’t let it retract from the rest of life you have to live. It’s been an honorable two years, I’m going to live the rest of it now.”

Chan looks at the television, and then at you once more, an indistinguishable expression painted across his face.

“He didn’t want all of this,” Chan says finally. “And sometimes I don’t, either.”

He reaches forward again, grasping the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and downing a generous mouthful.

“What do you mean?”

“All the fame,” he says, pulling the glass away from his lips again. “And pairs of eyes constantly watching your every move. It gets exhausting.”

He then slouches back a little further into the cushions, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“Made worse when you’ve never lost,” he finishes, opening his eyes again to meet your gaze.

His eyes flicker briefly over your lips, and then back up to your eyes, which carefully examine the state of him. You’re hardly ever at such intimate proximity to a video subject like this, but you can tell again that he looks tired, his eyes outlined by deep, purple bags and a sorrowful expression. You wonder when the last time is that he got a full night of rest, or even consumed something that wasn’t just a snack in between training sessions and interviews.

“Is that what you want for yourself?” You ask him boldly, the tips of your fingers tracing the shutter release on the camera.

He gets quiet, a little reluctant to answer the question- and rightfully so, never having seriously thought about letting go of all of this.

“I don’t know what I want,” Chan admits after a moment of silence. He turns to face you again, shrugging his shoulders and positioning himself to face you fully now. And then he cocks his head, furrowing his brows as you continue to toy with the shutter release.

“Are you recording?” He asks with a breathy chuckle, gesturing to the camera with the point of his index finger.

You chuckle in response, too.

“It’s just for my personal use,” you assure him. “It won’t make it past this memory card. I’m just picking your brain a little.”

He seems satisfied with the response, knowing too that he’s most transparent when he has a camera aimed somewhere at him. Chan sighs, exhaling once before folding his hands in his lap.

“Everyone wants me to tell my story,” Chan says in a shaky voice. “I feel so suffocated these days.”

“Rightfully so,” You echo back at him. “There is a lot of pressure on you leading up to the fight.”

“Something like that. The worship feels… well, it feels suffocating.”

He gets quiet again, eyebrows arched as he meets your gaze, in hopes you’ll make sense of his nervous conciseness.

“Like the popsicles,” you remark, nodding your head once.

You recall Chan growing strangely quiet at the knowledge that he had not only cultivated a loyal fan base after just one episode of airtime, but that just like the audiences at his matches, they were keeping careful watch of his every move, imitating him and placing him on a pedestal like he’s bound to experience for the remainder of his career.

“Yeah,” Chan affirms. “Like the popsicles. It’s like nothing is sacred anymore.”

The popsicles, you remember, have been a childhood staple of his since he still wore the blue mitts to matches that his mother now boasts so proudly. They’re out of reach now; unattainable. Much like a life not tainted by the pressure to win is.

You nod once at his words, and then you reach out to pat his knee encouragingly, smiling when you speak again.

“You said it yourself,” you say to him. “Not much scares you these days. Maybe this is just the product of the anticipation leading up to the fight. I mean, do you really think Baik Hyun-Man wasn’t scared when he was the first boxer to-”

“Losing scares me,” Chan interjects, the pupils of his eyes trembling when he speaks. A deafening silence falls over the room, and you can make out the sound of when he swallows nervously at his own state of vulnerability.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” Chan repeats, and it’s when you meet his gaze once more that you take notice of the tears which brim his eyes, his lower lip trembling nervously as he struggles to speak.

The only other time you’ve seen him display any emotion besides than the charming, mesmerizing persona he flaunts, is when he’s boxing- and right now, juxtapositioned against his otherwise calm demeanor, he seems almost stricken with sorrow, tears beginning to cascade down his reddened cheeks and find purchase on the sleeves of his shirt.

“Sorry,” Chan breathes out amidst the silence, hiccuping when more tears stream down his face.

For a moment, you can’t find the words to say, simply observing his state and trying to understand where he’s coming from with all of this. Yet it doesn’t require a considerable amount of thought- perhaps somewhere deep down, you already know this of him, well aware of his tendency to pull away and shut himself off from the heavy emotions he harbors. It’s made clear when he diverts from the topic of fear, directing the conversation back to Mr. Seo, or his mom or even yourself. It’s evident in the way he seems to be bothered by his own solitude, dragging you along under the guise of “good company”. And it’s made painfully obvious in the way he’s so frightened at the notion of losing all things sacred to him- remnants of his innocence, the people around him and especially a commendable winning streak.

“What if I lose this match?” Chan ponders out loud, his eyebrows arching as he shrugs sheepishly. “What’s going to become of me? Of all this?”

Your hands are the first ones to beckon for his, palms outstretched as he reciprocates with the gentle placement of his fingers in yours. And then your thumb caresses his knuckles tenderly, cocking your head as you feel the smooth metal of his silver rings in your touch.

“So what if you lose?” You question back boldly.

“Then I’m a loser,” Chan says quickly. “And I don’t want to be a loser. I know I was born to win this thing- I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

“You’ve been training your whole life,” you echo. “But this is only a fraction of it. You’re still going to do remarkable things, whether you win or lose this. Everybody loves you.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly, a breathy chuckle involuntarily escaping his lips. He holds your gaze a moment, and then his expression grows serious again.

“I hate who this has turned me into,” he continues. “I’m a… I’m a coward. I shut people out, I can’t even be honest with them about how terrified I am of being a loser. And the only time I’m honest with myself is when I imagine it’s me I’m punching in that ring. Just a shell of who they think I am. A fucking loser.”

You think back to the way Chan delivers hits to the bag in that raised platform of the gym, teeth gritting and beads of sweat collecting along his brow, as he hits harder, and harder and harder, until the bandages around his knuckles can do nothing to shield the pain of self-inflicted wounds. One hit and a black eye, two hits and a cracked rib, a myriad of strikes and uppercuts and hopefully the numbness of all the self-loathing thoughts that follow.

“I’m so tired,” Chan then confesses quietly. “Can you tell I haven’t slept in days?”

And you say nothing back to him, your eyes flickering over the apples of his cheeks all glossed with tears, the bags under his eyes appearing an even darker shade of deep gray as his eyebrows slouch down into a sorrowful expression. He looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, almost miserable, as he waits for you to say something. And when you don’t, he quickly regrets the stream of consciousness, shaking his head as he pulls back his calloused hands from your grasp.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You’re a journalist, not a therapist. I shouldn’t have been so honest-”

“None of that makes you a loser,” you interject with the shake of your head, and then a small smile. “All your fears, and your hangups and your reservations. They’re little burdens you carry with you- but they’re all human. You don’t have to apologize for any of it. They’re simply part of the story you’re telling.”

It’s Chan’s turn to get silent, his lips parted ever so slightly as he studies the way you gauge his reaction back. It’s unclear what he thinks, and you fear momentarily that you may have somehow offended him with your response.

Nothing is spoken for a passing moment as you exchange curious glances with each other. When the camera shifts a little in your lap, you shut off the recording, pushing down on the shutter release with the dip of your index finger and letting it rest atop the crack of the couch cushions.

And then before you can utter some form of apology to him for actions unbeknownst to you, he’s leaning in a bit closer, eyes nervously darting over your lips and back up to your trembling eyes.

Chan’s heartbeat quickens in his chest as he searches for the right words to say- perhaps some thanks for the reassurance, another apology, or even a confession of emotions he’s not fully come to terms with yet. An attractive athlete like himself is no stranger to the process utilizing his eloquent flirting skills, and yet the words escape him, as he understands finally that you don’t feel like a stranger to him at all.

Not when you’re accompanying him to the convenience store by the gym for late night popsicles, or observing the way he trains from behind the lens of your camera. Not when you’re in the intimate setting of his mother's house, graciously conversing with her as he stews in thoughts of self-deprecation. Or when you’re in the passenger’s seat of his car, laughing at tales of his summer days spent confined to that dingy little makeshift gym in his garage. Perhaps the words are lost to his own doubts when he begins to confess that you’re more than just “good company”- that his world doesn’t feel so centered around a sport when he’s in your presence. That for a fleeting moment, he feels like there is a life beyond that of an athlete on a rampant winning-streak, and that the thought of losing doesn’t feel half as scary when he’s sitting beside you.

You’re no stranger to Chan- a fact that rings true when he finally presses his lips to yours, his hand rising to caress your cheek gently as you kiss him back, eager and full of a soft yearning for him.

You remain like that for a moment, aware that it’s entirely wrong and you shouldn’t even be in a subject’s house at this proximity. The flavor of his salty tears mixed with white wine upon his lips is less noticeable as you work to kiss it off him entirely. And when you pull away once more, it’s not for a lack of enjoying it, more so than your guilty conscience weighing on you.

Chan observes your expression, worried he’s crossed a boundary when you pull back gently and give him a sheepish smile.

“What is it?” He asks, one hand coming down to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing in comforting back and forth motions over the denim of your pants.

“You taste like wine,” is all you utter in response, and Chan chuckles, not moving his gaze off yours.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he remarks.

“I know you’re not,” you say simply. “But… what exactly are we doing?”

“You tell me,” he says, expression unchanging. “We don’t do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s wrong,” you voice quickly, posturing yourself a little further from him now. “This is strictly a professional relationship. We’re not supposed to be wrapped up in this.”

Chan nods just once, making no effort to try and change your mind. He knows this is a possible outcome, having replayed it in his head several times since the moment he understood that his desire to kiss you was only worsening by the day. So true to the gentleman he is, Chan pulls away, too, sprawling the palms of his hands over his knee caps and pursing his lips.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “Okay.”

“I want to,” you interject, the sleeves of your sweater swallowing your own hands as you fidget nervously. He meets your gaze again, blinking just once as he waits for you to speak.

“I think you’re amazing,” you continue. “And I think in any other context, things might be different between us. But I can’t risk your career, my career- this whole series, and whatever’s waiting for you after all of this. You’re going to do great things after your big win. I’m just a stepping stone in it.”

And there’s an ounce of truth in your words- you do find yourself drawn to Chan, thoroughly enjoying the late night escapades alongside him and getting to know his character beyond that of just a boxer. But the truth stands, that this level of intimacy only exists to uncover his story, not because you’re destined for any sort of relationship to him. In due time, he’ll be in the big leagues with all the other famous athletes, and you’ll still be a journalist. You’re just the storyteller- not a part of the story.

Chan furrows his brows, shaking his head as he replays your words in his head. He begins to piece together the admission that he’s regretful these are the circumstances, and that reducing you to the role of a stepping stone feels like an injustice for the sheer honesty you’ve managed to coax out of him.

“You’re more than that,” is all Chan can utter, with the gentle shake of his head. He’s quiet for a moment when he locks his eyes with yours, letting out a sharp breath before speaking again.

“You’re the only person I haven’t felt inclined to shut out in years. I know it’s probably just this series, and I’m supposed to be telling a story. But having you here, being honest with you and having somebody who listens to me instead of praising me for all these fleeting brushes with fame- it feels so right. It feels so right here with you.”

His words are simultaneously like a pierce to your beating heart, and the catalyst for you to kiss him just once more, your hands finding purchase on the leather beside him as you waste no time pressing your lips to his, a small gasp escaping his lips into your mouth as he shuts his eyes and kisses you back. His hands find the small of your back, assisting you toward him and onto his clothed thigh, where your legs now straddle the denim fabric of his jeans as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Chan’s breaths are heavy against your mouth as he feels you rock your hips gently toward him, practically rutting against his toned muscle as his kisses move to the column of your neck. And as his calloused hands grip your waist tenaciously, moving your parted thighs back and forth along him, allowing the rough fabric to satisfy the rhythmic ache between your legs with every slight movement, you press two hands to his chest once more, pushing him away from you gently and watching as he halts his movements.

“What is it?” Chan asks again in a low, breathy voice. You can feel his quickening heartbeat as your fingers graze the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your gaze unmoving as you position yourself off his lap and onto your knees. His entire disposition is overtaken by nerves, afraid of losing two things now, as he waits for you to speak. You take note of the visible worry on his face, the way his eyes are still glossy from crying and outlined by a clear lack of sleep. His hair is tousled from the tangle of your fingers in it, his lips remain parted nervously as he observes the way you sit up a little straighter and scan his eager frame.

He’s already pitched a tent under the fabric of his jeans, his cock visibly straining against the confines of the denim fabric, cringing to himself when he sees you eye his crotch curiously from where you’re sat. His eyes then widen when you slot yourself between his legs, his expression appearing animated for the first time in weeks, as the gray bags under his eyes seem to deepen with his confusion.

“Just relax for me, okay?” you reply in a low voice.

Chan watches as you pull a hair tie from around your wrist between your teeth, simultaneously gathering your hair into a ponytail, and then securing it back tightly, looping it skillfully around just twice, until it’s pulled taut and effectively out of your face.

He begins to say that there’s no obligation to finish the job he initiated, and that he’s in no position to contradict the truth that he’s just a video subject to you, in what’s meant to be a strictly professional relationship. But when you shoot him a saccharine smile from between his muscular thighs, hands traveling to the waistband of his jeans and unfastening his belt buckle, he can do nothing except remain fixed on the sight of your manicured fingers undressing him. Chan sits up momentarily to allow his jeans to pool around his ankles, his belt hanging open at his sides, as the gentle clink of the buckle falls upon the leather sofa beside him. And then your hand finds his still-clothed erection, cupping a hand around him and meeting his gaze once more when he lets out a little gasp.

“Is this okay?” You whisper up at him, your hand distancing itself from his cock as you await his reply.

Chan nods before he speaks, swallowing nervously as he comprehends what’s about to occur. He’ll never tell you that he’s dreamt of this for so long- that he’s fantasized about circumstances in which you’re so much more than just a journalist to him. Circumstances in which he’s permitted to kiss you in front of all the watchful eyes, or make love to you right there on the floor of the boxing ring when the gym’s already empty for the night. Ones in which you’re a lover he’s brought home to meet his mother, not just an interviewer or a stepping stone in his career. And where you’re a part of his story, not just fulfilling the mundane task of telling it.

A journalist relative to its subject- the relativity of one storyteller to another. But your relativity to Bang Chan’s- the relativity of one lover to the next, of sweet nothings left unsaid and learning to embrace the intricacies of his own vulnerability.

“Yeah- yes,” Chan vocalizes back in a shaky manner, earning a small chuckle from you, as you loop your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and rid him of those, too.

He’s bigger than you’d anticipated, and harder, the tip of his cock flushed a bright shade of red as you observe it grow against his abdomen once he’s fully exposed. Chan takes a sharp breath when the cool air grazes his bare flesh, wincing, as he watches you sit up on your knees a little straighter. Your hand reaches out to grasp the base of his cock between your fingers, not yet moving, as you gather a generous wad of saliva between your pursed lips. And then Chan’s eyebrows arch in anticipation when you near him, a small dribble of spit already finding purchase on your lower lip.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. Chan nods eagerly in response, shutting his eyes and leaning back a little further into the couch cushions. He takes a sharp breath when he feels you stroke his length just once, maintaining a light hold of him as you bring your lips to his tip. And then he gasps involuntarily, when he feels you press your drooly mouth against his flesh, pressing a single kiss to his cock and smiling against him while you feel him writhe in your touch.

His chest rises and falls with anticipatory breaths as he waits for you to do more- and in mere seconds, you’re taking him in your mouth, his girth stretching the corners of your lips as you work yourself down halfway and back up again.

“Fuck,” Chan breathes, his eyes trembling as he struggles to keep them closed, his thighs tensing when he feels you work your mouth down his length once more, this time a little bit further down.

His hands grasp desperately at his sides, searching for something, anything, to hold, practically clawing at the taut leather as he lets out another fervent moan. And with nothing within reach, he lets his hands fold behind his neck, throwing his head back in a state of pure bliss as you continue to work him so skillfully.

Your lips grow wetter as you do, a mix of his precum and your saliva glazing the length of his cock as you move down, and up, and down once more, picking up the pace when you hear him let out a heavy grunt at the sensation. He’s tense beneath you, but still in a blissful state of pleasure, breathing cuss words into the air above him and letting his mind stray far from the burdening thoughts that typically plague him. None of it matters when your mouth is working him to his finish, your hands gliding along his shaft in tandem with the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his hard cock, gulping desperately for air when you pull away from him momentarily. He can’t possibly lose when he’s shivering in your touch and letting little moans escape his plump lips- he’s nothing but a winner like this in your presence.

Strings of saliva connect you to him still, glistening under the dim lights the same way your runny makeup now does. He exhales little pleas for a release when you attach your lips to him once more, swirling your tongue around the base before trailing little kisses down his length. And then he feels his hips jerk forward just once, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter when you hum around his shaft.

You smile with him in your mouth, still, knowing he’s on the cusp of release, his eyebrows knitting together as he makes every effort to stave off his orgasm. You take note of the way his fists clench, intertwined with each other behind the beads of sweat that graze his neck, and then his moans seem to heighten in pitch when you swirl your tongue around his base once more.

You glance up at him from between his legs, his adam’s apple bobbing with every slight noise emitting from the back of his jutted throat.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he gasps in response to your quick movements. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna finish.”

And it’s already evident by his facial expressions, which contort into a desperate, silent plea for a finish, as his head jerks forward in a sudden motion.

His eyes squeeze tighter, heartbeat ringing throughout his ears in combination with the erotic, squelching noises of your lips gliding along his shaft. And then you pause for a brief second with his tip between your mouth, still.

“Chan,” you say to him tenderly. “Open your eyes.”

He obeys, eyes fluttering open to marvel at the sight of your hands with his length in their grasp, your pink lips continuing to work needy kisses down his dampened flesh. He exhales sharply at the sight of your mascara, now pooling beneath the apples of your cheeks as you stare up at him through hooded eyelids.

And when you take him in your mouth again, working your throat down to the base of his cock, his hips buck up toward the back of your tongue, earning a drooly gag as you struggle to keep him there.

He practically melts into the couch while your throat adjusts to the new position, his cock twitching upon your flattened tongue as you attempt to lick a stripe up his length. And then his heartbeat quickens when you begin a rhythmic bobbing action again, his mind dizzying at the erotic sight of you like this.

The room fills again with the sound of your tongue working his flesh. And he’s strangely brought back to the memory of popsicles, on a hot day- working his tongue around the base and gathering every last drop of sherbet between his wetted lips. Ridding himself of the sticky residue that finds purchase along the veins of his forearms, tracing his tongue along his skin, the same way you do along his shaft. When his hands come down to grasp his knees momentarily, his gaze falls to your face, and he admires the way you taste him with such desperation, as though he may be the one sacred thing left for you, too. There’s such a juxtaposition between the innocence he’s brought back to- carefree days spent collecting popsicle sticks along the pavement as the consumption of his favorite dessert was made with equal desperation. And the lewd sounds of you humming around his cock, the vibration of your throat sending delicious reverberations along his flesh and causing him to let out a breathy gasp at the sensation.

“I’m gonna cum,” Chan says, for the second time this evening.

“Yeah, cum for me,” you coo tenderly back at him, pulling away from him briefly to hover over his tip with your mouth. “Want you to feel good. Just relax for me.”

Chan’s hardly ever known relaxation- not in the sleepless nights he spends thinking about his career, or when he’s standing in the ring with copious amounts of eyes on him. Not when he’s filming a series for the whole world to scrutinize, or when he’s made aware of the publicity somewhere as unsuspecting as a convenience store.

But he knows it now when he’s with you, lying parallel to you in the same boxing ring after hours, his mind completely void of any self-loathing. He knows it when he’s imagining circumstances in which your careers don’t dictate the inevitable outcome of your relationship to each other.

And he knows it when he finally cums for you, his eyes not leaving the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock as he finds his release, shooting a thick, generous amount of his milky white load onto the flat of your tongue. At first he feels almost guilty, when you finally pull away from around his girth with a gentle pop. And then he muses curiously as he watches you swallow his arousal entirely, wiping the corners of your mouth with the backs of your hands and cleaning the remainder off your fingers with the lap of your tongue.

He almost grows hard all over again watching you devour him entirely, not letting a single drop go to waste, the same way he does with his popsicles. The gentle sounds of your tongue working along the pads of your fingers, swirling around the patterns of your fingertips like they’re just stained orange popsicle sticks. His mind at ease once more, nothing but a stillness in the air and the fleeting presence of another sacred moment to him- this time in the form of yourself.

His body drapes languidly over the couch, too exhausted to speak, simply getting clothed once more as you undo the hair tie and let your hair fall loosely over your shoulders again. Chan extends his hands, helping you off the floor again, and your sore knees straddle him once more, hoisting yourself onto his lap and letting your hands find the back of his neck.

For a minute, he says nothing, completely fascinated with this side of you, as his hands find your waist again.

“Let me return the favor?” Chan inquires just above a whisper, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head in response as he cocks his head to look at you.

“I… shouldn’t” is all you breathe back, hanging your head as he tries to meet your gaze.

He begins to ask why, but he stops himself, knowing that your previous statement still stands. This is wrong- you’re a journalist and he’s just a video subject. Not to mention, he’s just weeks away from the biggest fight of his life- and neither of you intend on ruining any of that for him. He knows all of this as much as you do- but he’s still disappointed that the circumstances appear to be unchanging.

Chan nods as you hoist yourself off his lap and back onto the leather of the couch, and then he reaches for his glass of wine again, scanning your expression in his peripheral vision as you fix your tousled hair. From beside him, your gaze meets his again, giving him a small shrug.

“I’m sorry,” you say to him, toying with the stitching on the leather of the couch. “You probably have tons of girls practically throwing themselves at you as it stands. I don’t need to be another.”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head and setting down his glass of wine. He fidgets with the lobe of his ear as he admires the blush upon your cheeks when you look at him once more.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he admits shyly. “But I’m sure you have your fair share of athletes trying to score a chance.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, chuckling softly as you avert his gaze.

“Not exactly,” you voice back at him. And then your gaze lingers on him, observing the way his lips appear to be smudged with your lipstick.

“Just one,” you conclude, hands finding purchase on your own knees as you maintain a comfortable distance from him.

Chan begins to say something, but then he’s silent again, awkwardly crossing his legs once more and forcing his attention on the television. Though the docuseries continues to play faintly in front of you, it’s painfully quiet between your breathless bodies, and Chan can’t seem to stop himself from catching glimpses of your seated figure while you try not to engage in eye contact with him. You know that if you do, it’ll only result in you practically throwing yourself at him all over again, so you remain facing the television, saying nothing in efforts to not warrant anything more between the two of you. It’s Chan who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat before grasping the remote between his fingers and lowering the volume to just above a muted speech.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, not meeting your gaze as you sit comfortably beside each other.

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say back to him, doing your best to evoke a nonchalant disposition. You bite back a smile, as does Chan, while he observes the interview that plays on the television.

“I beg to differ,” he then chimes in. “I believe the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

The docuseries fills the silence that overtakes the room with hushed chatter as Chan awaits a response from you, and he watches as you lean forward to grasp your glass of wine between your fingers before speaking again.

“I’m just a boring journalist,” you say to him, keeping your gaze on the television. “I collect stories the same way you do medals. There’s not much else to say.”

And the statement is only half true- there’s certainly more you can indulge him in pertaining to your career as a journalist. Details of past athletes you’ve interviewed, moments you’ve shared that permanently altered your life, for better or for worse. Restless nights spent gathering footage, following orders from the crew to get closer, be intentional with your actions. You’re as enthralled in your own career as Chan is- perhaps not at the same level, but devoted, nonetheless.

“Do you like all of this?” Chan inquires a little quietly.

You’re silent for a passing moment, and then you take another sip of wine before answering.

“It’s complicated. I like telling stories. Not always the process it takes to uncover one. Sometimes it’s a little…” you ponder the words briefly, and Chan takes a sip from his glass, too, his eyes darting in your direction as he interjects.

“Voyeuristic?”

You meet his gaze again, not having taken him as someone who could read you so carefully.

“Yeah,” you respond. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

Chan slouches back into the sofa, downing the rest of his wine, and then he sighs deeply, a level of contentedness present in his tone.

“I can’t believe you got me crying on camera,” he says with a chuckle.

You chuckle, too, mirroring his relaxed posture.

“Trust me, the footage isn’t going anywhere,” you say to him. And then you pause, before speaking once more.

“Thank you,” you continue. “For being so honest with me. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.”

Chan turns his head in your direction, shooting you a small smile and a nod. He looks much more relaxed now, his once teary eyes now replaced by the glazed appearance of his blissful state. He looks comfortable like this- happy, even.

“Thank you,” he echoes. “For letting me be so honest. And for what it’s worth, I think you do a pretty damn good job at collecting stories.”

He turns back to the television, folding his arms over his chest now, as do you. And then he raises the volume on the television again, letting Baik Hyun-Man’s words echo in the otherwise quiet space between you.

“Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose,” the familiar words play from the television.

“And knowing that, maybe through tales like mine, of guts and glory, we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried.”

*

Sherbet popsicles remain out for the foreseeable future. Convenience stores are cleared of theme entirely, every freezer in the city decorated with an impromptu sign detailing the status of them.

The environment of the gym seems to grow heavy with anticipation as every passing day brings you closer to Chan’s title fight.

And perhaps the only thing harder than unveiling the very real fears Chan harbors toward his title fight, is resisting the urge to kiss him again.

At first you’re not sure it ever happened, when Chan greets you at the gym with a casual salute, as though he’s greeting his trainer.

“My partner in crime!” He’d exclaimed, like you hadn’t been practically pleasuring yourself on his lap just days ago, mouths breathing hot gasps into each other and hands grasping desperately at his toned muscles. As though you hadn’t devoured him entirely on the sticky leather of his sofa, the flavor of his salty release still familiar to you when you graze your fingertips along your lips.

And with the passing days, he assumes the role of a video subject painfully well, detailing all of his best techniques behind the lens and keeping a comfortable distance from your camera. Part of you is relieved, of course, as you witness Chan do exactly what he’s promised- after all, mixing business and pleasure comes at a cost to the entirety of the project. But when he intentionally averts your gaze while he trains with Mr. Seo now, or refrains from speaking of anything more personal than the mundanes of his daily routine, you can’t help but miss the Chan that was only just beginning to grace you with the details of how all of this really feels to him.

How the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, or that he can’t stand the way his tangible memories seem to slip from his grasp when they’re no longer sacred to him. And a myriad of other admissions, including the painful truth that he’s taken a remarkable liking to you, and yet he’s forced to pretend it’s nothing more than his erratic emotions leading up to the fight when he’s intentionally ignoring you like this.

At just a little over two weeks left until his title fight, Chan is visibly distressed, though he makes his best efforts to mask the fact, growing quiet when you’re not asking him questions, and evading any talk of his fears. It’s worrying to see him like this, and you think back to when his mother previously detailed his tendency to shut himself off from the world in response to his heightened emotions.

“He gets so wrapped up in it,” she had explained somberly. “especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does- all he thinks about.”

It’s made clear to you now when Chan trails off from his sentences, staring off into the distance as though he’s being overcome with disdain for himself. You can see what he means about thinking of himself when he boxes, as he throws particularly harsh uppercuts at the bag in the ring, his face glazed with a sheen layer of sweat as he avoids your concerned gaze from across the room. And when you find yourself alone with him again, he doesn’t so much as crack a smile from beside you, simply lying parallel to the floor as his eyes scan the now dark ceilings of the gym at nighttime.

The photographs on the gallery wall are too shadowy to make out at this hour, except for the one in the middle, the pearly white grin of renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man beaming down upon your languid bodies as you remain there, in complete silence. Chan thinks back to his schedule for what feels like the millionth time now- a training session tomorrow in the morning, a tour of the title fight ring in the afternoon, a series of smaller interviews to fill the week and a meeting with some of the sports directors leading up to his match. And following the eventful few days, part two of the docuseries’ broadcast. It’s one of the first times he’ll spend a few days without you in a while, and it feels admittedly unnerving to him, he realizes, as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” You break the silence, not breaking your eye contact from the pendant lamps that line the ceiling. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he shrugs casually.

“Not much,” Chan fibs.

Fulfilling the demanding traits of a perfect boxer. The fact that he hasn't slept properly in well over three days. Winning. Losing. Especially losing.

“Getting nervous for part two?” You query, and Chan’s eyes dart to your figure briefly.

He thinks back to the docuseries and all the interviews thus far, and then he shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he speaks again.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies again. “You’ll make me look like a winner.”

Chan’s chest rises and falls as he grows quiet once more. He thinks back to the success of part one, where he gained more respect than perhaps ever before, thousands of fans eagerly anticipating how he’ll perform on the evening of the title fight. And then he lets out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“I miss popsicles,” Chan confesses.

You don’t find the words to reply for a passing moment, thinking back to the bright orange dessert he speaks of, perhaps not having realized he hasn’t consumed one in several weeks now. Chan sighs again, and then he repeats himself, his gaze now finding the wall, at Baik Hyun-Man’s beaming smile.

“I really fucking miss popsicles,” he says a little quieter this time around, and by the way he delivers the confession, you become aware that perhaps it’s not popsicles at all he speaks of.

Rather, Chan misses his innocence, his youthful days when none of this mattered so much to him. He misses training with Mr. Seo in his garage, a bright blue pair of kanpeki mitts around his bruised knuckles as he delivered much softer hits to the punching bag. He misses days spent at his mom’s house without these heavy burdens he bears- a lifelong promise to himself to make her proud, and simultaneously pushing her away, because he knows his obsession with boxing only brings out the very worst in him. He misses the summer days he lost to training sessions, he misses the life he knew before a winning streak was ever uttered in reference to him.

And he misses you, although you remain at this comfortable proximity to him- no camera in sight and a yearning to know him as intimately as he longs to know you. But the truth remains, that you’re just here to tell his story, not be a part of it. The relativity of a journalist to an athlete- new burdens he bears, new fears he harbors.

“I have an interview with Mr. Seo,” you voice from beside him. “Anything in particular I should ask about?”

Chan chuckles at your ability to ground him once again, and then his eyes scan the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“Anything you want,” he says simply. “He probably knows me better than anybody else.”

The cogs turn as you think over the seemingly endless possibility of questions for Mr. Seo- a voyeuristic journalist’s dream.

“I’ll see you after part two airs,” you say to him, sitting up from your spot on the ring. “And then we just have your final interview, following the match.”

Chan is quiet for a moment as he sits up, too, leaning back on the palms of his hands and observing the way you gather your bag from beside you. He thinks back to the start of this series, when you’d scolded him for being late, and when he first detailed to you his start to boxing. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were first stating your introductions to each other, and now you’ve quickly become just as important to Chan as boxing is.

“Everything’s going to be different,” Chan says, as you hoist yourself off the platform and sling your bag over your shoulder. You meet his gaze with furrowed brows, humming in response, as he brings his hands forward and toys with the taut bordering wire.

“Hm?”

“Things are just going to be different after this airs,” he concludes. “It happened the first time. It’s going to happen again. I can feel it.”

Whether he speaks of his upward trajectory to fame, the likeability of him to the masses, or his relationship to you, you’re unsure. But you entangle your fingers in the bordering wire across from him, too, letting your fingers caress the stringy metal as you meet his gaze.

The vibrating sound of the wire’s recoil fills the space between your bodies, so close to each other and yet worlds apart, as you let the pads of your fingers brush against his, and then you allow his fingers to intertwine with yours, the bruised knuckles of a boxer’s embracing the silky smooth flesh of a knackered journalist.

He brings your hand up as though he’s going to seal the action with a kiss, yet he doesn’t, simply letting your fingers graze along his lips as he waits for you to say something.

“Are you scared?” You ask him again, not yet moving your gaze from his tired eyes.

He doesn’t blink, or even let his racing heart produce another beat before he’s answering you truthfully this time, his breath tickling your knuckles as he exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in all this time.

“I’m terrified,” Chan confesses. And from the gray bags under his eyes, to the somber expression painted across his face, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerable state only you’ve had the pleasure of becoming so acquainted with.

*

The evening of Friday is the fourth day spent in the absence of Chan.

As he busies himself with smaller interviews, meetings with sports directors and preparations for his title fight, you occupy the office space with members of the network, the common area transformed into a makeshift theater as they project part two of Chan’s series on a large screen.

“A toast,” Lin says, grasping a glass of wine between her fingers as she holds it up to clink against yours. “To y/n, who managed to piece together a hell of a story from our stubborn boxer.”

Your colleagues fill the room with laughter and praise, and you shoot them a sheepish smile, shaking your head as they start up the series.

You think back to the reserved fears Chan carries with him, and the way he’d only uncovered the rest of his story to you- all of his worries, the reality of his exhaustion with boxing and how he’d taken a liking to the one person who made all of this feel a little less important in the grand scheme of things. And it’s a story that will never exist fully in its publication, per your promise to Chan to maintain its secrecy. It’s the one thing still sacred to him- the one thing that still belongs to him.

Lin mutters quietly as Chan’s interview plays in the background, leaning in to not disturb the careful focus that falls upon the employees as they watch him speak.

“Sometimes you have hundreds of eyes on you,” he voices on screen. “You have to be intentional with your actions. You have to know what to show people.”

As he recalls one of his early matches, Lin sets her glass of wine down on a table, folding her arms over her chest and leaning into the shell of your ear.

“Listen,” she says reluctantly. “You did a fantastic job getting all this out of him.”

“Thanks,” you say with a chuckle. “Wasn’t easy, but I think it’s sufficient.”

“We did manage to go in a… different direction, than what was originally passed along.”

You pause your actions of taking another sip of wine, turning to face her as she continues to face the projection screen.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing personal,” Lin explains. “It just wasn’t the same without it. Of course we tried different angles, but the footage on those memory cards- it was a lot to work with.”

As she speaks, your gaze falls back to the projection screen, where Mrs. Bang appears, hands folded nearly in her lap as she details all of Chan’s tendencies to shut himself off from the world.

“He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

And then just as you’d feared, and although you specifically requested the footage be omitted from the film, Mrs. Bang begins to cry, expressing her worry for Chan and his future.

“You kept that footage in?” You say out loud, earning a few glances from your colleagues around you.

Lin gestures for you to lower your voice, taking a sharp breath before explaining.

“It wasn’t me,” she voices in a whisper, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “The network wanted it personal. It was still on the card when it was imported, and I was told to leave it in.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, in disbelief as the footage continues to indulge a painful amount of personal information- albeit filmed, not intended for the docu series.

“What else did you keep in?” You say to her, heartbeat quickening in your chest when you remember your conversation with Chan. She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, failing to give an answer, and then without missing a beat, you lunge forward to collect the remote control, fiddling nervously with the buttons as you fast forward through the footage.

The room grows quiet as the footage scrolls rapidly through part two- candid shots of Chan in his car, more interviews, his blue boxing mitts, his training sessions in front of Mr. Seo.

And then before you can begin to ask her about it, your heart sinks in your chest when you’re met with the scene on-screen; one of Chan crying, his head hung in defeat as he sits on the familiar leather couch in his apartment.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” he says between sniffles, as your camera captures him at a painfully close proximity.

All eyes are on you now, a heavy tension falling over the room as Chan continues to speak on the projection screen. He begins to detail the burdens of valuing his winning streak so much, and you can hardly make out his sentences as you practically toss the remote at Lin and gather your purse once more.

“I can’t believe this,” you say to her, scoffing as you meet her blank gaze. “That was supposed to be for my use. Not for the series. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” she explains, trailing after you as you begin out of the common area. “They loved how personal it got. I’m just here to translate it into the series-”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen to me. God, I should’ve checked the fucking memory card.”

“We wouldn’t have had the ratings we did for part one without this level of closeness,” Lin explains. She follows as you saunter to your desk, gathering a stack of papers and shoving them into your bag.

“I never should have listened to you,” you explain, as a stream of tears finally makes its way onto your reddened cheeks. “All this push to get closer to him, and for what? So you can get your stupid ratings? Well congrats, I hope you got what you were looking for.”

Lin pauses for a moment, and then she scowls in response. For a fleeting moment, you assume she’s going to apologize, or maybe offer to take the fall for you. But when she speaks once more, you’re disenchanted to find it’s the complete opposite.

“I hadn’t taken you to be one to put pleasure before business,” she begins. “He’s just a video subject. Unless there’s more we’re not seeing?”

“He’s a human being, first,” you interject. “His lows aren’t some sick form of entertainment for you to cash out on.”

“Then why were they filmed?” She wonders out loud, and you grow quiet at the question.

You want to argue back, and yet you can’t, not possessing a clear answer to the very fair question she poses to you.

She’s right, to some degree- perhaps in your desire to know Chan so intimately, you’d also begun to house a fascination for the way he opens up to you, recounting stories of his childhood and confessing to a long list of fears he harbors deeps down under the facade of a “perfect boxer”. The lines between business and pleasure had been blurred long ago- as were your intentions when you filmed him every chance you got. Perhaps in navigating the painful reality that you will never be more than a keen journalist relative to a charming boxer like himself, you’d put him on a pedestal the same way many now do. And now you’re no better than the voyeuristic tendencies your network pushed you to possess.

Bang Chan is not some “perfect athlete”, nor can he be reduced to the numerical value of trophies and medals. He doesn’t fit within the binary of a “winner” or a “loser”, and he certainly isn’t some cocky sports fanatic like you’d once taken him for.

He’s a human being- with tangible fears, and hopes for the future, and a profound love for the people who shaped him to be the person he is today. And though the fact remains, that he’s on an unbroken winning streak and about to participate in the biggest fight of his life, it’s just a fraction of who he really is.

“Did you really think this was going to end differently?” She voices. “You really don’t think that you played a role in his exploitation, either?”

“Stop,” you practically beg, glancing past her figure at the caravan of colleagues who’ve now exited the common room, too. They eye you curiously, whispering amongst themselves and awaiting your next move. For a moment, you’re reminded of the boxing ring in Chan’s gym- it’s as though you’re there on that raised platform, pairs of eyes eagerly anticipating your next strike from across your opponent. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, glancing around the room with such desperation as her words play in your head over and over again.

“If I recall correctly, the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody,” Lin states, using your own words against you.

Her voice is like an uppercut to the jaw, leaving you breathless and full of disdain, as she gives you a small shrug. And then before you can strike back, she pivots on her heel, joining your colleagues once more as she departs from your trembling figure.

In the context of this docuseries, you’re entirely complicit in the unjustified publication of Chan’s vulnerability to the whole world.

And in the context of a boxing match- perhaps nothing more than a loser.

Part 2.

⨳ ❛𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

❛ In which two disabled idols find comfort in each other’s arms.

𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ) 1.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Han deals with a lot of anxiety and depression, reader has fibromyalgia, constant mentions of being in pain, love-making, cussing, lots of angst, MDNI.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

⌗ O1┆ 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

ten months earlier

It’s a shrine. Photographs and posters of your face adorn the walls of your former bedroom, meticulously arranged in neat rows, each framed and dated, chronicling your journey. The once wobbly old bookshelves, which cradled your most cherished books, have been replaced by plain white ones, now solely occupied by your albums and merchandise. The desk, your sanctuary where you spent countless hours studying or writing songs until your body gave in to exhaustion, has vanished. In its place stand several life-sized cardboard cutouts, unmistakably pilfered rather than bought. The only vestige of familiarity in this shrine is your bed, still dressed in the same crimson linens you had always adored. There you sit, a hollow semblance of the person whose face now dominates these walls, alongside your untouched suitcase since your arrival.

A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through you, as memories long buried flooded your already chaotic mind, bringing with them a sharp migraine that crept through your temples. Despite having taken medicine, you doubted it would dissipate without the balm of a proper night’s sleep. Yet, as your mother poked her head through the half-closed door of your old bedroom, you knew rest would remain elusive. Nevertheless, you managed to pull the corners of your lips into a smile, hoping it would be convincing enough as she made her way inside to sit beside you.

She surveyed the room she had reimagined, a delicate flush coloring her cheeks. "I couldn't help it; I wanted to celebrate your success."

You remained silent, instead allowing your gaze to drift over the unsettling array of posters, each bearing your stage name, Noctara. The dark, haunting themes woven into every image evoked a peculiar sensation, as though you were staring at the face of a stranger rather than your own.

"I wanted to showcase everything in the living room so our friends could see just how hard you’ve been working," she said, her voice tinged with a soft laugh as she rolled her eyes playfully. "But your father worried it might scare some of them away."

You couldn’t help but agree with your father’s sentiment, though you managed to smile at her gesture. It was strange to see her so animated, grasping for words when the last time you had seen her in person had been so fraught with pain. It seemed she wished to erase that hurtful moment from memory — or perhaps she already had.

It was no surprise that she chose now, when you had to conceal half your face just to walk the streets without being recognized, to display your success. Although performing had always been your passion, you had often contemplated quitting, burdened by your mother’s relentless obsession with having a prodigious child. Time and again, you had been pushed to the brink, desperately clinging to whatever you could to prevent yourself from falling.

The irony of your success as an idol was not lost on you. As deadlines and relentless schedules closed in, every attempt to catch your breath was thwarted. You couldn’t retreat behind your doting father for refuge anymore, not when your career stood at its zenith, laden with the heavy expectations of others.

Your career had granted you the ability to fulfill a dream that was close to your father’s heart—allowing him to retire from his grueling construction job and open a record store just around the corner from your street. The store, flourishing amidst the resurgence of vinyl enthusiasts, stood as a testament to his newfound joy. The thought of quitting now, and disappearing from the spotlight, was unthinkable. Your family, now reliant on your success, would be left with nothing, and no matter how you felt about them, it would be deeply unjust.

“Have you seen my garden?” Your mother’s voice cut through the silence that had stretched between you, breaking the heavy pause with an unexpected question. You shook your head, astonished to learn that she had finally done what she had long promised: to revive the gardens that had languished throughout your childhood. “Come with me.”

She gestured for you to follow, rising swiftly and hurrying out of your room with an eagerness that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else. With a soft groan, you pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the persistent ache in your lower back and knees.

As you entered the common areas of the house, you found the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard flung wide open. Your mother stood on the porch, her face alight with a broad smile as she awaited your reaction to her labor of love. The garden was a riot of wildflowers, each one a burst of color, growing almost as tall as you. There was no trace of meticulous planning; instead, the flowers seemed to have been scattered with joyful abandon. A stone path wound its way through the garden, leading to a stunning fountain that stood gracefully at its heart. Despite the apparent chaos, your eyes were drawn to the garden's raw, untamed beauty, a testament to its natural charm and the loving hands that had nurtured it.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. She gestured toward the porch swing beside the sliding doors, and you settled onto it with a grateful sigh as she joined you. “I’m so glad you finally got the garden you wanted.”

Her smile was soft and warm as she replied, “It couldn’t have been without you.”

You fought to contain the swell of emotion in your chest, but the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your efforts. Her smile widened in response, a silent acknowledgment of the moment, and she wisely chose to let the silence stretch between you, wrapping you both in a comfortable tranquility.

“Do you have anyone?”

The unexpected question made you scoff, your eyes rolling before you could curb the reflex. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said through gritted teeth, struggling to mask her frustration, prompting you to purse your lips in silent apology. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Mom,” you sighed, trying to keep your tone even. “You know that as an idol, I’m not allowed to date.”

“Yes, that might be true,” she pressed on, undeterred. “But I keep reading about idols who are dating anyway.”

“And why can you read about it, Mom? Because those idols either got caught or their companies allowed them to publicly announce their relationships.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved her hands dismissively, as though swatting away your argument. “Rules are just suggestions; they can’t control you completely.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle breathlessly, glancing up at the stars above as if they might lend you some strength. The absurdity of her words almost made you laugh out loud.

“You don’t understand, I could be fired if I’m caught dating. It’s happened before.”

“At least hear me out,” she persisted stubbornly, and you sighed in resignation. “The reason I bring this up is because I recently met an old friend from my youth—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hold on—”

“No, Mom, I am not meeting any of your friends' sons.”

“Please!”

Her desperate plea silenced you, leaving you with your jaw clenched in frustration. To regain your composure, you shifted your gaze to the tranquil garden, seeking solace in its calm serenity.

“I recently reconnected with an old friend from my youth, and she has a son who is also an idol. I didn’t make any promises, but I said I’d discuss it with you. If you agree, you’ll meet him this Friday at a coffee shop just two blocks away. Even if you’re worried about your company firing you—which I doubt, considering your success—you can simply say you’re meeting a friend rather than going on a date. There’s really no harm in meeting one boy for your mother’s sake.”

“My answer is still no. I don’t want to—”

“Oh, Y/N, please! I don’t ask for much—”

“No, Mom, you ask for everything! It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me—I do—but my answer remains firmly no.”

“So you’d rather embarrass me?”

With an exasperated sigh, you gaze up at the star-strewn sky, silently pleading for some celestial intervention.

“Fine,” you grit out, your frustration barely contained. “But I will meet him just this once, and you will never pester me with this nonsense again.”

The joy that spread across her face would have been almost comical if you weren’t so weary. She leaped up in excitement, planting quick kisses on your cheeks before dashing inside, presumably to share the news with your father. In the distance, you heard her calling out the details again: Friday at noon.

You released another sigh, rubbing your temples as you reclined in your seat. The garden remained as enchanting as ever, and the night sky, with its blanket of stars, was even more breathtaking.

posted: 06 • 14 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

i broke up with my girlfriend today but we roll haha. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, more will be coming since i'm just going to throw myself into writing instead of coping because therapy is expensive and i don't want to.

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⨳ ❛𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

❛ In which two disabled idols find comfort in each other’s arms.

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when hyunjin kept looking at her even when there was another girl tangled up w him 😫 HES DEF IN LOVE 💔💔💔💔💔💔 waiting for chapter 4!! THIS WAS SO GOOD I WAS TWRILING MY FEET WHILE READING 😭

CAM.

CHAPTER III

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (20,4k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting for this new chapter. Hope it's worth the wait and I'd really appreciate it if you leave a feedback ♡

As you sit among the wedding guests, watching your friend standing at the altar, exchanging vows with the love of their life, a thought sneaks into your mind—will your future hold this too? The idea has never been something you actively pursued, but right now, surrounded by soft music and heartfelt promises, you can't help but wonder.

Would you ever be standing there, looking at someone with that same certainty, the same devotion in your eyes?

And then, without meaning to, your thoughts shift to Hyunjin.

It’s fleeting, just a passing thought, but it lingers in a way that makes you shift in your seat. The image of him flashes in your mind—his dark hair falling over his eyes, the way he looked at you during your last shoot together, the soft, almost nervous way he handed you those flowers this morning.

You exhale, shaking your head at yourself.

“Everything okay?” Felix whispers beside you, leaning in slightly.

You blink, turning to him with a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He grins. “About me?”

You chuckle, nudging him lightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Felix laughs, and just like that, the moment passes. You shift your focus back on the wedding ceremony, pushing away the strange feeling that came with the thought of Hyunjin. At least for now.

-

The wedding tent is crowded with guests and the warm glow of string lights making everything feel just a little more magical. You’re sipping on your drink, enjoying the sight of your friend beaming with happiness when Felix suddenly tugs on your wrist.

“Come on,” he says, grinning.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on where?”

He nods toward the dance floor, where couples sway to a slow, romantic tune. “You didn’t get all dressed up just to sit around all night, did you?”

You hesitate for a second, but the way he’s looking at you—his eyes twinkling with mischief and he's holding his hand out at you—makes it hard to say no.

With a small sigh, you set your drink down and let him pull you onto the dance floor. His hand slides easily around your waist, yours resting on his shoulder as the two of you begin to sway.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper, “I wasn’t lying earlier.”

You glance up at him, confused. “About what?”

He grins. “About you looking beautiful tonight.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’ve said that at least three times already.”

“Because it’s true,” he says, spinning you gently before pulling you back into him. “And I think I’ll say it again—because you look stunning.”

You shake your head with a soft chuckle, but a warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

The song continues, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. The feeling of being twirled under the lights, the warmth of Felix’s hand in yours, the laughter shared between the two of you—it’s easy. Fun.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you catch yourself wondering—if it were Hyunjin standing here instead, would it feel different? You push the thought away and let Felix pull you closer, deciding to just enjoy the moment for what it is.

As the song fades into the next, you and Felix slow to a stop, still laughing softly from your little dance. Before either of you can say anything, your friend—the bride herself—comes rushing up to you, her face glowing with happiness.

“You came!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug.

You chuckle, hugging her back. “Of course, I did. I wouldn’t miss your big day.”

She pulls away, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “It really means a lot. And—” Her gaze shifts to Felix, who stands beside you with a polite smile. “—oh my God, is this your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widen, and Felix lets out a soft laugh. “Ah—”

Before either of you can correct her, she clasps her hands together, looking absolutely delighted. “He’s so handsome! You two look amazing together. I swear, you’re next—soon, we’ll be celebrating your wedding, too!”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Wait—”

But before you can get another word in, someone calls for her from across the reception, and she gasps. “I have to go! But seriously, I’m so happy for you two.” With that, she hurries off, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded.

Felix lets out a short, amused laugh before looking at you. “Well… that was unexpected.”

You turn to him, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wildly unexpected.”

And then, at the same time, both of you burst into laughter. The ridiculousness of the situation is too much, and for a moment, you’re just caught up in the humor of it all.

“I mean, who would even want to marry someone like me?” you joke, half expecting Felix to roll his eyes or tease you in return.

But instead, without hesitation, he raises his hand. “Me.”

Your laughter dies in your throat as you look at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Felix grins, playful as always, but there’s something else in his gaze—something steady, certain. “I’d marry you.”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You search his face, trying to gauge if he’s just messing with you, but he looks oddly serious beneath the playful facade.

“Felix…” you start, unsure of what you’re even about to say.

He shrugs, effortlessly casual. “You should be saying who wouldn’t want to marry you. I mean, you’re incredible.”

Despite yourself, you feel warmth creep up your neck. “You’re just saying that.”

He tilts his head. “Am I?”

You don’t know why, but the way he says it makes your stomach flutter just a little. You quickly shake it off with a laugh. “Alright. Time to get more drinks.”

Felix chuckles, letting you change the subject, but as you two make your way back to the bar, you can’t help but feeling a little hopeful that maybe your future hold this too.

-

Felix pulls up in front of your apartment building, shifting the car into park but leaving the engine running. You glance outside, noting the quiet stillness of the night, before turning back to him with a soft smile.

“Thanks for today,” you say sincerely. “I really had fun.”

Felix smiles back, but then he exhales a long sigh, tilting his head back against the headrest. “This is bad,” he mutters.

You frown. “What is?”

He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think I want to do the collab anymore.”

His words catch you off guard. You blink at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Why?”

Felix hesitates for a second, then chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as if amused by himself. “Because now… I am more interested to be more than just that.”

Felix doesn’t break eye contact, his usual playful demeanor softened by something more genuine, more serious. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

You smile at his words, choosing not to respond directly. Instead, you reach for the door handle and glance at him one last time.

“Drive safely, okay?” you say softly.

Before you can step out, Felix gently reaches for you, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward him. Your breath catches for just a second before he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

When he pulls back, his eyes hold yours, something unspoken passing between you. “Goodnight,” he murmurs.

You hesitate for only a moment before replying, “Goodnight, Felix.”

Then, without another word, you step out of the car, closing the door behind you. As you walk toward your building, you can still feel the warmth of his lips on your skin.

You step into your apartment, closing the door behind you with a quiet sigh. As you slip off your shoes, your eyes immediately land on the vase of flowers sitting on the counter.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at them. With everything that happened today—the wedding, Felix, his words—you haven’t had the time to really appreciate them.

Slowly, you walk up to the vase, reaching out to touch the petals with delicate fingers. The flowers are fresh, carefully chosen, and arranged with thoughtfulness. Hyunjin must have picked them while thinking of you.

The realization brings a soft warmth to your chest. You brush your fingertips over the petals, admiring the mix of colors and how gentle they feel under your touch.

Hyunjin didn’t have to do this, but he did and for some reason, that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

-

Hyunjin stirs awake to the sound of his phone buzzing against his nightstand. Groggy, he blindly reaches for it, squinting at the screen before answering.

"Hello?" His voice is rough with sleep.

"Come over for breakfast," you say, your voice light and easy, as if this is something you do all the time.

He rubs the sleep off his eyes. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. Or else I’ll eat everything myself," you tease before hanging up, leaving no room for protest.

Hyunjin exhales a soft chuckle, tossing his phone aside before dragging himself up into a sitting position. He rubs his face, then runs a hand through his tousled hair. His eyes drift across the room until they land on the canvas propped against the wall.

It’s another painting of you—one he worked on late into the night. In the dim morning light, he takes it in. The colors, the soft edges of your features, the way his brush captured you so naturally, like second nature.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head at himself. He doesn’t know what to do with all these paintings of you. But for now, breakfast awaits.

He goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and washes his face, not forgetting to clean the paint tainted his nails. He grabs a clean shirt from inside the dryer and puts it on before heading out.

Hyunjin knocks on your door, still a little sluggish from just waking up. He doesn’t have to wait long before you pull it open, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Good morning!" you chirp, stepping aside to let him in.

He steps inside, glancing around as he toes off his shoes and immediately notices the flowers he bought for you yesterday perched on the coffee tae, adding a pop of color in the living room.

"You’re in a good mood," he notes, watching the way you move around your apartment with an easy kind of energy.

You hum as you head toward the kitchen, setting the table for breakfast. "I guess I am."

Hyunjin tilts his head, observing you. Something about your smile, the way it lingers, makes him wonder. His mind flashes back to last night—how you got into Felix’s car, the way Felix had kissed your cheek, the way you had let him.

Did something happen between you two?

He presses his lips into a line, pushing the thought away before it settles too deep. Instead, he walks over to where you’re setting down plates, feigning nonchalance.

"So," he says, leaning against the counter, "good wedding?"

You glance at him, still smiling, and nod. "Yeah, it was nice."

Hyunjin hums, trying not to let his thoughts run away from him but he's not going to lie, he doesn’t like that vague answer.

When you finally set the plates on the table, he slides into the chair across from you, eyes flickering between the meal and your still-bright expression.

“So what’s the occasion?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

You shrug, taking a seat. “Because I wanted to.”

He studies you for a beat, as if trying to find a deeper meaning behind your words. But then, before he can dwell on it too much, you add, “And because we need to talk about the concept for the next shoot.”

Ah. There it is.

He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his fork. “So there’s an actual reason,” he teases.

You smirk, picking up your own utensils. “Does there have to be one?”

He meets your gaze across the table, something unreadable in his expression. “No,” he admits. “Not really.”

As you both eat, the conversation flows easily, filled with casual remarks about the food and small observations about the day ahead. It’s comfortable—so much so that Hyunjin almost forgets about the lingering questions in his mind. Almost.

Then, between bites, you set your fork down and glance at him. “I have an idea for the next shoot.”

He looks up from his plate, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “We should make a painting together.”

His brows lift slightly. That’s… unexpected. “Like, actually paint?”

“Yeah.” You lean forward, resting your elbow on the table. “Something messy. Something raw. We can set up a big canvas, use our hands, maybe even our bodies—just create something together. Capture the process, the movement, the intimacy of it.”

Hyunjin blinks, processing your words. His mind immediately fills with images—colors smeared across skin, paint-streaked fingers, the way your expressions would shift with each stroke of color.

“That’s…” He exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his utensils down. “That’s actually a really good idea.”

Your smile widens. “Yeah?”

He nods, intrigued despite himself. “Yeah. It sounds different. More… artistic.”

“Exactly. And I figured you’d be into it. You are an artist, after all.”

He watches you for a moment, then leans back in his chair before finally says. “I say let’s do it.”

-

A few days later, Hyunjin moves around your makeshift studio, adjusting the lights, setting up the camera angles, and double-checking the placement of props. His heart pounds, but he focuses on the technicalities, keeping his mind occupied.

The canvas he bought—a massive, unblemished white expanse—sits in the center of the room. He drags it into position, making sure the lighting hits it just right. The idea had come to him suddenly, and when he brought it up, you had been all for it.

Now that everything is set, all that’s left is you. He exhales, rubbing his palms together before stretching his fingers. He has to keep his hands steady.

The soft padding of your footsteps alerts him before you even enter the room. He turns just as you step inside, wrapped in a loose bathrobe.

"Everything ready?" you ask, your voice even, but he swears there’s a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes.

He nods. "Yeah."

With that, you untie the sash of your robe and let it slip off your shoulders, baring yourself to him as you're only wearing a flimsy, plain white underwear. You're getting way too comfortable with him that you don't hesitate at all.

The camera clicks fill the room as Hyunjin moves around the canvas, capturing every angle of you stretched out bare against the stark white background. The contrast is striking—your skin, the shadows, the way the light catches the curves of your body. Through the lens, he sees more than just a subject; he sees you. And it stirs something deep in him.

Once he’s taken enough shots, he lowers the camera, his lips slightly parted. His throat feels dry, but he swallows and meets your gaze. He knows it's time.

“Lose the shirt,” you murmur, your voice carrying an edge of playfulness.

Without hesitation, he grips the hem and pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall to the side. The cool air kisses his skin, but what affects him more is the way your eyes roam over him. Slowly, silently, like you’re memorizing every dip and contour of his body. And he likes it.

Rolling his shoulders, he crawls over to you, his movements fluid and unhurried. The canvas beneath him shifts slightly as he joins you in the center, hovering just above you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, your breath steady but expectant.

“I'm ready when you are,” you murmur with a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

Hyunjin leans in, close enough that your exhales mix. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, but it doesn’t hide the way he looks at you—deep, intense, searching. Then, without a word, he dips his fingers into the bowl of body paint. The cool liquid coats his fingertips, and he slowly drags them from your collarbone down to your navel. A sharp inhale escapes you, your muscles reacting to the sensation.

He watches you closely, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours before swiping his fingers through another pool of paint, this time dipping into a deep crimson. His breath is steady, but his heart pounds as he brings his hand back to your skin.

Slowly, he drags his fingertips along the curve of your shoulder, tracing down the length of your arm, leaving a streak of red in their wake. The contrast against your skin is mesmerizing, but more than that, it’s the way you react to his touch that keeps him captivated. The way your breath hitches, the way your muscles tense slightly before relaxing under his fingers.

His hand hovers over your ribs before he presses his palm against you, smearing the paint in broad strokes across your torso. It’s intimate, slow, tender. Every movement is careful, yet charged, the tension thickening between you.

You tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck, and the sight makes something stir in him. He dips his fingers into a shade of violet and runs them along your throat, down the center of your chest, watching as the colors blend together against your skin. His breathing deepens.

“You’re enjoying this,” you murmur, your voice hushed yet teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft laugh, but he doesn’t deny it. How could he, when this is the closest he’s ever been to you like this? When he gets to touch you under the guise of art, of creativity, but deep down, he knows it’s more than that?

His fingers find a shade of indigo next, and he trails it along the dip of your waist, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. "You make a good canvas," he says, his voice lower than he intends.

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you speak. There’s something thick in the air, something unsaid but understood. The paint is just an excuse. The art is just a distraction. It’s him touching you. It’s you letting him.

-

At first, you thought you were going to be the one enjoying this the most—the feeling of warm hands, cool paint, and the slow, deliberate movements across your bare skin. But as you lie there, your body pressed against the canvas, you realize that it’s not just you who’s lost in the moment.

It’s Hyunjin.

He hasn’t spoken much, but you don’t need words to tell how much he’s enjoying this. The way his fingers trace your skin with slow, lingering strokes. The way he exhales softly, as if grounding himself with every touch. The way he hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before letting his hands glide further.

The realization sends a different kind of heat curling through you as you turn over on the canvas and lay on your stomach.

He gathers your hair and drapes it over one shoulder, his fingers grazing the side of your neck in a way that makes you shiver. He takes his time, letting his touch linger as if savoring the moment before dipping his fingers into golden paint. Then, you feel it—a long, deliberate streak, starting at the nape of your neck and trailing down your spine.

The cool paint against your heated skin is startling at first, but it quickly turns into something else—something warm, something electric. You can feel his gaze on you, dark and heavy, studying the way the color melts into your body. You don’t dare look back at him, but you know. You can feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way his hands settle just a little more firmly against you.

Then, he dips both hands into separate bowls of paint—one deep blue, the other a soft peach. You barely have time to process it before his palms press against the back of your thighs, dragging downward in a slow, unhurried motion.

A quiet gasp escapes you, your body tensing involuntarily. Not just from the sensation of the paint, but from him. From the weight of his hands, the firm yet careful way he maps out your skin like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingertips skim behind your knees, nails lightly scratching as he moves lower. A shudder rolls through you, and before you can stop yourself, a quiet, breathy sound escapes your lips.

For a moment, neither of you move. The air between you grows heavier, thicker, charged with something unspoken. And then, slowly, he leans in—so close that his breath brushes against your ear.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, his voice low, hushed, almost teasing.

The heat spreads from your core to the very tips of your fingers. You don’t know if he’s asking about the paint. Before you can gather your thoughts, his hand dips into the paint again, and then—warm fingers, slick with color, wrap around your neck.

A soft gasp escapes you as he tilts your head back, slowly, deliberately, until your gaze locks with his. Your breath catches.

He hovers above you, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his lips just slightly parted. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something deep and intense, like he’s searching for something in your expression. His fingers press just enough to make you aware of them, not tight, not demanding—just there, holding you, guiding you.

And then, with a soft, teasing lilt, he asks again, “Does it feel good?”

The question drips with something more than curiosity. Your lips part, but no words come out at first. Your body is still humming from his touch, from the sensation of wet paint drying against your skin, from the weight of his gaze keeping you pinned beneath him. Your wide eyes search his, and you nod—small, shaky.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but in the quiet space between you, it sounds so much louder.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of Hyunjin’s lips. His thumb lightly traces along your throat before he releases you, his touch lingering as his hand falls away. But the tension he’s left behind? That lingers, too.

After a moment, you shift, moving to your knees on the canvas, your bare skin already streaked with vibrant colors. The paint is drying in some places, still wet in others, creating a mix of sensations that heighten your awareness of every little movement, every touch.

Behind you, Hyunjin follows, kneeling just as you are. You feel his presence before you feel his touch—the warmth of his body close to yours, his breath ghosting along your shoulder as he dips his hands into the paint again. And then—

A slow glide of his hands down your sides, paint spreading across your skin in uneven streaks. You inhale sharply, your stomach tightening at the contrast between the slick wetness and the warmth of his palms.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you reach for his hands, fingers wrapping around his wrists, guiding him. Slowly, you trace a path with his hands, urging them to explore, to roam over your body as you bring them upward—until his paint-coated hands are palming your breasts.

A soft, broken moan escapes you as his fingers flex against you, the pressure just enough to make you shiver. Against you, Hyunjin goes still for a moment, his breath heavy and uneven against the side of your neck. His hands hesitate, but only for a second—then, as if something clicks inside him, his grip tightens, his thumbs swiping over your hardening nipples in slow, teasing strokes. You drop your head back, resting it on his shoulder, fully letting yourself melt into his hold.

He exhales, his chest rising and falling against your back, and then he moves again—his hands pressing, kneading, painting you with every motion. His grip is firm yet gentle, fingers mapping the shape of you as if imprinting you into the canvas itself.

The wet drag of paint, the warmth of his hands, the way he holds you from behind—it’s overwhelming. It’s intoxicating. And you don’t hold back. You let the pleasure spill from your lips, let the colors mix between your bodies, let Hyunjin mark you in ways he doesn’t even realize.

Hyunjin’s hands slowly slide down your arms, fingers curling around your wrists as he guides them forward. His touch is firm but patient, steadying you as he dips both of your hands into the paint together. The slick paint spreads between your fingers, mixing colors into something new, something neither of you could create alone.

With your hands still joined, he moves, pressing his chest against your back as he guides your palms toward the blank spaces of the canvas. The first touch is hesitant, experimental—your joined hands pressing against the fabric, smearing color in sweeping strokes.

He exhales softly behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Just like that.”

You both move together, shifting across the canvas, bodies staying close. The paint sticks to your skin, smears across your thighs, your stomach, the curve of Hyunjin’s arms. Every movement feels intimate, every brush of his fingers against yours a silent conversation.

When he tilts his head down, the tip of his nose skims along your temple, and you swear you can feel the curve of his voluptuous lips hovering just shy of touching.

“You’re good at this,” he says, his voice quiet but filled with something you can’t quite place.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your hands down again, swirling the colors together, feeling the heat of his palms against yours.

And when you finally glance back at him, your breath catches—because Hyunjin isn’t looking at the canvas. He’s looking at you. And the way he’s looking at you makes your pulse stutter, makes the room feel too warm, makes you wonder if this moment, this entire thing, is turning into something neither of you expected.

You barely give him a moment to react before you push against his shoulders, guiding him down until his back meets the canvas with a soft thud. His long hair fans out beneath him, dark strands streaked with bits of paint, and he watches you with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper—something that you're not ready to acknowledge.

You straddle his waist, reaching for one of the bowls of paint, and without hesitation, you tip it over his chest. A thick stream of color drips down his skin, pooling in the dips of his collarbones, the lines of his abs.

He flinches slightly at the sensation but doesn’t say a word, just watches as your hands follow the trail of paint, spreading it, smearing it, turning him into part of the canvas. His chest rises and falls beneath your touch, and for a moment, you’re completely lost in the act—until suddenly, He sits up, grabbing a bowl of his own.

Before you can react, the paint splashes onto your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. You gasp, your hands flying up in surprise as the thick liquid drips down your skin. Then, a laugh bubbles out of you, realizing this is his way of getting back at you.

He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as he watches the paint slide down your skin. “Fair’s fair,” he murmurs, voice low but teasing.

You barely have time to respond before his arms wrap around you, pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and your breasts squashed between your chests. The paint on both of your bodies smears together, colors blending with every shift, every breath, every subtle movement. The warmth of his bare skin against yours sends a shiver through you, and when your eyes meet, it feels like the world slows down.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers to your lips, and you suddenly realize how close he is, how easily you could lean in, close the distance. And the thought tempts you, makes you reflexively shut your eyes, anticipating—

But instead of the warmth of his lips, you feel the cool drag of his fingers against your cheeks. Your eyes snap open as you gasp, realizing he’s just smeared paint across your face. Hyunjin grins, victorious, and you barely hesitate before running your hands down his face, streaking him with paint in return.

What started as something intimate shifts in an instant. Laughter spills between you as you wrestle for control, hands grabbing at paint, smearing it wherever you can reach. The canvas beneath you turns into a chaotic masterpiece of color, your bodies painting just as much as your hands.

By the time you finally collapse against each other, breathless from laughter, you’re both a mess of paint and warmth and something lingering in the air between you, unspoken.

-

The warm spray of the shower cascades over Hyunjin’s skin, washing away streaks of paint in rivulets of color that swirl down the drain. He tilts his head back slightly, letting the water soak into his hair, the heavy strands clinging to his face and neck. His body still hums with leftover adrenaline from the shoot, from the mess of colors, from you. And speaking of you—

He's about to turn on his feet when he feels a cool dollop of body wash lands on his chest. He looks down just in time to see you grinning, hands already moving to lather the soap over his skin.

“I think you did that on purpose,” he mutters, watching as your fingers work over the paint-streaked expanse of his torso

You hum in amusement, tilting your head. “Maybe.”

Hebscoffs but doesn’t stop you, though his body tenses slightly when your hands move lower, tracing the edges of his ribs, his waist, the dips of his pelvic bone. It’s… too easy to enjoy this, the feeling of your touch, the warmth of the water, the closeness that neither of you seem to be in a rush to break. Still, he can’t let you have all the fun.

Hyunjin grabs a handful of body wash and smears it along your shoulder, then down your arm in a long, soapy streak. You yelp in surprise, glaring at him through the steam-filled air, but he only grins, smug.

“Oh, it’s like that?” you challenge, narrowing your eyes.

He simply shrugs, barely concealing his laughter.

In retaliation, you cup your hands, gathering water before flinging it at him, making him splutter. It turns into a playful battle of soap and water, hands slipping, laughter echoing against the tile. Hyunjin doesn’t even notice how close you’ve gotten until his back nearly hits the shower wall, and you’re right there, breathless, eyes glimmering with something between amusement and something else—something tender.

Your hands slow, fingers gliding gently over his forearm, then up to his shoulder, smoothing away the last traces of paint. The shift in atmosphere is subtle but undeniable, laughter fading into something quieter, something heavier.

Hyunjin swallows, his throat suddenly dry despite the water running down his skin. He watches as your gaze flickers to his, then lower—to his lips—before quickly darting away.

And for a moment, he wonders if he should say something. Do something. But before he can, you’re turning away, reaching for the shampoo. The moment passes, slipping away like paint down the drain.

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his wet hair as he forces himself to focus on something else. Anything else. “Turn around,” he says, voice steady despite himself. “You still have paint in your hair.”

You obey, and he works the shampoo through your strands, fingers massaging gently against your scalp. You sigh, melting under his touch.

“Sorry about your jeans,” you apologize as you rub the hint of paint on your elbow.

Hyunjin glances at his jeans, lying on the bathroom floor tainted with drying paints as he speaks. “No worries,” he calmly responds.

As he rinses the soap from your hair, you turn around on your feet, blinking water out of your lashes as you look up at him with an amused smirk. “If we’re both in here, then who’s ordering dinner?”

He pauses, hands still in your hair, fingers tangled in wet strands. He blinks once, then twice, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “…Oh.”

You burst into laughter, reaching behind you to grab a towel. “Guess we didn’t think that far ahead, huh?”

He runs a hand through his dripping hair, exhaling through his nose. “I was a little preoccupied.”

You raise a brow, drying your arms with the towel. “With what? Scrubbing paint off me?”

He huffs, shaking his head as he grabs his own towel. “Among other things.”

You don’t ask him to elaborate, and he doesn’t offer. Instead, you wrap your towel around yourself, padding out of the bathroom while wringing the ends of your hair. “I’ll order something.”

Wrapped in plush bathrobes, still slightly damp from the shower, you and Hyunjin stand side by side in front of the massive canvas sprawled across the floor. The colors are wild, chaotic, and yet, somehow, perfectly blended—just like the two of you in that moment.

Hyunjin exhales, crossing his arms over his chest. “It actually turned out really cool.”

You grin, nudging his arm. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not really. We’re kind of a masterpiece-making duo, aren’t we?”

You laugh. “Damn right we are.”

A comfortable silence settles as you both admire the painting, letting the weight of what you’ve created sink in. Then, Hyunjin suddenly perks up. “We should sign it.”

You blink at him before tilting your head in thought. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Grabbing a marker from your desk, you crouch down at the bottom corner of the painting and carefully write your initial. Satisfied, you hand the marker to Hyunjin, who kneels beside you. He hesitates for a second, then presses the marker to the canvas, his strokes smooth and deliberate as he writes: S.H.

You frown slightly, tilting your head. “S.H.?”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. It’s my painting name.”

Your brows lift in curiosity. “Your painting name?”

He nods. “Sam Hwang.”

You playfully glare at him before letting out a soft laugh. “Sam Hwang? That’s what you go by?”

Hyunjin smirks. “Yep.”

You shake your head in amusement, eyeing the signature. “It suits you.”

He hums, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Figured I’d keep my art life a little separate from everything else.”

You admire the signed painting once more before nodding in agreement. “Well, in that case… congrats on the first official collaboration of—” You gesture between the two of you. “—us.”

He grins, tapping his knuckles against yours. “To many more.”

Later that night, Hyunjin sits at his desk, the only light in his apartment coming from his laptop screen. The faint hum of his computer fills the quiet space as he scrolls through the photos he took earlier. His fingers move instinctively on the trackpad, adjusting the brightness, sharpening the colors, refining each shot.

The images on the screen are undeniable—vivid streaks of paint on bare skin, hands tangled, bodies intertwined on the canvas. But more than that, what stands out to him is the way the two of you looked at each other. The way you laughed, the way you touched, the way you moved together. It wasn’t just a shoot. It was something else entirely.

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his still-damp hair. He was supposed to be helping you, just doing a job, but he can’t ignore the way his chest tightens as he replays the footage. He clicks on a video file, and the screen flickers to life. There you are, laughing as you smear paint down his chest, your eyes shining with mischief. Then there’s him—smirking, grabbing a handful of paint, pulling you close until your bodies are pressed together. He watches the way his own hands move over your skin, the way your head tilts back in response, the way his eyes—his eyes—follow every inch of you with something he can’t quite define.

He leans back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. This was supposed to be business. But looking at the screen, at the way the two of you lost yourselves in each other, he wonders if it ever really was.

-

The classroom is quiet except the sounds of bristles against canvas, occasional murmurs of his classmates, and the footsteps of his professor walking around observing everyone's progress.

Hyunjin moves his brush in smooth, deliberate strokes, layering deep hues onto his canvas. But his mind isn’t entirely in the present. As he paints, his thoughts drift back to that day—to the way he dipped his fingers into the paint, smearing bold colors onto your flesh. The way laughter bubbled from your lips when he smeared a streak of red onto your cheek. The warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips as the two of you moved in sync, turning the mess into something strangely beautiful. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. It shouldn’t have felt as natural as it did.

The sound of the professor dismissing the class snaps him out of his thoughts. With a quiet sigh, he sets down his brush and starts packing his things, carefully tucking his sketchbook into his backpack.

Then, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. Your name. Frowning, he answers. “Hello?”

“I’m waiting for you in the parking lot,” you say, your voice light, almost playful.

Hyunjin blinks. “What? Why?”

“Just hurry up,” you simply answer and then you hang up.

Hyunjin stares at his phone for a second before sighing. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he makes his way toward the exit, his heart beating just a little faster than before. He steps out of the building, scanning the parking lot until his eyes land on your car. The engine is idling, the faint hum of it filling the quiet afternoon.

Through the windshield, he catches sight of you—elbow propped against the door, fingers drumming on the wheel, a small smile tugging at your lips as you watch him. He doesn’t waste a second. He tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack and makes a run for it, weaving through parked cars, his loose shirt billowing slightly as he moves.

By the time he reaches the passenger side, he’s slightly breathless, but your smile has only grown wider. He tugs the door open, sliding in with a questioning look. “Alright, I’m here. What’s this about?”

You simply tap your fingers against the wheel, eyes twinkling with something that hints at mischief. “You’ll see.”

Hyunjin exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so mysterious sometimes, you know that?”

You only grin in response before shifting the gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

As you drive, Hyunjin leans back in his seat, watching you with quiet curiosity. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a glow on your face, and he finds himself distracted by the way your fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel in thought.

“Sienna’s birthday is this weekend,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “She invited both of us to her party.”

He shifts in his seat. “Oh? I didn’t know I was invited.”

You glance at him briefly, a smirk playing on your lips. “Of course, you are. She likes you, you know. She said you’re fun to have around.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“But,” you continue, “I need your help with something.”

Hyunjin tilts his head. “With what?”

“I want to get her the perfect birthday gift, but I have no idea what to buy. I figured you’d have some good ideas.”

He smiles at that, finding amusement in how serious you sound about it. “Sure. I’ll help you.”

You glance at him again, this time with a satisfied nod. “Good. Because we’re going gift shopping right now.”

Hyunjin lets out a small laugh. “So that’s why you picked me up without warning.”

“You catch on fast,” you tease.

Inside the jewelry store, you and Hyunjin stand side by side, peering into the glass display cases filled with elegant necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. The soft lighting casts a warm glow on the sparkling pieces, making each one seem more tempting than the last.

“I think this one suits her,” you say, pointing at a delicate gold bracelet with a small heart charm. “It’s simple but pretty.”

Hyunjin leans down for a closer look, then shakes his head. “I think Sienna’s more into statement pieces. She’d like something bolder.”

You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re an expert on Sienna’s jewelry preferences now?”

He smirks, crossing his arms. “I just pay attention. She always wears chunky rings and layered necklaces. She likes things that stand out.”

You glance back at the display, considering his words. “Okay, fair point. Then what do you suggest?”

He scans the case before pointing at a silver necklace with an intricate flower pendant. “How about this one? It’s unique, and I think it fits her personality.”

You study the necklace for a moment, then sigh. “Okay… I actually like that one too.”

He puts on a cocky grin at you. “Told you.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudge his arm before signaling for the store assistant. “Alright, we’ll take it.”

As you wait for the store assistant to wrap Sienna’s gift, your eyes wander to a nearby display of bracelets. One in particular catches your attention—a dainty silver chain with a small crescent moon charm. Curious, you slip it onto your wrist, admiring how it glimmers under the store’s warm lights.

Hyunjin, noticing, tilts his head. “That looks good on you.”

You turn your wrist slightly, testing how it feels. “You think so?”

He nods. “Yeah. It suits you.”

After a moment, you sigh and unclasp the bracelet, placing it back onto the display.

Hyunjin frowns. “You’re not getting it?”

You shake your head, a playful smile forming on your lips. “No.”

“Why not?”

You glance at him and shrug casually. “I don’t know… But you can buy it for me if you want.”

Hyunjin lets out a soft laugh, narrowing his eyes at you. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You just grin at him before stepping back toward the counter, leaving him staring at the bracelet, considering something.

-

Hyunjin slings one of your bags over his shoulder while carrying another in his hand as the two of you make your way down the stairs of the apartment building. He glances at you, still trying to wake himself up fully as he asks, “Why are we leaving so early?”

You adjust your grip on the bag you’re carrying and glance at him. “Because Sienna rented a villa for her birthday party,” you explain. “And not just any villa—the same one I rented for the collab shoot with her.”

He hums at that as it rekindle a certain memory. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s a bit far, so we have to leave now if we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

Hyunjin stifles a yawn as the two of you reach the bottom of the stairs. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder before looking at you again. “So… that villa, huh?” he repeats, his voice tinged with intrigue.

You glance at him, catching the subtle curiosity in his tone. “Yep. Why? Does that interest you?”

He tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the amused smile that creeps onto your face as the two of you head toward your car. Hyunjin holds his hand out at you, gesturing for the car keys, “I’ll drive this time.”

You pause with your keys in hand, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’re good to drive?”

He scoffs playfully, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m awake now. Besides, I’m a great driver.”

You watch him for a second before smiling and handing him the keys. “Alright. Just don't forget you're carrying a precious cargo here.”

Hyunjin chuckles as he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting it to his preference. You settle into the passenger side, stretching your legs slightly before fastening your seatbelt.

As he turns the engine on, you lean your head back against the headrest, sighing in contentment. “Actually, this is even better. Now I can take a nap.”

He glances at you as he pulls out of the parking lot, smirking. “You’re really just going to abandon me while I drive?”

You let out a small laugh, already getting comfortable. “Yup. Wake me up when we’re there.”

He shakes his head with an amused chuckle as he focuses on the road ahead. “Unbelievable.”

The road stretches ahead in a quiet hum of asphalt and tires, the early morning light casting a soft glow over everything. Hyunjin keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly against it as music plays faintly through the speakers.

Every now and then, he steals a glance at you. You’re curled up slightly in the passenger seat, your head resting against the window, your breathing slow and even. Completely at ease. He watches the way your lips part slightly as you sleep, the way your eyelashes flutter every now and then, as if you’re dreaming.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. There’s something oddly comforting about this moment—just the two of you, the quiet hum of the car, and the warmth of the sun spilling through the windows.

And maybe it’s selfish, but he wants to make this ride last a little longer. Without really thinking about it, he eases his foot off the gas just a little, keeping the car at a leisurely pace just below the speed limit. There’s no rush. No need to wake you up sooner than necessary. So he drives, letting the soft rhythm of your breathing mix with the steady sound of the road, stealing quiet moments where he can.

-

You slowly blink awake, the warmth of the sun making your eyelids heavy even as you regain consciousness. The first thing you notice is the steady rhythm of the car moving smoothly along the road. The second is Hyunjin, still at the wheel, his gaze focused ahead, one hand lazily gripping the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift.

You shift slightly in your seat, stretching just a little before settling in more comfortably, watching him. The way his jaw tenses and relaxes, the way his fingers drum lightly against the wheel to the beat of the song playing softly through the speakers—it’s all so effortlessly him.

He must notice your gaze because, without taking his eyes off the road, he asks, “How was your nap?”

A slow smile forms on your lips as you reply, “You’re such a good driver that I slept so well.”

At that, He huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s a first. Most people don’t sleep well when I drive.”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? Do you usually drive like a maniac?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Well, lucky for me, you were driving like a dream today,” you tease, stretching your arms above your head before relaxing again.

Hyunjin glances your way for a brief second, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips before he focuses back on the road. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you got a good nap.”

Something about the way he says it makes warmth settle in your chest, but you brush it off with a playful grin. “Then I might have to let you drive more often.”

He just laughs, shaking his head again, and the car continues rolling down the road, carrying the two of you closer to your destination.

As Hyunjin pulls the car into the driveway of the villa, you sit up straighter, stretching out the last remnants of sleep from your limbs. The place looks just as stunning as you remember—white walls, wide glass windows, and a breathtaking view of the greenery beyond.

He parks the car and turns off the engine, glancing over at you. “We’re here.”

You nod, pushing open the door and stepping out. The fresh morning air greets you, and you take a deep breath, already feeling the excitement of the day settling in.

Hyunjin gets out as well, moving to the trunk to grab the bags. “Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll bring these in.”

You don’t argue, instead making your way to the front door and knocking. It barely takes a second before the door swings open, and Sienna comes bursting out, her eyes lighting up the moment she sees you.

“Oh my god, you’re here!” she squeals, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug.

You laugh, hugging her back. “Of course I’m here!”

She pulls back, grinning. “I'm glad you made it.” Then her eyes flick over your shoulder, noticing Hyunjin as he walks up with the bags in his arms. “And there he is.”

Hyunjin gives a small nod in greeting. “Hey.”

Sienna steps in to give him a quick hug before leading the two of you toward the villa. “Come on, come on, get inside! Let's have a preparty.”

As you and Hyunjin step into the villa, the familiar scent of wood and fresh linen greets you. The place is as gorgeous as you remember—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of sunlight, and the swimming pool that reflects the sunlight into the living room.

Hyunjin sets the bags down near the entrance, rolling his shoulders as he glances around. Before he can say anything, Sienna claps her hands together, turning to you with a knowing smile. “So… did you tell him about that thing?”

You shake your head, smirking. “Nope. You can ask him yourself.”

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow suspiciously between the two of you. “What thing?”

Sienna and you exchange a look before bursting into laughter, making Hyunjin even more wary. He crosses his arms, lips pressing into a tight line. “Why do I feel like I’m being set up?”

Sienna steps closer, tilting her head teasingly. “Oh, don’t look so nervous, Hyunjin. It’s nothing bad.”

You grin, deciding to end his suffering. “I’m lending you to Sienna.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “You’re what?”

You laugh at the way his eyes widen, enjoying the moment of confusion on his face. Sienna quickly adds, “As a photographer! I want you to take some photos of me while we’re here.”

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Sienna nudges him playfully. “But you’re saying yes, right?”

Hyunjin looks at you, but you just smile innocently as if you didn't just set him up. He sighs, knowing he’s already lost. “Sure. Anything for the birthday girl.”

“Yay!” Sienna grins triumphantly, catching him off guard as she places a kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on the skin.

You help Sienna get ready in the living room as she sits on the sofa in front of you, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. The golden light streaming through the window makes her glow even more, enhancing the shimmer of the dress she picked out for the shoot.

You do her hair next, applying some hair product to add volume to her curls. “So… you kept saying this was a party, but why are there only three of us here?”

Sienna grins, dabbing some gloss onto her lips. “Because this is a party. It’s just a small, intimate one.” She turns to look at you, wiggling her brows. “I only invited people I like.”

You huff a small laugh. “That’s one way to do it.”

Just then, Hyunjin enters the room, camera in hand, adjusting the settings as he walks in. “So basically,” he chimes in, “I should feel honored that you like me.”

Sienna lets out a dramatic sigh, flipping her hair. “Ugh, don’t flatter yourself too much.”

You and Hyunjin exchange amused looks before Sienna points at him. “Now, be useful and make me look stunning.”

Hyunjin slyly smiles, lifting his camera. “You already look great. My job’s easy.”

Sienna gasps playfully. “A compliment? From you? I think I might cry.”

Hyunjin just chuckles, motioning for her to move into position. “Alright, birthday girl. Let’s get started.”

-

Hyunjin leans against the sink, his thumb idly scrolling on his phone as he refreshes your Lustre page once more. Nothing. The content you had planned to release—the one you made together—still isn’t there. His brows furrow slightly. Did you forget? It’s not like you to be careless about your uploads.

He exhales through his nose, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket. It’s not the right time to ask about it. Maybe you decided to delay it for some reason. Either way, he pushes the thought aside for now and exits the bathroom.

As he walks down the dimly lit hallway, his steps slow when he catches sight of the bedroom at the end of it. The door is slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of the soft, unmade sheets. His mind instantly goes back to earlier—to the way the three of you had sprawled on that very bed, laughter mixing with the sound of the camera shutter, the lingering scent of Sienna’s perfume still clinging to the air. But more than that, he remembers you. The way you had leaned into him, how your lips had pressed against his in that fleeting yet electrifying moment. The way your voice had lilted with teasing when you whispered, To be continued.

Hyunjin swallows, fingers twitching at his sides. Would tonight be the night you pick up where you left off?

The thought sends a rush of heat through him, but he quickly tamps it down. He shouldn’t assume anything. But as he glances at the bedroom again, his heart thrums with anticipation, wondering—hoping—that you’ll pull him into that room again before the night ends.

Hyunjin flinches slightly when he hears Sienna’s voice calling his name from the other side of the hallway, snapping him out of his thoughts. He exhales, shaking his head as if to clear the lingering images in his mind before making his way toward the kitchen.

The moment he steps in, he finds you and Sienna moving around, setting dishes on the counter. You glance at him briefly, sending him a small smile before going back to arranging the food.

“Set the table, will you?” Sienna says, not looking up as she uncorks a bottle of wine. “And add another plate.”

Hyunjin grabs the plates and pauses mid-motion. “Another plate? You invited someone else?”

Sienna smirks knowingly as she pours herself a drink. “Yep.”

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Who?”

Sienna simply takes a slow sip of her wine before flashing a teasing grin and then gives him a nonchalant shrug in answer.

Hyunjin presses his lips together, feeling a twinge of curiosity—and something else he can’t quite place. As he sets the extra plate down, he wonders who exactly this mystery guest is and why Sienna seems so pleased about it.

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you ask, directing the question at Sienna.

She shakes her head, spearing a piece of food with her fork. “Nope. He’s busy with work,” she answers with a brief eye roll as if she's fed up with it and then she smirks as she casts a quick glance at Hyunjin. “But this particular guest is special.”

Hyunjin glances between the two of you, his curiosity only growing. “Are you going to tell us who it is, or do we have to keep guessing?”

Sienna just shrugs, clearly enjoying keeping the suspense. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Despite the lingering mystery, the three of you begin eating dinner, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—Sienna talking about her latest projects, you sharing something funny from earlier in the week, and Hyunjin chiming in with an occasional sarcastic remark that makes both of you laugh. But every now and then, Hyunjin’s eyes drift back to the empty plate, wondering who exactly was important enough for Sienna to invite to such an intimate gathering.

A sudden knock on the door interrupts the flow of conversation. Sienna's eyes light up, and without missing a beat, she pushes back her chair and practically skips toward the door. Hyunjin watches her disappear down the hallway, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of his plate. You, on the other hand, sip your drink with a calm expression, as if you already have an idea of who the guest might be.

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, trying to catch snippets of the conversation at the door. He hears Sienna’s voice—cheerful and welcoming—followed by a familiar, softer one that makes his stomach twist before he even fully processes it.

And then, Sienna reappears, a wide grin stretching across her face as she gestures toward the guest trailing behind her.

Felix.

Hyunjin barely has time to mask his expression before Felix steps forward, his warm eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He gives you a small smile—one you return with ease—and then he greets Hyunjin casually, as if this is nothing out of the ordinary.

Sienna claps her hands together, clearly satisfied with the turnout. “Now that everyone’s here,” she announces, “we can officially start the party!”

Hyunjin forces a small smile, but as Sienna and Felix laugh about something, his gaze flickers toward you. You look perfectly at ease, and for some reason, that bothers him more than it should.

-

As Hyunjin and Sienna huddle by the fireplace, debating over how to get the flames going, you focus on getting the drinks ready in the kitchen. The clinking of glasses fills the space as you pour each drink carefully, making sure everything is set before bringing them to the others.

Just as you reach for another glass, Felix appears beside you, casually leaning against the counter with that ever-present smirk. “You don’t look happy to see me,” he teases, his voice light.

You pause mid-pour, blinking up at him. “What? That’s not true.”

“So... Does that mean you're happy to see me?” he playfully guesses, tilting his head.

You let out a chuckle while resuming what you were doing. “It’s Sienna’s birthday, and she’s free to invite whoever she wants.”

Felix hums, unconvinced. “So, if it weren’t for Sienna, you wouldn’t have invited me?”

You sigh, exasperated, before shaking your head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Felix chuckles at your reaction, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he says, nudging your arm lightly.

Rolling your eyes, you move to grab the last glass and hand it to him. “Yeah, okay, I'm happy to see you.”

“There we go,” he quips before glancing toward the living room, where Hyunjin and Sienna are still struggling with the fireplace. “So, what kind of party does Sienna usually throw?”

You shrug honestly. “No one really knows.”

Felix raises an eyebrow at that, intrigued. “Sounds like we’re in for a surprise.”

You give him a knowing look. “With Sienna? Always.”

You nudge Felix with your elbow and nod toward the birthday cake sitting on the counter. “Help me carry this?”

Felix grins and steps in, carefully picking up the cake stand while you steady the top to make sure the candles don’t flicker out. Together, the two of you make your way toward the living room, where Hyunjin and Sienna are still caught up in their attempt to get the fireplace going.

The moment you step in, you start singing the birthday song, your voice leading the way. Felix joins in, and soon, Hyunjin catches on, his head snapping toward the two of you with realization. Sienna turns around at the sound, her eyes widening as she spots the cake with the glowing candles.

Her gasp is loud, hands flying to her mouth as a delighted smile takes over her face. “You guys!” she exclaims, eyes flickering between all of you.

Hyunjin, never one to miss a good moment, scrambles for the camera he left on the couch, quickly adjusting the lens to capture Sienna’s reaction. The flickering glow of the candles reflects in her eyes as she laughs, looking overwhelmed by the small but thoughtful celebration.

“Make a wish,” you remind her, giving her an encouraging nod.

Sienna closes her eyes for a second, the room falling into an anticipatory silence, before she blows out the candles in one smooth breath. Cheers erupt as you all clap for her, and Hyunjin continues snapping pictures, capturing every moment.

With the candles blown out and the cake safely set on the coffee table, Sienna grabs her drink and raises it high. “Alright, everyone! Since we’re doing this right, let’s have a proper toast.”

Hyunjin, Felix, and you follow her lead, lifting your glasses as she clears her throat dramatically.

“To another year of being fabulous, unbothered, and thriving!” Sienna grins, eyes shining. “May this year bring me even more money, more success, and—” she pauses, smirking, “—a lot of love.”

You chuckle, clinking your glass against hers. “You mean more fans falling at your feet?”

Sienna winks. “That too.”

Hyunjin shakes his head with a smile, and Felix chuckles before adding, “To Sienna. May your ego never deflate.”

Sienna gasps in mock offense, but before she can retort, everyone clinks their glasses together and takes a sip of their drinks.

With that, the party officially begins. Laughter fills the cozy villa as the four of you settle in. Music plays softly in the background, the fireplace finally crackling with warmth, and the night stretches ahead, promising more fun, games, and a few surprises yet to come.

Hyunjin swirls his drink in his glass, letting the warmth of it settle in his chest as he leans back in his seat. The fire crackles softly, casting a golden glow across the room, but his eyes are drawn elsewhere. You and Felix sit together on the sofa, far too close for his liking. Felix leans in, murmuring something to you as if you’re in a crowded club instead of a quiet villa.

Hyunjin catches faint glimpses of the conversation—your giggles, Felix’s low teasing voice, the way you lightly shove his shoulder but don’t move away. He takes another sip of his drink, jaw tensing slightly. He tells himself he doesn’t care. That he shouldn’t care. But the longer he watches, the harder it is to ignore the feeling creeping up his spine.

A sudden bump to his shoulder snaps him out of it. He turns to see Sienna smirking at him, one brow raised.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” she teases.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

Sienna rolls her eyes. “Sure you are.” Then, without warning, she claps her hands together and declares, “Alright, enough lounging around. It’s time for games!”

Felix groans dramatically, leaning his head against your shoulder. “Sienna, we’re adults.”

Sienna grins. “Exactly! Which means we’re playing adult games.”

Hyunjin has no idea what she means by that, but the way her smirk widens tells him he’s about to find out.

-

The four of you sit in a loose circle on the carpet, surrounded by plush cushions and the lingering warmth of the fireplace. The drinks are flowing, laughter comes easily, and everyone is comfortably relaxed in the dim glow of the villa’s living room.

Sienna, always the life of the party, reaches into her bag and pulls out a small velvet pouch. The moment you see it, you already know what’s inside. She loosens the drawstring, tilting the pouch, and a handful of small, pastel-colored pills spill onto her palm.

Felix watches with interest. “And what do we have here?”

You lean back on your hands, tilting your head. “How do you always have these?”

Sienna grins, tossing a pill between her fingers before handing them out. “I have this friend—Jane. She works at a pharmaceutical company and hooks me up with these.” She winks. “Nothing crazy, just enough to keep the good vibes going.”

Next to you, Felix picks up his pill, turning it between his fingers as if he’s studying it. He gives you a questioning look, and you smirk. “It’s harmless,” you assure him.

Without another thought, Felix pops it into his mouth and washes it down with a sip of wine. Sienna follows suit, tipping her head back easily. You do the same, feeling the cool slide of the pill down your throat, the familiar anticipation settling in your stomach.

But when you glance at Hyunjin, he’s still holding his between his fingers, hesitating. His gaze flickers to yours for a brief second before he finally places it on his tongue and swallows. You don’t miss the way his throat bobs, or the way he exhales afterward, as if bracing himself.

Sienna pulls something out of her duffel bag this time and from the box, you can tell that it's Jenga blocks, she's putting it in the middle, the flickering light from the fireplace casting soft shadows over the game.

You glance at Sienna, raising a skeptical brow. “Jenga? This is your idea of fun?” you ask doubtfully.

Sienna waves you off with a smirk. “Just wait.” She reaches forward and carefully pulls out the first block. As she flips it over, she grins and reads out loud, “Do a love shot.”

Felix chuckles, already intrigued. Hyunjin, on the other hand, simply watches with mild curiosity.

Sienna grabs two shot glasses, fills them with liquor, and then turns to Hyunjin, who happens to be sitting on her right. “Guess it’s you and me,” she says teasingly, handing him one of the glasses.

Hyunjin raises a brow but doesn’t refuse. They link their arms together, bringing the glasses to their lips at the same time. Sienna takes her shot smoothly, but as soon as the alcohol burns down her throat, she gasps dramatically, shaking her head at the bitter aftertaste.

She turns to you with a playful smirk. “And that,” she says, setting her glass down with a clink, “is how you play.”

Sienna gently elbows Hyunjin’s side, signaling that it’s his turn next and Hyunjin hesitates for a second before carefully pulling a block from the stack. He flips it over and reads the instruction silently, his brows twitching slightly. Before he can say anything, Sienna leans over impatiently and snatches the block from his hand.

“Spank someone three times on the ass,” she reads out loud, chuckling in amusement before looking at Hyunjin expectantly. “Well? Who’s the lucky one?”

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. “I guess the birthday girl deserves it.”

Sienna rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Ugh, I should’ve known.” But then, without hesitation, she turns and offers her ass, wiggling her hips slightly as if to encourage him.

Hyunjin scoffs but goes along with it. He raises his hand and lands a gentle spank on her ass, barely making a sound.

Sienna immediately whirls her head around and rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, come on. Harder.”

Hyunjin blinks before raising his hand again, this time delivering a firmer smack.

Sienna only grins. “That was better, but you can do better than that. Come on! Harder!”

Hyunjin gives her a deadpan look but complies, swinging his hand back and landing a sharp spank on her ass. Sienna yelps at the impact, her body jerking slightly.

For a split second, Hyunjin looks alarmed. “Shit—sorry, did I go too hard?”

Sienna whirls back around with a smirk, completely unfazed. “Please. I’ve taken harder than that.”

Felix bursts out laughing, and you shake your head, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. Sienna, always the chaotic one, is enjoying every second of this.

Since you're sitting next to Hyunjin, it's time for you to take your turn. You reach for a block near the bottom of the stack, carefully wiggling it free, holding your breath as the tower wobbles slightly. Once it’s out, you flip it over and read the instruction printed on it. Kiss the person you think is the hottest.

Sienna immediately gasps before breaking into laughter. “Oh, this is a good one!” She turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But it’s not an easy decision, huh? You’ve got two sexy boys right here.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. This is easy.”

Both Felix and Hyunjin straighten slightly, waiting for your choice. You glance at them both, dragging out the moment, then shake your head with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, boys,” you say, shifting onto your hands and knees. “The hottest person here is Sienna.”

Sienna grins as you crawl over to her. She meets you in the middle, tilting her chin up expectantly. “You better give the boys a good show,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a smirk.

You slide your fingers under her jaw, tilting her head just right before pressing your lips to hers. She responds instantly, kissing you back with confidence, and as the teasing tension in the air thickens, you deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past her lips.

The kiss turns messy, heat building between you as your mouths move together, the taste of alcohol and something undeniably Sienna filling your senses. Your fingers tighten on her jaw, and she lets out a soft hum of approval. By the time you finally pull away, you’re both slightly breathless, lips tingling, your gazes locked in amusement and heat.

“Holy shit.” Felix is the first to break the silence. His voice is awed, his eyes wide. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but when you glance at him, his fingers are wrapped tightly around his drink, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His gaze flickers between you and Sienna, something unreadable lingering in his expression.

It's Felix’s turn now and he leans forward, eyes scanning the tower carefully before pulling a block from the middle of the stack with ease. He flips it over, reads the instruction silently, then lets out a soft chuckle before reading it aloud. "Remove one article of clothing."

Sienna immediately lets out an excited squeal, clapping her hands together. “Oh, hell yes. I love this game.”

Felix smirks, clearly enjoying the attention, and takes a moment to consider which piece to remove. Then, he turns to you. “What do you think? What should I take off?”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Felix holds your gaze, a teasing glint in his eyes, waiting for your answer. Heat rushes to your face as you quickly shake your head. “I’m not answering that.”

“Alright then,” Felix says with a grin, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. His fingers work through them one by one, taking his sweet time. As he parts the fabric and shrugs it off, revealing his toned torso, Sienna lets out a dramatic gasp before breaking into loud cheers.

“Felix, you absolute menace,” she laughs, fanning herself exaggeratedly.

Felix tosses his shirt aside, leaning back with an amused expression. “Hope that was worth it.”

Sienna, still grinning, suddenly pauses before snapping her fingers. “Oh! We finished the first round.”

She grabs the bottle of liquor and starts pouring shots for everyone. “House rule—one shot for every round we complete!”

She hands each of you a shot glass, lifting hers in the air. “Cheers!”

Everyone clinks their glasses together before downing the shots, the burn of alcohol warming your throat instantly. The game is only getting started.

-

The game has gone on for multiple rounds, the tower now hollow in places and dangerously close to toppling. The atmosphere is thick with warmth, alcohol, and something else Hyunjin can’t quite put into words.

Sienna is sprawled on her stomach, clad only in her matching underwear, lazily watching the game. Felix, shirtless, lounges beside you, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispers something that makes you giggle. Hyunjin, only in his boxers, feels the heat of the liquor swirling in his veins as he reaches for a block, his movements slow and precise.

The tower wobbles slightly, and he holds his breath. After a tense moment, he successfully pulls a piece free. A small, relieved laugh escapes him as he flips the block over and reads the instruction, his voice slightly slurred. "Make a hickey on someone's neck."

His mind blanks for a second. His hazy gaze flickers across the room. Sienna watches with mild curiosity, propping herself up on her elbows. Felix still lingers close to you, his breath brushing against your skin. A strange feeling twists in Hyunjin’s chest, and before he can second-guess himself, the words tumble out of his mouth.

“You.”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening slightly in surprise. But before you can react, Hyunjin is already moving, scooting closer until he’s right beside you. His fingers gently push your hair away, exposing the delicate slope of your neck. His hand hovers for a second as if giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t.

He leans in and his lips meet your skin first, warm and soft. Then, he sucks, slow and deliberate, letting his mouth linger, knowing the mark will bloom there in the morning. A quiet gasp escapes your lips, and the sound makes something coil tight in Hyunjin’s stomach. His teeth graze against your skin before he soothes the spot with a final kiss, his lips pressing over the fresh mark one last time before he pulls away.

The moment is brief, but it feels like an eternity, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. When Hyunjin finally leans back, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, his lips tingling, his heart pounding.

The game continues, but for a fleeting moment, you seem to be stuck in a daze until you realize that you have to take your turn. You lean in, concentrating on which block to pull that won't cause the tower crumbling down.

Hyunjin watches as you struggle for another minute, your fingers trembling slightly as you reach for a block. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if it’s because of him—because of the mark he just left on your skin, the lingering warmth of his lips still pressed against your flesh.

But you manage. Somehow, you pull a block from the tower, and to your luck, it’s blank.

Sienna groans. “Boring.”

You laugh softly, and then it’s Felix’s turn.

He eyes the tower carefully before reaching for a piece near the bottom. The entire structure wobbles dangerously as he slides it free, but miraculously, it doesn’t fall. He flips the block over and reads the instruction aloud, his voice dripping with amusement. "Remove someone’s article of clothing."

Hyunjin barely has time to process it before Felix’s gaze lands on you, sharp and certain. You nervously giggle, already knowing what’s coming.

Felix shifts closer, his palm gliding down the length of your dress, considering. But instead of going for the obvious choice, he hums in thought and slips his hand beneath the hem, his fingers ghosting against your bare thigh. The air thickens instantly.

“Oh, I know which clothing I’m taking off,” Felix announces, his tone playful but firm.

Sienna lets out an exaggerated coo, propping a hand under her chin, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before her.

Hyunjin, however, can only watch as Felix’s hands move with ease, sliding higher, disappearing under your dress. His fingers hook around the band of your underwear, and he tugs. Instinctively, you lift your hips, allowing him to pull the lacy fabric down. Slow. Deliberate.

Hyunjin’s throat goes dry as Felix drags the black lace down the curve of your thighs, past your knees, until he finally slides it off completely. The moment hangs heavy in the air, charged with something indescribable.

Felix grins triumphantly, twirling the underwear between his fingers before—without shame—bringing it up to his nose and sniffing.

Sienna groans. “God, you’re such a perv.” She tosses a piece of chip at him, which bounces off his bare shoulder.

But Felix doesn’t care. He holds your gaze, mischief dancing in his dark eyes. Then, with a smirk, he stuffs the delicate lace into his pocket. “I’m keeping this,” he murmurs.

Hyunjin swallows hard, gripping his drink a little too tightly as a strange, heated feeling coils in his gut so he shifts his focus on Sienna now as she takes her turn. She narrows her eyes at the tower, steadying herself as she reaches for a block. But in her drunken state, her fingers fumble, and with one wrong move, the entire stack comes crashing down.

A chorus of cheers erupts from you, Felix, and Hyunjin—except for Sienna, who groans dramatically, throwing her head back.

“Noooo!” she whines. “I was so close!”

“You really weren’t,” Felix chuckles, watching as the wooden pieces scatter across the floor.

Sienna huffs, but then she suddenly smirks. “Fine. I lost. But you all are drinking with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not how punishments work.”

“It is tonight,” she insists, grabbing the last bottle of liquor. “One last toast before I die.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he grabs his glass anyway. Hyunjin does the same, though there’s a faint flush to his cheeks—probably from the alcohol, but maybe from something else.

Sienna raises the bottle. “To birthdays, bad decisions, and hot people.”

You and Felix clink your glasses with hers, and Hyunjin hesitates for half a second before following suit. Then, everyone downs their shots.

And as a punishment, Sienna doesn’t stop there, she tilts the bottle back and chugs. For a moment, it looks like she might actually finish the whole thing—until she suddenly coughs, breaking away with a gasp.

“Shit. Okay. I can’t.” She shoves the bottle at Hyunjin. “You finish it.”

Hyunjin blinks at her, startled. “What? Why me?”

“Because it's my birthday,” she says, as if that explains everything. “And because you’re the best.”

Hyunjin sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Fine.”

With that, he lifts the bottle and drains the rest in one go. The moment he lowers it, Sienna throws herself at him, knocking him back slightly as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, my gentleman,” she purrs, and them she kisses him.

It happens so fast that Hyunjin barely has time to react. Her lips press firmly against his, warm and liquor-sweet, and for a split second, everything else fades away. Little does he know—this is the start of it all.

-

You lose count of how many drinks you had but you can tell that if you have one more, you're done. You steer yourself away from it, propping a hand against the carpet to steady yourself as you begin to feel lightheaded.

Felix leans in, his arms braced on either side of you, caging you in. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek as he speaks, low and deliberate.

"Should we catch up to them?" he asks, voice laced with mischief.

You glance to the side, eyes landing on Sienna who’s now straddling Hyunjin, her hands tangled in his hair as their lips move in sync, lost in their own world. The sight stirs something in you—curiosity, heat, maybe both. But before you can properly register it, you turn your head back to Felix… and find him even closer. His hand rests your thigh, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, warm and steady. Then he leans in further, nose skimming along your neck, breathing you in like you're something rare.

"You smell so heavenly," he murmurs, lips grazing your skin.

A shiver runs down your spine just as he begins to trail kisses—up the curve of your throat, along your jaw—before his mouth finds yours.

The kiss is hard and deep and hungry. His hands, once tentative, now roam with growing confidence as he presses you back into the plush cushions. Your body yields beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he hovers above you, his weight settling just enough to pin you beneath him without crushing you.

And then he kisses you again—deeper this time, with more intent. You feel it in the way his fingers tighten on your thigh, in the way his chest pushes into yours, in the way he makes it known he wants to keep going. Your thoughts are scattered, drowned out by the warmth of his touch and the dizzying weight of everything happening around you.

The room is cast in the soft, flickering glow of the fireplace—shadows dancing along the walls, licking across skin, outlining bodies in warm amber.

You melt into the cushions beneath you, the velvet brushing your skin as Felix deepens the kiss, his hand skimming up the outside of your thigh, slow and reverent. The crackle of the fire fills the silence, punctuated by the soft hitch of your breath when his fingers graze under the hem of your dress.

Somewhere in the background, you hear it—Sienna’s breathless laugh, the muffled sounds of Hyunjin’s voice close against her skin. You don't have to look to know what they’re doing. You can feel it in the room, the heat and intimacy hanging heavy in the air like perfume.

Felix pulls back just slightly, his forehead pressed to yours as he catches his breath, his eyes searching yours. There's a flicker of something playful there, but beneath it—a quiet hunger.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are in my eyes,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

Your hand finds his chest, the steady beat of his heart pounding against your palm, grounding you even as everything feels like it's floating.

And then he’s kissing you again, softer this time. Slower. One of his hands cradles your jaw while the other stays on your thigh, his thumb brushing gentle circles into your skin. The room is warm, your body warmer, and Felix—he’s all over you now. Not rushing. Not forcing. Just… being there. Completely.

Behind you, Sienna’s breath hitches—Hyunjin’s quiet murmur follows. But you don't turn to look. You're far too gone in the way Felix is holding you and the way he deepens the kiss again, slow and sultry, the kind that leaves you dazed and wanting more.

His hand, still resting on your thigh, shifts with purpose—fingertips brushing up, exploring. The hem of your dress lifts ever so slightly, caught in the slide of his wrist as he glides it higher, baring more of you to the warm air and his touch. He doesn’t rush. His palm moves with confidence, with intention, as he maps the curve of your thigh and slips beneath the fabric like it’s second nature. Your breath catches—just a flutter in your chest—but Felix notices. His lips curve into a faint smirk against your mouth, as if he’s proud of the effect he has on you.

You gasp softly as his fingers find your heating core where you’re warm and aching for him, and your hips shift—subtle, instinctive. The cushions beneath you muffle the sound, but not the sensation. You feel the brush of his knuckles, the slow and deliberate pressure on your clit that has your mind going hazy. The fire crackles again, casting shadows across Felix’s bare chest as he leans over you, watching your reaction through hooded eyes.

He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering something you barely catch—but you don’t need words. You feel it in the way his fingers move, teasing and coaxing on your wet cunt, in the way he’s so attuned to your body like he’s studied it in secret.

The rest of the room falls away. Sienna’s soft moan, Hyunjin’s quiet groan, the faint rustle of skin on fabric—all of it blends into the background, a distant echo to the way Felix has you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your thighs part instinctively, and in that moment—with the firelight painting gold across your skin, and Felix moving like he already knows how to break you apart—you surrender to it all. To the heat. To the hands. To the night that’s only just beginning.

-

The room spins gently around them, firelight flickering behind his closed lids. He’s not sure when the last piece of clothing came off—maybe it was a moment ago, maybe longer—but he feels the sudden coolness against his skin, followed by the contrasting warmth of Sienna's mouth trailing lower.

Hyunjin's head leans back against the couch, eyes fluttering as Sienna’s lips press against his again—hungry, languid, tasting like wine and something darker. His hands find her waist, her skin warm beneath his palms, and every breath he takes feels heavier than the last.

She kisses his jaw, his throat, then lower still. Every place her lips touch feels like it’s burning, like she’s leaving marks only he can feel. His fingers twitch against the floor, trying to stay grounded, but she keeps dragging him under.

Then her hands are on his cock—firm, knowing, wrapping around his length that’s already aching from how long he’s been wound up. Hyunjin lets out a shaky breath, the kind that escapes when he stop trying to hold anything in.

Sienna doesn’t rush. She moves with the same confidence she always carries—deliberate, playful, in control. Her hand strokes his cock slow at first, then a little tighter, a little faster, just enough to make his hips shift, chasing friction.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter open just enough to catch a glimpse of her looking up at him from beneath her lashes, her lips curved into a grin that promises she’s not even close to done. His pulse thunders in his ears, mixing with the crackle of the fireplace and the soft sounds of movement from across the room. He knows he should feel self-conscious, but in this haze—with Sienna between his legs and nothing left to hide—he only feels raw and alive.

But then—he turns his head.

Just across the room, his gaze lands on you. You're half-reclined on the cushions, dress hiked up around your hips, your head thrown back. Felix is between your legs, his shoulders moving with purpose, and your fingers are tangled in his hair. The sight freezes something in Hyunjin’s chest.

He can’t hear you, not over the crackling fireplace and the pulse pounding in his ears—but he can see the way your mouth parts in a silent gasp, the subtle arch of your back, the way your body responds to Felix’s every move. Sienna's hand trails along his thigh, grounding him for a moment, but his eyes don’t leave you.

Hyunjin’s fingers curl against the cushion behind him, his knuckles pale as Sienna’s mouth works him over—slow, practiced, indulgent. Her tongue traces the length of his cock with purpose, her rhythm coaxing low, shaky breaths from his chest. The room is warm from the fireplace, but the heat pooling low in his stomach burns hotter. He lets his head fall back, eyelids heavy—but he can’t stop himself from glancing sideways again.

You’re still there. Still spread out like a dream, like a scene from something he shouldn’t be watching. Felix is hidden between your thighs, his dark hair tousled from your grip. The soft sounds you make—breathless gasps, stifled moans—cut through the haze like a spark to dry leaves.

The world narrows.

Hyunjin’s lips part. He shouldn’t be watching, but he does.

You move—your hips lifting gently to meet Felix’s mouth, your hand fisting into the cushion beneath you. And then your eyes flicker open, landing right on him.

There's a burn rising in him now—not from the alcohol, not from Sienna—but from the sight of you, unraveling in someone else’s hands. He clenches his jaw, swallowing thickly as a mixture of heat and something else—something sharper—twists inside him.

Your gaze holds his. Just for a second, maybe two. But it’s enough to make Hyunjin’s breath catch, his muscles tense. It’s enough to make him feel everything—Sienna’s mouth on him, your eyes on him, the sound of your pleasure threading through the air like a song written just for him. He moans, low and quiet, his body tightening under the weight of it all. Sienna doesn’t notice. But you do.

And when you finally close your eyes again, falling deeper into Felix’s touch, Hyunjin’s head tips back once more—lost between the girl kneeling before him and the girl who haunts his every thought.

-

Your breath catches as the climax finally hit, warmth unraveling deep in your core. Felix doesn't stop—his mouth still working over your drenching cunt through the high, steady and precise, until you're trembling beneath him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there just a moment longer, before you finally go slack against the cushions.

He rises slowly, his lips tracing a path up your body, soft and coaxing. By the time his mouth finds yours again, you’re still reeling from your high. He kisses you hard, hungry, his tongue tasting the aftermath of your pleasure, and you hum into it—weak, breathless, but sated.

“You were so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “So damn sweet, coming just like that.”

Your laugh is slow and sultry as it slips past your lips, brushing against his. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”

Felix chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied, and kisses you again, slower this time. One of his hands slides up your side, dragging the hem of your dress along with it. The fabric slips away, inch by inch, and you lift your hips, helping him pull it off completely. And just like that, you’re bare beneath him.

Felix sits back on his heels, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. There’s a silence in the room—except for the fire crackling low in the background and the soft sounds of Sienna and Hyunjin nearby—but his gaze is loud. Full of heat. Full of reverence.

“You’re…” he starts, then stops, biting his lip. His hands rest on your knees, thumbs stroking gently. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You tilt your head, a little smirk curling on your lips. “I know.”

That makes him laugh, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t touch you further just yet. He just watches, like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. And for a moment, you let him until you sit up slowly.

Your hands find his hips in an instant and you make an eye contact with him as your fingers find the button of his jeans. You undo it with ease, your touch deliberate, slow—teasing while maintaining eye contact with him. Felix watches you, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open as if waiting to feel your touch again. And when the zipper drags down, he lets out a quiet breath, deep and expectant. He takes over then, pushing his jeans down and off with practiced ease, until he’s kneeling there in front of you—undressed, warm, and waiting. He reaches for your hands, guiding them to him, placing them on his skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Touch me,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough at the edges.

You do. Your hands move over him slowly, feeling the way his muscles shift under your touch, how his breath stutters with every glide of your fingers. He makes quiet, breathless sounds in response, like each one is pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands are still on yours, not controlling—just grounding, as though needing the contact as much as the pleasure.

And then, with ease, he pulls you toward him, closing the space between you. You end up straddling his lap, your bare skin pressed to his, heat meeting heat. He groans softly, resting his forehead against yours as his hands run along your waist, your back, up your sides—like he needs to touch everywhere all at once. His lips find yours again, slower this time, deep and searching. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers, that says everything without words. And all the while, his hands continue moving—greedy and reverent, coaxing and praising, mapping out every inch of you as if he can’t get enough. There’s nothing hurried about it. Just heat. Want. And the quiet, undeniable ache building between your bodies.

Felix's lips trail down your jaw, then to your neck, where he nuzzles into the curve just beneath your ear. His breath is hot, his kisses deeper now. His hands explore you in tandem, firm and familiar, sliding up your back, down your waist, grounding you in the moment even as everything around you blurs at the edges.

You tilt your head to give him more space, and just beyond him—across the firelit room—you catch a glimpse of Sienna. She's straddling Hyunjin now, her body flushed and lit by the golden flicker of the flames. Your gaze shifts to him, and you see the way his head tilts back against the sofa, lips parted, eyes heavy with heat as Sienna slowly sinks down onto his cock. He shudders visibly, and you feel your breath hitch at the raw intimacy of it.

With your half-lidded eyes, dazed and dizzy from Felix's touches, you can’t look away. The way Sienna starts to move—bouncing on Hyunjin’s cock with a rhythm that speaks of knowing, of teasing, of claiming—does something to you. It arouses you, undeniably. The sight is like something out of a fever dream, surreal in its beauty, in its brazenness. But it also stirs something else inside you. Something deeper. Something you can't quite name.

You inhale slowly, lips parted as Felix continues kissing you, whispering something against your skin that you barely register. Because all you can see is the way Hyunjin reaches up to hold Sienna’s waist, how his fingers tighten as she moves, how his mouth falls open in silent pleasure.

And though Felix’s hands are on your body, though his kisses still send heat curling low in your belly, your eyes stay on Hyunjin—and that unfamiliar, aching twist inside you refuses to fade.

-

Sienna moves above him like she’s dancing to music only she can hear—fluid, purposeful, and utterly intoxicating. Her hands rest on his chest, her nails digging lightly into his skin as she rocks her hips with practiced ease. Hyunjin’s hands find her waist, guiding her rhythm, grounding himself in the way her body fits against his.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, voice thick and hoarse, the words falling from his lips like a secret.

Sienna only smirks at him in return, her breath catching in laughter as she leans down to kiss him, her pace quickening. The heat between them builds, every movement syncing like waves crashing on a shore—messy, relentless, beautiful.

Hyunjin closes his eyes for a beat, lost in the sensation. But then he opens them again—and that’s when he sees you. You’re across the room, bathed in the warm flicker of the firelight, your body tucked against Felix, your back resting on his chest. His arm is draped around you, and though you look soft and pliant in his hold, Hyunjin doesn’t miss the way your fingers grip Felix’s wrist where his hand disappears between your thighs. But what captures him, what makes his breath stutter and his hands slow against Sienna’s waist… is the way you’re looking at him. Your eyes are on him. Not the room. Not Felix. Him.

Time hangs thick and suspended in the space between blinks. Sienna keeps bouncing on his cock, drawing pleasure in each movement, chasing something deeper, sharper, but his mind lingers on the intensity of your gaze—heavy, unreadable, like it’s saying something you won’t speak out loud. Hyunjin’s throat goes dry. The haze doesn’t lift, but something inside him stirs. Tightens. Shifts. And when Sienna leans in to kiss him again, he closes his eyes… but all he sees is you.

A moment later, Sienna collapses against him, her breath warm and ragged as she rides out the final waves of her high. Hyunjin keeps his arms around her, holding her close as her body trembles gently in his lap. His fingers trail slowly up her spine, grounding her while she murmurs something he doesn’t quite catch, giggling softly into his neck. But even in the haze of it all, his eyes drift across the room—drawn to you.

You’re on your stomach now, your cheek pressed to the cushions, lips parted in a blissed-out smile. Felix is behind you, hands and mouth worshiping every inch your skin. Hyunjin watches the way you lift your hips in response, a soft sound escaping you as Felix leans over, whispering something into your ear before kissing you.

Then—Hyunjin sees the way your body arches, the subtle shift of Felix’s position as he aligns his swollen member to your entrance and slowly pushes it in. Your eyes flutter shut, your brows pulling together for a moment as a quiet moan slips past your lips, barely audible over the soft crackle of the fire. And then your eyes open. You eyes immediately look at him. Right at him.

The heat in his body no longer just a result of the liquor, the pill or the girl in his lap—it’s you. It’s the way you’re falling apart for someone else… but still looking at him.

Sienna shifts against him and presses her lips to his jaw, her hand slipping up into his hair, but Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t leave you. Not yet. Not when you look that beautiful. Not when he wishes—just for a second—that he was the one making you feel that way.

-

Felix moves behind you in a rhythm that makes your breath hitch, each steady thrust sending little tremors through your body. His cock is hot and throbbing inside you, his chest is warm against your back, his hand splayed across your stomach to hold you close, and his lips brush over your shoulder, up your neck, murmuring how good you feel—how perfectly you fit around him.

You're lost in the haze of his touch until your eyes drift across the room. Hyunjin is laying Sienna down gently on the plush carpet, her hair spread like a halo as he lowers himself between her legs. You watch as he lines his cock to her entrance, the slow glide of his hips, the way Sienna gasps and arches beneath him as he finally sinks into her. Her head tilts back, lips parted with a moan, fingers curling into the cushions as she whispers something you can't hear—but it's clear she’s unraveling under him.

Your body clenches in response, and Felix growls low into your ear, noticing the change from the way you clench around him. But it’s Hyunjin who catches your eye. Even as he begins to move, his pace steady and deep, it’s you he’s looking at. Something inside you twists—hot and restless and wanting.

Felix’s hands slide under your stomach, his touch steady and sure as he slowly lifts you, guiding your back to arch against him. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you firmly in place, and his breath is warm against your ear as he murmurs something low—words lost in the haze of it all.

The rhythm between your bodies falls into something deeper, slower, more consuming. Every movement draws a quiet gasp from your lips, and when his mouth finds yours, it’s hungry—desperate, like he needs the taste of you to anchor himself.

His hand slips lower to where heat pooling between your legs, fingers brushing against your sensitive clit that already pulses with need, and he applies gentle pressures as he rubs on the bundle of nerves. The next thing you know, your knees begin to give way. Felix catches you before you can falter, slowly guiding you down, your palms pressed to the soft carpet beneath as he settles behind you again.

Around you, the room blurs—the warmth of the fireplace, the muffled moans, the soft rustle of movement. But all you feel is Felix, the steady press of his body, the drag of his cock against your walls, the way he moves like he knows you inside out. And still, in the back of your mind, you’re aware of Hyunjin’s gaze. That quiet, burning presence you can’t seem to ignore.

-

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of bodies and breath and pleasure winding through the air like smoke. Hyunjin’s breath comes out ragged as Sienna moves against him, her warmth surrounding him in waves that make his thoughts blur. But then, just as he’s finding a rhythm, she suddenly presses a hand to his chest and breathlessly tells him to stop.

His body stills, heart pounding in his ears. “Was I—too much?”

But Sienna only gives him a teasing smirk. “You know I like it rough.”

And before he can reply, she shifts beneath him, turning onto her hands and knees, casting a glance over her shoulder that makes something coil tightly in his gut. She takes what she wants, wrapping her hand around his cock and slides it back into her slowly, his hands immediately gripping her hips, and resumes his pace, now deeper, more deliberate.

Just then, Sienna’s eyes flick forward—and Hyunjin follows her gaze. You’re there, just inches away, your mouth already parting as Sienna reaches for you. The kiss that follows between you two is slow at first, all lips and teasing tongues, before deepening into something raw and greedy. It’s impossible not to watch. Felix lets out a low curse behind you, clearly just as affected. His pace shifts slightly, more intent, more desperate.

Hyunjin can feel everything building again—the tension, the pleasure, the strange heat curling in his chest as his eyes lock with yours across Sienna’s shoulder. For a moment, it feels like the four of you are caught in something heavier than desire, something that blurs all the lines and makes everything taste a little too sweet.

The moment stretches, blurs.

Hyunjin can barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, over the rhythm of Sienna’s breath mixing with his, over the soft moans curling into the air from where Felix moves behind you. But all he can focus on—all he can feel—is you.

You’re looking at him. Your gaze, half-lidded and hazy, finds his through the haze of movement and heat. And for some reason, the world shrinks down to just that connection. The way your lips part with every breath. The way your eyes cling to his. The way it suddenly feels like you’re the only one in the room with him. His hips keep moving on instinct, but his mind is locked on you, watching as your body tenses, your expression shifting—pleasure building just beneath the surface of your skin. And he knows. He knows you’re close.

It hits you first—Hyunjin sees it all happen in your eyes. The way they flutter. The way your mouth falls open. The way your back arches in that beautiful, vulnerable way. And something about it unravels him completely.

He groans low, the sound rough and desperate, as the rush overtakes him—intense and fast and consuming. It’s like falling, like burning, like touching something just out of reach and finally catching it. He holds onto Sienna’s hips tight, riding the wave out, but his eyes never leave yours.

It feels like a different kind of high. Raw. Unfiltered. Intimate in a way he doesn’t fully understand. And somehow, in the quiet aftermath that follows, the only thing he can think about is you.

-

Felix’s breath grows heavier, his thrusts turning more desperate—each movement more intense, more hungry. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he twitches inside you, the way his grip on your hips tightens as he edges closer to release. His forehead drops to your shoulder, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he pulls out just in time.

A hot rush spills across your back, warm and slick, painting your skin in the pearly white of his seed as he shudders behind you. For a moment, the world slows—just the sound of his breath against your ear and the thundering of both your heartbeats. Then he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, murmuring something low and breathless. You turn your head, catching the dazed, satisfied look in his eyes, and a small smile pulls at your lips in return.

You stay on your stomach, body sinking deeper into the softness beneath you as the warmth of the room settles over your skin. Felix’s touch is gentle now, careful, as he wipes you clean with a wet cloth and you're too spent to notice. His lips find your shoulder, pressing light, lingering kisses along the curve of it, as if he's savoring you even in the quiet aftermath.

He doesn’t say much at first—just the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours—but then he shifts, nestling beside you and pulling you into the cradle of his arms. His body is warm against yours, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. He kisses you again—lazy and unhurried—and between each kiss, he whispers praises that make your lips curl into a dazed smile.

“So good,” he breathes against your mouth. “You feel like heaven.”

You hum in response, your hand finding his as the two of you settle into the hush of the moment, wrapped in each other and the afterglow.

Felix’s arms are warm around you as you lie nestled against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into calm. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, planting a soft kiss on your temple. "You’re kind of adorable like this," he whispers with a teasing smile, and you chuckle under your breath, nudging his chest.

"Kind of?" you ask, raising a brow.

He grins. "Okay, very adorable."

You roll your eyes and pretend to groan, but the comfort of his touch, the way his fingers gently trace patterns on your skin, makes you feel light. Safe. The two of you fall into an easy conversation, filled with quiet laughs and soft murmurs, like the world has momentarily narrowed down to this moment — just the two of you under a soft blanket of warmth and afterglow.

Then, from the corner of your eye, something shifts. You glance across the room and see Hyunjin lying on his back with Sienna curled on top of him, her cheek resting against his chest. He’s brushing her hair back with slow, affectionate strokes, his gaze soft, unreadable. You don’t know why, but something stirs inside you. A tug — not painful, just... confusing. Like watching something you weren’t meant to see but can’t look away from.

Felix doesn’t notice. He’s still talking, still playing with your fingers. You force yourself to focus on his voice, but your thoughts linger elsewhere — not fully formed, not heavy, just floating in the back of your mind.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. Your body sinks deeper into the cushions, your breathing evens out, and you let your eyes slip closed — the weight of the night finally pulling you under.

-

Hyunjin doesn’t know how long he’s been staring. You’re lying there, curled up against Felix, his arm draped protectively over your waist. Your face is turned slightly toward Hyunjin’s direction, but your eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly, soft and serene in sleep. Felix shifts beside you, murmurs something incoherent, but doesn’t wake. He just tightens his hold on you.

Hyunjin’s chest feels tight. He doesn't know why — or maybe he does, but he doesn't want to admit it. As if sensing his thoughts are too loud, Sienna stirs against him. She makes a soft sound, a content little hum, and he thinks maybe she’s still dreaming. But then her head lifts from his chest, and she blinks slowly up at him. Her eyes meet his, and she tilts her head slightly.

“It’s just sex,” she says, as if she’s answering a question he never asked out loud.

Hyunjin blinks. “What?”

Sienna smirks, sleepy and sly. “What you and I did.” She stretches her limbs a little, then settles again. “Just sex. That’s what it was.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Same with them,” she adds, nodding subtly toward you and Felix. “It’s all physical. Fun. Nothing serious.”

Hyunjin knows what she’s doing — offering him an out, an explanation, maybe even a defense he didn’t ask for. He understands what she means. He understands it a little too well. Still, he plays dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sienna chuckles, low and amused, brushing her fingers lazily across his chest. “You’re cute when you lie.”

His heart stutters. She lays her head back down, getting comfortable again, but just before closing her eyes, she murmurs, “You should tell her how you feel you know.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. And luckily, Sienna doesn’t press. She only leans up slightly to place a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, already drifting back into sleep.

However, Hyunjin stays awake. His eyes drift once again to where you sleep, unaware of everything swirling in his head. And for the first time all night, it feels like he’s completely alone with his thoughts.

-

A soft movement against his chest pulls him from sleep.

Hyunjin blinks, disoriented, the remnants of a hazy dream slipping from his mind as Sienna shifts beside him. She lets out a small sigh, snuggling closer, her bare skin warm against his. For a second, he lets himself sink back into the comfort of it, eyes heavy, body sluggish from exhaustion.

Then Sienna’s lips brush against his ear, and in a sleepy murmur, she whispers, “You’re losing brownie points.”

Hyunjin furrows his brows. “What?” His voice is hoarse from sleep.

Sienna only hums, her fingers lazily tracing circles against his chest. “You’re still here, meanwhile they’re already up and cooking breakfast together.”

That wakes him up completely. He fumbles as he sits up, his body aching from spending the night on the carpeted floor. The space around him is a mess—scattered cushions, crumpled blankets, empty glasses from last night’s drinking game. The fireplace has dimmed to glowing embers, casting the room in a warm, lazy light. But none of that matters once he turns his head toward the kitchen.

There you are, standing beside Felix at the stove, a bright smile on your face as you cook breakfast together. You’re dressed casually now—your hair a little messy, your face still fresh from sleep—but you look… normal. As if nothing happened last night. Or maybe as if something did happen, but it doesn’t mean anything. Hyunjin’s stomach twists at the thought.

Felix says something, and you laugh—soft and easy. Hyunjin watches the way Felix leans in slightly, how comfortable you look standing next to him. He can’t tell if there’s a shift between you two, if the night before changed something, or if you’ve already moved past it like it was just a fleeting moment of pleasure.

Sienna chuckles beside him, watching the way his expression subtly changes. “Told you,” she murmurs.

Hyunjin doesn’t respond because for the first time in a long time, he isn’t sure how he feels.

The scent of toast and fresh fruit fills the villa's open kitchen, warm light pouring in through the tall windows. Hyunjin sits across from you at the long wooden table, watching as you reach for your cup of tea with a soft, sleepy smile. Felix is beside you, animated as always, while Sienna stirs her yogurt, her leg tucked under her.

It feels almost normal. Too normal.

Until Felix leans closer and grins at Sienna, mischief in his voice. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “how was your sleep, Sienna?”

Sienna barely glances up, her tone casual but sharp. “Not as good as yours, apparently.”

Felix chuckles. “Yeah, probably the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

You snort at the exchange, and Hyunjin catches it—that faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips, that glint in your eyes. It’s so small. So quick. But it splits something open in him.

His fork clinks against the plate as he sets it down. “I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he mutters.

No one stops him. No one even looks twice. Maybe it’s better that way.

He locks the door behind him, pressing his back against the wood for a second. The silence is too loud in here. Too heavy. He pulls out his phone, fingers already moving toward the Lustre app. Maybe he shouldn’t. But he does.

Your page loads, soft colors and curated thumbnails filling the screen. He scrolls. Scrolls. Nothing new. Not the one you filmed together. Not the one where you smiled into the lens for him, touched him like you meant it. It shouldn’t matter. You didn’t promise him anything. But it does.

The cold knot in his chest coils tighter, confusion and disappointment swirling until it turns into something unnameable. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. Just something to prove that it wasn’t just for show. That it mattered. Even a little.

His phone screen dims, and he doesn’t bother turning it back on. He just slips it into his pocket, leans over the sink, and stares at his own reflection. Why does it hurt so much? Hyunjin doesn’t have the answer. He just knows it does.

-

The road stretches out ahead, quiet and empty in the soft afternoon light. The low hum of the engine fills the silence in the car, but Hyunjin barely hears it. His hands grip the steering wheel loosely, eyes on the road, but his mind is miles away.

Flashes of last night blur in and out of focus—soft moans, heated kisses, tangled limbs, the fire casting shadows over skin. The way your body arched into Felix’s. The way you looked at Hyunjin.

He doesn’t notice you talking until your voice comes through again, gentle but amused. “Hyunjin.”

He blinks, startled. “Yeah?”

You chuckle. “I asked if I could borrow your jacket.”

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, of course.” He simply takes the jacket he hung on the headrest of the seat and hands it to you.

You pull it on, nestling into the soft fabric. “Is it okay if I nap?”

He nods again. “Go ahead.”

You shift in your seat, curling up slightly as you lean against the door. Within minutes, your breathing evens out.

Hyunjin glances at you at the next red light. You’re already asleep. There’s something painfully tender about the way you look right now—hair falling into your face, lips slightly parted. His gaze trails to your neck and that’s when he sees it. A hickey. The one he left.

His fingers twitch against the steering wheel as the memory hits him—his mouth on your skin, your soft gasp, the way your hands had pulled at his hair, grounding yourself. He remembers the heat of your skin under his touch, the way your eyes fluttered shut, the sound of his name from your lips. And then—Felix. And now—this.

You, asleep beside him, wearing his jacket, peaceful and unaware that Hyunjin’s thoughts are anything but calm. He swallows hard, eyes flicking back to the road.

God, what the hell is happening to him?

-

The stairs feel endless after the long drive, and you're already regretting not taking the elevator—but Hyunjin didn’t complain, so you didn’t either. The two of you climb in silence, steps echoing faintly off the stairwell walls. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He hasn’t said much since you woke up in the car, and something about the quiet feels… different.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow as you reach the final flight. “Everything okay?”

“Just tired,” he simply answers without looking at you, voice low and distant.

You nod, accepting it for now, though it doesn’t quite sit right with you.

When you reach your shared floor, he doesn’t hesitate to take your bags from you, his hands brushing yours for the briefest second. The touch makes your stomach twist—not in a bad way. Just… twist.

“Thanks,” you say as he carries them inside your apartment for you. You close the door behind him and watch as he sets the bags down by your couch, then stands there awkwardly like he’s not sure if he should stay or go.

You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, wanna grab lunch before you head back to your place?” You pause. “My treat.”

Hyunjin lifts his head slowly. His eyes meet yours. There’s something unreadable in them, something that steals the humor from your voice and leaves a strange weight in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away and your smile falters.

“Hyunjin?”You take a step closer. “Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brow furrows. And for the first time in hours, you feel genuinely uneasy. Like you’re standing on the edge of something, and all it would take is one step—forward or back—for everything to shift.

You wait for him to say something. Anything. But when he finally speaks, the words hit harder than you ever could’ve braced for.

“I want to quit.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I want to quit,” he says again, clearer this time, and his voice is steady—too steady for someone who’s about to blow your world sideways.

It takes you a second. Maybe longer. “You want to quit… working with me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah.”

“Why?” You blink, stunned, trying to search his face for an answer that makes sense. “Hyunjin—what happened?”

“I just…” He exhales sharply, jaw tight. “I just want to quit.”

There’s something final in the way he says it. Like the decision’s already been sitting heavy on his shoulders, and now that he’s let it out, he’s not going to take it back.

You reach for him instinctively, maybe to stop him, maybe to understand—but he’s already moving toward the door. “Hyunjin, wait—”

But he doesn’t. He opens the door without looking back and walks out, leaving you alone in your apartment, the silence crashing down so suddenly it echoes and just like that, he’s gone.

You stand frozen by the door long after it’s closed, still half-expecting him to come back. Maybe tell you he was joking, or that he didn’t mean it, that it just slipped out because he was tired or overwhelmed. But he doesn’t come back.

The silence rings louder than the sound of the door shutting. It rings in your ears, sits in your chest, and settles like a weight that only seems to grow heavier by the second. You slowly move back, the steps feel like you’re walking through water—thick, heavy, wrong. Your apartment looks the same, but something about it feels different now. Like he took something with him when he left.

You drop your bag by the kitchen counter and just stand there, staring at it like it might hold the answer to why this is happening. Why he said what he said. Why he looked so serious. Why he wouldn’t explain.

A part of you wants to be angry. But the stronger part—the one winning right now—is just confused. And sad. An unbearable kind of sad.

You press your hand against your chest, like maybe you can soothe the ache building there. You don’t even realize your eyes are watering until you feel the first tear slide down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, like maybe that’ll make the sadness go with it. It doesn’t.

You sink down onto the couch, arms wrapping around yourself as you try to piece together where it all went wrong. Was it last night? Did something change for him? Did you do something? Or was it always leading to this? You don’t know and not knowing is the worst part.

-

✨ The final chapter of Cam is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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SUBBY CHAN!! subby chan pretty please. with maybe a bit of face riding 🤭

and you're writing is actually really good. so good. might have binge-read your works teehee

- 🫧 anon

𖥻 Reward

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; bangchan x fem!reader

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you asked your boyfriend to ride his pretty face :)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), switch!reader, switch!chan, face riding, reader has bigger thighs, they are whipped for each other, unprotected sex ( don’t do that !!! ), slight aftercare, I was in a mood while writing but oh well 🤷‍♀️

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: I turned your ask into a tiny drabble my lovely 🫧 anon I hope you like it tho ✨ I’m glad you enjoy my work so much bubs💕

You knew your boyfriend was handsome but the outfit he was wearing today did something with your brain…his hair looking ever so soft and the almost sheer top and the pretty necklace he was wearing was just beautiful. You’re so proud of Chan and the way his eyes sparkled when they won another award made your heart speed up. So you decided to treat your amazing boyfriend…when you both got home that day chan went to take a shower after giving you a passionate kiss. The way his lips feel against you made you feel butterflies in your stomach. So as soon as you hear the shower running and Chan’s soft humming you quickly change, pulling out your boyfriends favourite lingerie of yours a fully black set almost see through with tiny black bows on the straps of the bra and panties it was barely covering anything and it made you feel confident and pretty. You’re so focused on yourself in the mirror that you didn’t notice chan leaving the bathroom and walking over to you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Chan swore his breathing stopped for a moment when he saw you standing there in front of your bedroom mirror. Chan loved when you felt good about yourself. He slowly walks up to you putting his hands around your waist. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this” Chan’s one hand pulling at the strap on the side of your underwear, you could feel his hot breath on your neck making you shiver. You slowly turn at to face Chan putting ur arms around his neck one hand playing with his soft hair. Chan hums in enjoyment at the front of your body pressed against his and your hand in his hair, his own hands started to wander around your body “wanted to give you a reward on your own baby” you whisper against his lips “so tell me Channie what do you want I will give you anything” you started kissing his neck, chan making room for you taking a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of your lips on him. “Anything Darling?” Chan asks when you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

The movement of your hips was controlled by your boyfriend while you couldn’t even focus on anything that wasn’t his plush lips on your cunt, you already came twice on his face and each time chan hummed in delight when he tasted your sweet high on his tongue. His warm tongue moving inside you and his nose was pressed against your clit making you see stars. “God darling you taste like fucking heaven” chan said making you whine. Chan swears he was in heaven with your plush thighs wrapped around his face and the way your breast where moving together with the sounds that left your mouth made his dick impossibly harder “Channie please wanna fell you inside me” you whine hands gripping on this hair like they are your lifeline. Chan couldn’t resist the need longer, longing to be inside your pretty cunt. Chan’s pushes you downward to his hard length. “Do it pretty girl ride me” you didn’t need to be told twice and quickly sink down on him making Chan’s eyes roll back, the way you feel around him send him even closer to his orgasm.

The way he was hitting your sweet spot makes you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm on the tip of your tongue chan knew your body like the back of his hand “come for me pretty girl” he whispered before kissing you passionately. You couldn’t hold back anymore and let go feeling your sweet relief wash over you. Chan quickly falling over the edge with you keeping his length as deep as he could go inside your warmth. You’re slowly coming down from your shared high your arms wrapped tightly around Chan “are you okay darling?” He whispered not wanting to disturb your bliss. You nod slowly kissing his lips once more. “I’m so proud of you Channie” you whispered, making Chan smile and tighten his hold onto you.

i came across your writings recently and im obsessed!! imagine you’re straddling sub Han on his studio chair and you’re grinding against him and marking him and he’s letting out the prettiest moans and whines. He was stressed with his work before, but you made him forget 🤍

𖥻 Make me forget

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Han Jisung

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you just wanted to help your boyfriend to relieve some stress

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), sub!jisung, dom!reader, marking, fucking in a chair, reader is written with bigger thighs and wide hips in mind, stressed Jisung

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: turned out kinda passionate but oh well <3

Jisung was stressed there were many songs to write and finish but he was stuck, his brain to full to even concentrate on his current work so he texted you. His sweet girlfriend and asked if you would mind dropping by with some coffee. You being the amazing girlfriend of course said yes and not even 30 minutes later you’re here…standing between your handsome boyfriend’s legs with his hands running all over your body. Jisungs iced americano long forgotten on his desk, his mind occupied with your body the way your tight shirt made your breast seem even bigger than normal it made Jisung want to bury his head between them. But you had other plans,suddenly sitting down on his lap right on his hard dick. Your tiny skirt was making the feeling even better one layer less that separates Jisung from what he now desperately needs. You’re teasing him slowly grinding down on him making Jisung throw his head back with a desperate call of your name. Oh how pretty your boyfriend sounds calling out your name as if you weren’t already giving him pleasure and making his brain fussy.

All Jisung could think about was your warm soft body pressed against his and the feeling of your pretty cunt pressed against his dick each roll of your hips send him even close to his orgasm, his hands never leaving your body one hand suddenly grabs your hip pressing you down on him even more your panties were soaked at this point and you’re not much better than your sweet boyfriend. The friction of your wet cunt sliding against his hard length made you see stars. One of your hands gripping his soft curls while the other one was pressed against his chest using it to support yourself. Your thighs were burning from the fast movement but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop not when you’re so close to your sweet relief and not when your boyfriend was looking at you with heart eyes while moaning your name like a prayer.

You couldn’t help it and lean to kiss him passionately moving your lips against his ever so soft ones, you could taste the chapstick Jisung always uses and it only turns you on more. Jisung gasps when he feels you pretty lips agains his the way they moved ever so lovingly against his own just when he wanted to take the kiss even further he feels your lips move lower towards his jawline leaving tiny kisses on your way to his neck, when you start sucking on his neck Jisung knows he won’t last longer so he tries to warn you with little stutters of your name but you seem to know already. It wasn’t hard to tell from the way he was trying to grind up against you and the way his grip on your hip tightens even further. You were sure it would leave marks but that’s okay at lest then you would have something to remember this moment the next day.

When Jisung feels you suddenly stop sucking and your sweet voice whispering in his ear to just let go for you he couldn’t help himself but obey. The wet patch on his pants grows bigger with each passing second and you throw your head back. The sight of you sweet boyfriend cumming made you hit your own high feeling yourself clench around nothing your panties are probably completely messy by now but neither of you could bring yourself to care enjoying the blissful feeling of your shared highs.

I’m honoured you think I did a good job sweetheart 💕🫶🏻✨ cuz I just got lost while writing and that’s what came out at the end :)

love making with ot8 🤍🤍(separate)

𖥻 love making

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Stray Kids

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: how I think love making with them would be :) (wrote for everyone besides Seungmin and I.N cuz I wasn’t sure about them hope you don’t mind…might add them later on)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ) , soft skz , sub!reader , a bit aftercare , cumming inside

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 ::

He is such a soft boy when he wants to be, probably in the mood for soft sex if he is exhausted or if he just wants to show you how much he loves you. He will not really care if he gets to cum only focusing on your pleasure for example using his fingers and/or mouth until you’re seeing stars. He enjoys eating you out because every time he does your hand wanders into his curls to tug on them while moaning his name. He will cover you in kisses and marks as much as you let him while whispering praises against your skin telling you how good you taste and how pretty you sound. If you aren’t exhausted after the toe curling high he gives you and he gets to fuck you it’s much slower than usual. His trusts slow but deep letting you feel him deep inside your tummy, letting you feel every inch of him. He likes it when you play with his hair while whining his name right beside his ear. He will hold off his own high in order to make you both cum together instead. After you both cum chan likes to stay inside u for a bit longer enjoying the feeling of your soft walls wrapped around him. He nuzzles his face in your neck and kisses your neck while praising you even more, while his hands roam around your body massaging your trembling thighs while enjoying the way your hand plays with his hair.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 ::

Minho prefers rough sex but on some days where he just feels so overwhelmed by your love for him or if dance practice was exhausting and you want to make him feel good. For example he gets home exhausted and you already prepared a warm bubble bath for him just because you could hear the exhaustion in his voice when he called you. So when you both sit in the bathtub (you’re on his lap) and you’re running your hands over his sore muscles making him throw his head back enjoying your touch. You tease him by moving your hips against him. Minho lets you take control and just holds your hip or thighs. you sink down on him all at once and just stay still, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours and the way his dick feels inside you. Enjoys it when you ride him because he gets an amazing view of your breasts and the way you throw your head back in pleasure while moaning his name. He praises you and moans out your name the sounds getting louder the faster you move or the tighter you clench around him. Makes sure you come first and the feeling of your cunt clenching around him brings him over the edge, filling you up with his high. Minho will hold you tight against him and rub your back while thanking you. He will cuddle you in bed after while playing with your hair and watching a movie.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 ::

I think he will choose soft love making mostly after dates for example a dinner date or a movie date. Will eat your cunt like a five star meal until you’re unable to say anything besides your name. He enjoys feeling your thighs tremble beside his head or in his hands. Enjoys it when you pull him closer to your cunt with your hand in his hair. When Changbin fucks your cunt his movement is slow only speeding up a bit when you ask him to go faster. He enjoys deep but softer trusts. Tells you to moan as loud as you want because he wants to know that he is making you feel good. Changbin likes the way your eyes roll back and his name is the only thing you can say. He will make you cum as often as you want although if you’re to exhausted he tells you it’s okay if he didn’t get to cum but you suck him off anyways cuz who would say no to the opportunity to suck this man off?

𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 ::

This man looooooves soft sex and probably only fucks you rough if you beg for it or if you’ve been a brat. This man will first stuff you full of his cum only to eat you out after. He enjoys the taste of your combined highs The first time you will get to cum is on his dick cuz he wants to feel you clench around him as he fills you up while praising you and leaving marks over your neck and chest. Plays with your boobs too and enjoys how sensitive you are. Will stay insider your warm cunt for a few minutes enjoying the feeling of your mixed cum slowly flowing out of you. Hyunjin is determined to get you to cum at least once or twice more with his fingers and his mouth. He calls you his beautiful muse and tells you how he wishes to paint you naked some time will bring you water and some snacks after cleaning you up and giving you a sweet kiss. POST SEX CUDDLES :)

𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 ::

This man will 100% fuck you in the studio if he has a writers block or a burn out. He will just ask you if he can eat you out to distract himself and who would say no to this man’s mouth and tongue on your body? Definitely not you…Jisung gets pretty whiny the longer he stays between your legs getting to taste your sweet cunt. He could cum in his pants from the way your thighs tremble around his head and your fingers grip his Hair. Lets you ride him and touch him all you want. You can control the pace and where you want his hands to be. Jisung enjoys the way you clench around him every time he praises you. Jisung will only help you move if you ask for it or if you’re too tired. Likes to either cum inside you or on your chest. Tired Jisung is all in all pretty sweet and lets you do whatever you want. If he came inside you he will stay inside you for some time while cuddling you under the blanked because he enjoys feeling your body close to his.

𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 ::

This man could make you cum from just his thighs and his voice if he wanted to. Felix is mostly in the mood for slow sex if it’s his day off or the weekend. He likes it that you seem to enjoy praising him as much as he does enjoy praising you. Felix enjoys telling how pretty you look while sucking him off or while he slowly fucks you. He would let you leave tiny marks on him if he doesn’t like have to perform or show much skin. Felix would smile every time he sees the heart shaped hickey on his chest remembering the soft tone of your voice asking him if you can leave a small mark there. Felix enjoys soft sex in the bedroom, the way he slowly moves his hips against yours making sure he hits your sweet spot every time. Your hands around his neck holding him close to you as he brings you to a high yet again. If your hands aren’t on his neck he will hold them on your sides intertwined together while kissing you passionately. He will draw the sex out for as long as he can to make sure you feel as good as he is. When you both cum it’s always together while moaning each other’s names. Felix takes a bath with you and rubs your back and playing with your hair. After a quick change of the sheets he will cuddle with you under the soft blanket while watching a show or a movie on low volume.

telling pillow princess hannie to top you, and so he sits there dumbfounded, unsure of where to even start. as he’s desperately fucking into you, he’s whining and begging you to take the lead again, because it’s just soooo difficult and tiring for him to do all the work </3

PLZ MAKE THIS A DRABBLE / MINI FIC

𖥻 Pillow Princess

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Han Jisung x fem!reader

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you tell your pretty boyfriend to top you but he doesn’t know how

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), sub!jisung, dom!reader, teasing, pillow princess Han Jisung is a warning on its own, desperate!jisung, begging, Jisung calls you mommy

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: thank you for this amazing ask precious anon sorry it took me so long to answer but I was recovering from child birth and adjusting to mom life ✨ I made it a bit different cuz I just went with it Hope you like it tho darling 🫶🏻

Jisung was trying hard to even keep his eyes open with how much pleasure he was feeling at the moment, the sounds that leave his pretty lips were filthy and whiny. He couldn’t even make a full sentence up because his mind was clouded by pleasure. Your hand was wrapped around his pretty dick, stroking him at a fast pace “please don’t stop mommy” you chuckle and press a kiss on his heart shaped lips “I won’t stop my pretty boy” Jisung thinks you’re trying to kill him with your sweet voice he was hanging on every single word that you said, he could feel his high nearing “oh…gonna cum…can’t hold it” Jisung whines out throwing his head back exposing his neck. You couldn’t hold yourself back and started to suck on his neck making Jisung curse. You look down when you feel Jisung cover your hand in his high, there was so much cum that it was dripping down on the bed. While your boyfriend was still coming down from his orgasm you brought your hand up to his mouth “come on princess clean your mess” jisungs eyes fly open at the new nickname without second thoughts he opened his mouth for you sucking on your fingers tasting the salty flavour of his high. Jisung didn’t know when you got rid of your clothes but the sight of your bare body so close to his made his length harden again.

You smirk when you notice your boyfriend’s eyes wandering over you “was a look at my breast enough to get you hard again princess?” Jisung nods and his hand wander to your hips pulling you tighter against him “please baby lemme make you feel good” he whines beside your ear. Who are you to deny your sweet boyfriend his fun? Not even 5 minutes later you’re on your back Jisung between your legs desperately fucking into you with no rhythm “poor sungie can’t even please me” you’re tone made him whine louder combined with the way your hot walls were clenching around his length basically pulling him back every time he pulls out. The way you seem to be completely unaffected by his fucking was doing things to his brain that he couldn’t describe.

Suddenly Jisung feels your hands on his hips and you started controlling the pace and your legs wrapped tighter around him, pushing him deeper into your heat making him hit your sweet spot. “Can’t even please me right” you mock him while moaning at the way he was finally hitting the spot you needed. Jisung couldn’t even answer you with his face hidden in your neck, cheeks red with embarrassment. He couldn’t help but feel another high creep up again but he didn’t need to tell you from the way he was twitching inside you and his moans rising in volume or the way his hands were tightening on your thighs trying to ground himself. Jisung really tried to hold back longer but the way you where moaning his name combined with your hands controlling his movement and the way your heat was wrapped tightly around his dick topped with the wet sound your cunt made every time your hips met yet again. Jisung feels another high wash over him filling you up to the brim while moaning in your ear. You’re no where near finished so you just enjoy the feeling of his cum filling you until he is done. Jisung breathing was heavy trying to calm down his heartbeat while enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his but when he tried to pull out you pull him back towards you.

“Oh no princess where do you think you’re going I’m not done yet?”

Brb screaming into my pillow cuz Chan’s pretty lips drive me crazy 😔💕

@moonjxsung I luv your brain MWAH🥹

hii! could i request a idol!chan and makeup artist!reader smut where she was doing his lip makeup and made a mistake and then she goes to wipe it off but the sexual tension?? also could chan be the dom pls?? thanks in advance!!

Warning: smut below! mdni.

Chan is probably the most obedient client you’ve had to date. He doesn’t move when you’re applying concealer to his nonexistent flaws, he doesn’t twitch when you curl his eyelashes and he often gives his own input on what makeup he likes wearing on stage. He’s partial to darker, more sultry looks, especially keen on smoky eyeshadows and smudged eyeliner. And he sits perfectly still this evening, as you test a new look for his upcoming performance in a few days.

“Does that feel okay?” You inquire, dabbing his under eyes with a silicone blending tool to even out his concealer.

“Yeah,” Chan responds, keeping his gaze on the ceiling above him. “It feels fine.”

“That’s good,” you reply, bringing some of the product down to his cheeks. “This one’s a new blending tool, I know some people aren’t into the ones that aren’t sponges.”

“No, no, this one’s fine, I promise,” he says with a smile.

You smile back at him, finishing the application of his concealer, and then you tuck the tube back away into your makeup bag.

“The only thing left is lipstick,” you voice to him, digging around your bag of lipsticks for a color that will match the dark eye makeup he sports. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hm…” Chan hums, thinking for a moment. “Not really, you’re better at picking the lip stuff. Just not something too dark, I guess.”

You dig around a little more, the clattering sounds of lipsticks filling the silence between you as he waits, and then you select a tube of amaranth lipstick from your collection.

“Let’s try this one,” you say, twisting off the cap and balancing the tube between your fingers, as your other hand brings the tip of it to his lips.

He sits perfectly still, like he always does, as you begin to paint his plump lips with the product and spread it evenly. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you while you work, the blue contacts in his eyes moving with his pupils as your hand paints his lips in slow movements. And then you pull back again, instructing him to press his lips together to distribute the product while you stuff the little tube back in your pocket.

Chan complies, his plump lips pressing together to coat both sides in the sticky lipstick, and then he pulls his lips back again, a generous amount now coating the fake lip piercing he sports in his bottom lip.

“Oops, I should’ve taken the piercing out,” you say with a nervous smile. “Hold on, let me clean it.”

And you pull a tissue out from the box beside you, folding it into a neat square and bringing it to his bottom lip. You can feel his eyes boring into you again, a little more intense now, as you dab at his lip piercing and try to get the sticky residue off the silver metal.

Chan’s breath hitches in his throat a little as you clean him, his mind running rampant with thoughts about giving into the urges that plague his mind when you’re at this proximity to him. He knows you’re just his makeup artist, and you’ve been working with him for a good while now. It would be completely inappropriate to say anything suggestive to you, or to kiss you, or to initiate something more physical in the privacy of his dressing room like this…

“I like your makeup,” Chan says suddenly, his eyes scanning the dark lipstick you flaunt.

“Thanks,” you respond with a soft chuckle. “It’s nothing special today.”

“Well it certainly caught my attention,” he retorts. “I think you look very pretty.”

“Thank you,” you say again, your heartbeat quickening at his words that make you beyond flustered.

“You’re welcome,” Chan replies, still keeping his gaze on yours.

He’s making it painfully obvious that he’s staring at you, his eyes scanning over every tiny movement you make and his lips parting to say something again, before closing once more and pulling into a small smile.

“What?” You ask with a small chuckle, taking notice of the way he keeps trying to say something.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I just…”

You wait for his answer, his voice trailing off as you pull away to look directly into his eyes without your hand hovering over his lips.

“I just kinda want to kiss you right now,” Chan finishes boldly, still staring intensely to gauge your reaction. And your lips pull into a smile, too, as you lean a little closer to him.

“What’s stopping you?” You ask, your eyes darting down to his now glossy lips and back up to his eyes.

“The fear that you don’t feel the same,” he says, leaning forward in his chair to get nearer to you. Your eyes remain locked on each other, urging the other to close the gap between you two and end this months-long game of feigning sexual tension.

“I kinda want to kiss you, too,” you reply nervously, your eyes moving to his lips, where his fake lip piercing shifts a little as he grins.

“Well what’s stopping you?” He queries.

“You’re my client,” you say, your voice sounding shaky as you hesitate to get any closer.

“I won’t tell,” Chan says, just barely grazing his lips over yours now. “We’re all alone right now.”

And you both close the gap finally, pressing your lips against each other and working eager, hungry kisses as you grab desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. His lips feel exactly like you’d imagined them all this time, plump and luscious against yours, his tongue darting over yours briefly as he hums gently into the kiss and lets his hands snake down to your waist. If you weren’t so focused on kissing him like your life depended on it, you’d probably get nervous and pull away at the fact that he’s the best kisser you’ve ever experienced. The cold metal of his fake piercing grazes your bottom lip, and he smiles into the kiss when he can feel you gasp slightly at the sensation.

“Can we take this to the couch?” Chan asks between kisses as you fist desperately at his t-shirt.

You nod eagerly at his question, moving with him as he gets up from his chair and guides you back to the black leather couch in the middle of his dressing room. For a moment, you feel dizzy with anticipation, confused at how you’ve gotten here after dreaming of it for so long. You know you shouldn’t be thinking about your clients like this, but Chan feels different, his sweet actions coupled with his undeniably attractive looks making it hard to stop thinking about him this way. You’ve thought of him so many times like this, and when you’re finally lying back on the cold leather of the sofa, you have to double check the door across you is locked so that you won’t get caught here like this, engaging in something so forbidden.

“It’s locked, Chan says, as he steadies himself over you with one hand on the couch and another grazing your waist. “And everyone’s gone home for the night. It’s just us, I promise.”

You nod reluctantly, your eyes fixated on his toned frame that towers over you on the couch and makes you feel so small.

“Do you trust me?” Chan asks, his lips grazing over yours again.”

“Yeah,” you respond with a nervous smile after a brief silent pause. “I do.”

“Then just relax,” he finishes, leaning in to kiss you again. “I promise I’ll make you feel good, yeah? Nobody’s getting fired.”

And his words instill a sense of comfort in you, as he finally resumes his eager kisses against yours and snakes two hands up your shirt. His big palms sprawl out over the flesh of your stomach, caressing with gentle movements that mirror his personality. You arch desperately into his touch, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer and guide his lips down your neck. It almost tickles, the way his plump lips feather kisses down your flesh, and you can’t help but let out little moans of pleasure at the sensation, your underwear already pooling with wetness as he works you.

Chan is well-paced with his actions, but when he pulls away to undress, you feel a pit form in your stomach at the sight. His toned six-pack is so much more defined at this proximity, every concave of his flesh and muscle-toned line etched so perfectly into the broad chest he sports. His toned stomach forms a perfect v just above just crotch, where his boxers still remain, and you’re too nervous to even glance at the tent pitched underneath.

“Staring?” Chan inquires with a knowing smirk, as he guides his hands up your shirt and pulls it over your head.

“No,” you reply quickly. “Nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“Is that right?” He says in a cocky tone. “I think I have an idea of something you haven’t seen before, hm?”

As he speaks, he reaches one hand around your back to unclasp your black bra, your nipples hardening as the cool air grazes your bare flesh now completely exposed to him. Chan wastes no time peppering them in kisses, leaving a trail of needy drool over your nipples and sucking small bruises on the mound of your skin.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks, true to the respectful attributes he’s always shown in front of you.

“Yes,” you’re quick to say, staring down at him as he continues to work kisses around your breasts. “More than okay, actually.”

“Good,” Chan responds, sitting up to tug down his boxers finally. “I’m just really fucking turned on seeing you like this.”

And then his boxers are pooled at his thighs, exposing his hard-on for you as he brings a hand to wrap around the base of his cock. He’s much bigger than the guys you’ve been with, a thick, veiny girth blushed red with his arousal for you. You swallow nervously as he pumps himself lightly just two times, cocking his head at your still-clothed core with a small smirk.

“Your turn.”

Although you’re undeniably nervous to bare yourself in front of him like this, you comply, tugging your jeans and your panties down over your thighs and discarding them on the floor. Chan’s eyes are hooded with lust almost instantly when you do, a serious expression overtaking his face as he leans in to kiss you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he says between breathless kisses against your lips.

“I would’ve done this a whole lot sooner if I knew it’d look like this.”

And you smile against him, tangling your hands in his hair as he works your flesh with little nibbles. When his hands come around to caress your inner thighs, he frees his erection from his grasp, and it slowly hangs to graze your flesh with every movement of his. It even feels massive just resting against you, and you can feel your soaked cunt contracting around nothing, eager to feel him inside you.

“Chan,” you whimper, as his hands massage gentle back and forth motions over your thighs.

“Yes, baby,” he asks, pressing a series of chaste kisses to your lips.

“I’m already wet. Could you put it in?”

And he lets out a chuckle against you, his lips pulling into a smirk as he lets the tip of cock drag lazily against your entrance.

“Yeah? I’ve barely touched you and you’re already begging me to fuck you?”

“Mhm,” you voice back, parting your legs for him. “Just want to feel it inside me already.”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, wrapping his hand around his cock once more and pumping lightly as he taps your entrance. Your clit pulsates in anticipation as he guides in just the tip, already stretching you out a generous amount and causing you to moan from beneath him.

“You’re so tight,” Chan breathes down at you, squeezing his eyes shut as you struggle to take him. “So tight but so wet. You drive me crazy.”

And then he pulls back to shove in the rest, ramming into you with more force and bringing his lips to yours once he’s buried to the hilt in order to pacify your moans. You feel so full of him, completely penetrated by his thick girth and his pulsating flesh, and he keeps his mouth against yours as he speaks in a low voice.

“You can take it, baby. Fuck, your little pussy is clenching around me. I know it’s big, you’re doing so well for me. Keep taking it and I’ll fuck you like you asked so politely.”

And you nod eagerly, your eyes pricking with tears as he begins to move in and out of you, his cock reaching your cervix with no issue as he finds a steady rhythm and fucks you like he’s going to breed you. In contrast to his harsh movements, he’s gentle with his kisses, making sure to kiss you when you let out a particularly harsh moan or whimper, smiling down at you as he takes in the sight of you taking him so wholly and obediently.

As he moves a little faster now, he takes note of the way your makeup is ruined on your pretty face, your lips smeared with the lip gloss you applied to him earlier, along with your own lipstick that’s now migrated to your cheeks and below your chin. Your mascara is pooled around your eyes from squeezing them in pleasure, and your eyeliner is smudged around your eyelids, giving you a completely fucked-out and messy appearance. And Chan loves every inch of it, finding himself more turned on at the sight of you all disheveled like this because of him.

“Your pretty makeup’s all ruined,” Chan says tenderly, as he continues to rut into you with force.

As he thrusts into you, he brings a single hand up to your face, pinching the little tub of lipstick you applied on him earlier between his fingers and uncapping it with his thumb. He must have retrieved it from your jeans where you’d originally tucked it away after using it on him.

“Open,” Chan orders plainly, and you obey as he pauses briefly, patting your lips a little and letting Chan bring the tube of color to your lips.

His slender fingers navigate the tube around your lips in gentle movements, filling in the spots now void of color and painting your lips a dark shade of pink once again. And then he pulls back, capping the tube once more and discarding it beside you.

“Look at you,” Chan says with a smirk, as he resumes his harsh movements and begins to fuck you again.

And instantly you’re letting out a string of moans and cuss words, your mouth agape as he buries his cock inside of you and lets it pulse at your cervix. You’re so full, so satisfied, and you’re desperate to hold on to something, to press your lips against his and steady yourself as he works you. And then like he can read your mind, he brings his lips to yours again, indulging you in a drooly, open-mouthed kiss. You realize this was all part of his elaborate plan to make a mess between the two of you, as the lipstick is promptly transferred to his own plump lips and imprinted on his flesh to mark the forbidden deed like a scarlet letter. But he looks even more erotic like this, covered in your smeared lipstick and letting you trail your kisses all over his neck and his jawline as he continues to rail you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Chan interrupts your thoughts, and his lips trail down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, covering the mound in lipstick and mirroring the sloppy looks on your faces.

“Gonna fill you up with my load, yeah?” Chan says as more of a statement than a question. “Be good and take it for me.”

And he’s fucking you much harder now, loud moans and gasps filling the room at every thrust while you pray he’s right about the company being empty for the night. You're torn between wanting his load deep inside you, and being preoccupied with the prospect that you could very well lose your job for this. But it doesn’t matter just a few thrusts more, because Chan’s cock is twitching inside of you as his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. He lets his lipstick-stained mouth graze over yours as he finally cums inside of you, the warm feeling completely filling you up as he slows his pace and gauges your reaction.

“I’m still a little hard,” Chan says with a soft chuckle. “Gonna keep fucking you until you finish.”

His words make you dizzy with pleasure, so aroused at this confession that he’s willing to overstimulate himself until you’ve found your release. He increases his pace just a tad, until you’re nearing your release, too.

“I’m gonna cum,” you say breathlessly, as he brings you in for a much gentler kiss.

“Yeah, cum for me,” Chan responds. “I’m not pulling out until you do.”

And with just a few more thrusts, you finally reach your release, too, dribbling your own juices down the length of his shaft and feeling him begin to soften inside of you. When you’re trembling beneath him, he finally pulls out, sitting up on the couch to allow you to catch your breath for a moment.

You sit up, too, breathless and sighing in pleasure as you pull your clothes back on and try to come to terms with what just happened. As you do, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly startled by your disheveled appearance and scrambling to wipe your mouth clean of the lipstick.

“Hey,” Chan says, leaning in to wipe your mouth with the tip of his thumb. “Like I said, no one’s gonna know, yeah? It’s just us. It’s just me.”

And you smile at him as he pulls on his boxers, too, lipstick also smeared along his face and a flushed look to his skin. He seems relaxed, even content that it happened, and you can’t help but mirror his calm demeanor as he brings you in for a tender embrace.

“We didn’t even decide on a final makeup look,” you say to him suddenly, realizing this whole thing was supposed to be to finalize his look for this week’s stage.

He chuckles lightly, still unfazed by the event and shrugging in response.

“I guess we’ll have to stay after hours again tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you reply, meeting his knowing gaze. “Tomorrow again.”

“Tomorrow again,” he repeats.

[ ᴛᴀɢs: @drhsthl , @straykeedz-recs , @caitlyn98s , @moonlinos , @cottonsthings , @jaykyo , @write143 , @pinkcinnamon444 , @maximumkillshot , @auraleeknow , @skzms @coastalmaine , @luneskies , @lmhcats , @felinows , @maexc , @kang-min-joo , @liinoracha , @sealovesbts , @hanniessleepyeyes , @hyunjinsamdl , @chans1aptop , @yomomma104 , @sheraall , @kbbok , @silentreadersthings ]

add yourself to the taglist here.

EXCUSE @kaciidubs HOW DARE YOUYOU TO MAKE SOB LIKE THIS HUSBAND BINNIE I CAAAAANT🥹💕

I love your big brain my dearest kacii mwah😤

Binnie's Baby Bun

❣ Summary: Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 797 ❣ Warnings: Husband! Changbin, Pregnant! Reader, pregnancy [early stages], fluff, light implied smut, baby bumps, overall cuteness ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Changbin is referred to as Hubby, Bin, and Binnie, Reader is referred to as Bun, and Bunny ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible.

Changbin was a lover, he was a supporter, he was a protector, but he was also the softest, kindest, and most careful man you had ever met, and those were just a few of the traits that convinced you that he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

The days after you revealed your pregnancy, he treated you like you were a goddess walking among men; you would’ve thought he was your living servant the way he offered to do everything - and I mean everything - for you.

Not like he didn’t do it already, that is.

The first handful of weeks were met with extra kisses here and there, extra check-ins so he could have a clearer gauge on your comfort, and small things like extra snacks finding their way into your pantry.

But, when your stomach slowly began to grow and the first hints of your baby bump began to show, Binnie mode was in full swing.

Almost every morning you were guaranteed a kiss on the lips, cheek, or forehead, and an extra kiss to the small swell of your belly, paired with a whispered “Good morning, baby.”

Whenever you were together he would always, always, manage to keep a hand on your stomach - if you allowed him, of course - and if he couldn’t keep you close by, he’d always make sure to take a quick ‘baby bump break’ to saddle up beside you and rest the palm of his hand over your belly button.

“Bin, if you’re like this when I’m barely showing, I can only imagine how you’ll be when I'm in full watermelon mode.”

You sat partially sprawled out on the couch of his recording studio, the pillow you were previously laying on now replaced with Changbin’s lap, and his arm reaching down your body to rest his hand over the top of your stomach.

He laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, “That’s why you have to get used to how I am now, Bun! I know baby bun will.”

“Baby bun?” You hummed, tilting your head to get a better look at him, “So you’re hoping for a girl?”

He shook his head, “Baby bun is just baby bun - girl, boy, I don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and you’re healthy that’s all that matters to me.”

Fresh tears stung at your eyes and you had to fight to push them away, blaming the increased hormones in your body for your sudden sensitivity to his sentiments.

“Alright, break time’s over!” Announcing his leave with his usual loud voice, he helped you get comfortable again before bending down to your eye-level, “Another hour or two and I’ll be done, then we can go get some dinner, deal?”

Smiling, you nodded happily, “Baby bun and I think that’s a great deal.”

Furthermore, in the midst of all of his soft, adoring moments, there were also moments of warm, tender love that had you overwhelmed in the best of ways.

Moments where he would watch you do your nightly routine; silently observing the way his shirt would ride up with each of your movements, revealing a sliver of the bump he would never get enough of, urging him to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist.

You smiled tiredly at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing the remaining moisturizer onto your cheeks, “Hi, hubby.”

“Hi, bunny,” he replied in kind, pressing a soft kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Melting into his touch with a gentle sigh, you tilted your head to give him more access, your hands going to encompass his own resting yet again over your bump. “Binnie… What are you up to?”

His arms held you a bit tighter, his lips making a path up your neck and brushing against a spot he knew all too well, “Just appreciating you…”

“Hm, yeah, I can tell.” You shifted your hips, fully aware of the bulge filling his boxer briefs, “You appreciate me that much, yeah?”

Nipping at your skin, his eyes met yours in the mirror, his heard gaze sending a chill of excitement down your spine.

“Can I appreciate you more?”

“Right now?” You mused, lacing your fingers through his, “Right here?”

A low hum vibrated through him as he took you in, the scenario so familiar yet so, so different in numerous ways; you were no longer his girlfriend, no longer his fiancee, no longer just his wife, but his wife and soon-to-be mother of his child.

“Right now,” he confirmed, firm and sure, loving and supportive, soft and kind, “right here.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull, @maximumkillshot, @bandolls, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @sunnyhonie, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @all4innie, @dancerachaslut

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

EXCUSE ME HOW DARE YOU IM ON MY KNEES 😔 WHY YOU DO THIS TO MY TINY BRAIN? YOU KNOW HOW WEAK I AM FOR THIS MAN AND THEN YOU JUST POP UP WITH THINGS LIKE THAT I CANT 😭

Love it tho please hit me with all your chan thoughts at this point @ddyskz 💕

Daddy Chan is the type to put in 2 inches and slide out just to hear you whine and mewl

“Want it back babygirl?”

He slides those 2 inches back in as you’re on the verge of tears. His arms are cradling your head as he’s lying over you, his shiny eyes on yours.

“P-please daddy put it in”

He slides out again just nudging against your cunt

“Oh babygirl, sh shh” he places a kiss on your forehead. “Daddy just likes to hear you whine doesn’t he?”

And with that he slides his full length in, and you arch your back as his cock reaches your tummy.

“It’s big babygirl?” He’d chuckle at how cute you look taking him so deep.

And now you even tell me you love me??? WHAT IS THIS? IS THIS HEAVEN 😭😭 I LOVE YOU 💕 makes me wanna write something together with you tho🫢

@ddyskz

Apologies if this sounds aggressive but,

PLEASE can I request big dick!Chan with a MASSIVE breeding and bulge kink. I cannot and will not live.

I got way too into this prompt🫠🫠thank you for this holy fuck warnings:18+mdni, lots of "tiny cunt talk", chan is borderline aggressive, primal talk, breeding, talk of pregnancy belly, he loves her womb etc, hairpulling, unprotected sex and creampie obv

wc: 1.8k

Smut below the cut!!

You notice him biting his nails and fidgeting, hard. His black jeans are strained against his frame, his black t shirt threatening to rip at the biceps from how he's contracting and flexing.

"Channie? What's wrong?" you say, letting your eyes lock onto his. He's staring into space, his knee bouncing a little faster with each breathe he lets out of his curled mouth.

He stands abruptly, like the seat has suddenly gotten hot and he's gathered that energy to stride over to you. As he's now vertical, his zipper has already come undone one third of the way down from his cock fighting to get out.

You gulp thinking of his thick veins pulsing behind those jeans, his tip angry and red. It's not an odd occurrence for his lust to conflate with his primal need to own you.

You watch him intently as he targets you with his narrowed eyes. He's huffing out air, his ears blood red - he's looking like he's going to explode.

"I need to breed you. Now." It comes out in a growl as his hands tuck into little fists; not like he's mad, but like he's so close to letting go any self-control he has.

"Channie we're just about to leave," you say, keeping your position on the couch but curling your fingers into your thighs at the sight of him essentially foaming at the mouth. You knew you wouldn't win this tug of war, and there wasn't anything you wanted more right now than to lose.

"Not in that dress before I pump you full of cum." His words shouoldn't catch you off guard but they do. You grip the cushions behind you leaning back as he looms tall over you.

He sinks one hand onto the plush couch right by your hip. You can smell the mix of cologne and pheromones toxifying your bloodstream. "Don't you want me to make you a mommy? Huh? Full of me until you grow another me?"

He chuckles at your reaction as your thighs clamp together.

"Not gonna stop until it sticks baby, you know that right? When I get you in there, if it doesn't take now, tonight your cunt is going to be sore because we're going until it sticks. Even if it takes all...night." He's leaned to your ear now, your chest heaving with anticipation.

He straightens once more, his pants straining like they're going to bust open from his cock. That zipper has traveled further down now, the stretch from his cock not only visible as protruding outwards but is also reaching sideways for both of his thighs. He reaches out his large hand for you to take as he pulls you up, guiding you towards the hallway.

"Babygirl my seed is gonna explode out of me any second now, it needs to fill your fertile little cunt," he growls, guiding your hips toward the bedroom.

You stumble aside, your legs feeling like jelly as his words finally catch up to you, alerting the primal need in you - that need to be filled, to be claimed.

He tugs at the delicate strap of your dress as he's pinned you to the wall now, the drywall cold against your exposed skin over your back.

"Channie you'll make me a mess, everyone will know," you say, leaning into his face, exchanging breaths as his hands roam your body.

"Everyone should know baby, that you're mine to breed, mine to fill up more and more every night until you're begging me to stop because you're slipping in my seed dripping out of you."

Your hand flies to your lower tummy, igniting something inside him that has his body press into yours. There's no separation between you two, only the keyhole of space separating your lips. Your fingers curl around the loops of his jeans

His lips crash onto yours in a hungry spell, his fingers trailing from up from your neck before sliding to tilt your chin towards him.

"Look at me baby."

"Channie, please."

He doesn't reply, simply pushes your dress off your shoulders, letting the soft fabric fall to the floor. He sinks to his knees, massaging, kissing, and licking your bare stomach. The feeling of his soft lips transforms your smooth skin to a pattern of bumpy chills.

"Fuck baby, I love your belly so much, I can't wait to see it swollen."

You feel your knees nearly give out once again at his words. You catch the wall behind you with your hand before he gets back to his feet.

"Babygirl let me see your tiny cunt try to take my cock, hm? Just let me pump you full before we leave."

Your fingers play with his zipper, but he doesn't flinch at your eagerness.

"Are you gonna ask baby? Say please?"

His hands wrap your waist, squeezing the skin covering your womb. He's cradling the area like it's the most fragile place in the world. "This," he says before marking the skin over your womb in a deep burgundy bruise. "This is magic." His eyes close as he gets lost in his own thoughts. "And it's mine to make full, isn't it?"

"Fuck Chan please breed me."

He exhales, shivering as the words escape your mouth.

Before you can catch your breath, he's whisked you into the near bedroom, tossing you onto the shared bed. You're propped on your elbows, tits bouncing as the bed springs shake your weight. A deep growl emanates from his throat as he stalks to the edge of the bed, fingers lingering at his zipper.

"Open up babygirl."

But you keep your legs pressed together, your cunt throbbing, desperate for constant relief.

Chan's long fingers finally unzip his pants, the sound making your mouth water.

He pushes his jeans down his thighs, discarding them along with his boxers, fast.

"It's big," you whisper, swallowing hard.

"Oh baby we're gonna do this again? You're nervous baby until I slide it in and then you never want me to pull it out hm?"

He climbs over you, his cock ghosting your cunt.

"These panties are soaked angel. Let's get them off."

Your panties are gone in an instant, your legs spread as far as they can go.

"Deep, please," you say.

"You want me deep baby? Want to see me in your little cunt? See my cock bulging out of you. Fuck." He's possessed by his own desire now, not wasting any more time, searching your body with his strong hands.

His thick tip looks menacing, your heart beating with excitement and the tiniest ounce of fear.

Chan's cock is red, his veins swollen just like you anticipated.

As you're lost in your own thoughts, he nudges the first inch of his tip in.

A pained excitement leaves your lips as his thickness threatens to swallow you whole.

"S-s-slow Channie s-slow!"

Another growl erupts from his chest. "Babygirl take a breath for me yeah? Just like every time."

You take a big inhale, exhaling just as deep as he sheathes in more of his cock. It never gets easier to take him and he can't seem to get enough of your face contorting as your back arches from the pleasured pain.

"That's it baby."

Your hands fly to his chest, scratching like you're digging to get out of a deep hole. A chuckle erupts from him.

"Look at that little cunt baby, look at me in your tummy."

You muster enough strength as he's pressing you hard into the mattress, to look down at your stomach, a bulge of his cock looking like it's going to erupt from your stomach. He pulls out, the mound disappearing with his cock, reappearing tenfold as he thrusts with more power this time.

"So fucking tiny for me, like I'm just gonna split you in two huh? Look at that bulge baby, that's where my cum is about to be."

He pulls out of your cunt again, triggering your body to undulate from the removal.

"So empty huh baby? Need cock?"

"N-need cock," you echo, as his tip connects to your opening like a magnet.

"Chan b-baby breed me." And with that, he bullies his cock back inside you, not paying any mind to your consecutive yelps. His eyes are reflecting dark fires into yours as he suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back, your neck craning to look at him over you.

"Baby I've been saving up my seed all fucking day for this. This little cunt is gonna be flooded with me."

Chan rolls his hips deeper into yours, his heavy cock slamming into.

His face falls into your glistening neck as he huffs out, "you're gonna be fucking glowing with your belly swollen."

Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, your cunt pulsing around him as you try to keep your orgasm away just a little bit longer.

"It's okay babygirl, cum on my cock like a good girl, don't you worry I'm not pulling out."

His words finally make you snap, your cunt seizing around his thickness, the tightness making him groan as if it's almost a painful squeeze.

"S-seed," is all you can say as your body is going through wave after wave of euphoria.

He watches your tummy inflate and conflate with his bulge as he speeds up his thrusts.

"Tiny, tiny breedable cunt, all fucking mine, all mine to make a mess of. M'gonna flood you babygirl."

His fingers grasp your nipple, squeezing and rolling it between his warm fingers.

"Relax that cunt baby so I can get my cum to stick, hm? You want it to stick, don't you?"

"Y-yes!" you scream, feeling your body buzz from the pleasure that's threatening to paralyze you. "Breed me n-now." You start to shake as your eye releases a tear. "Please Channie g-give me your seed, let it grow inside me."

"Fuck, babygirl m'cumming." He moans long and hard as he gives you deep thrusts of his cum spilling out into you. It feels like a flood of viscous liquid has just filled you to the brim, like it's going to leak out in bucketsful.

"Oh no, no, babygirl it's trying to escape," he says in feigned worry, kneeling at your spent cunt. His forehead is shining with his afterglow as his fingers trace your cunt. Your body jerks at the sensitivity of your puffy cunt, but your body is too tired to carry you anywhere.

His fingers begin scooping up the overflow of his seed, plunging it back into you. Your walls are plush and forgiving from the intense stretch it just endured.

"Keep it in there baby don't let it out. I'll know that at the party, you're carrying me inside you."

love making with ot8 🤍🤍(separate)

𖥻 love making

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Stray Kids

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: how I think love making with them would be :) (wrote for everyone besides Seungmin and I.N cuz I wasn’t sure about them hope you don’t mind…might add them later on)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ) , soft skz , sub!reader , a bit aftercare , cumming inside

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 ::

He is such a soft boy when he wants to be, probably in the mood for soft sex if he is exhausted or if he just wants to show you how much he loves you. He will not really care if he gets to cum only focusing on your pleasure for example using his fingers and/or mouth until you’re seeing stars. He enjoys eating you out because every time he does your hand wanders into his curls to tug on them while moaning his name. He will cover you in kisses and marks as much as you let him while whispering praises against your skin telling you how good you taste and how pretty you sound. If you aren’t exhausted after the toe curling high he gives you and he gets to fuck you it’s much slower than usual. His trusts slow but deep letting you feel him deep inside your tummy, letting you feel every inch of him. He likes it when you play with his hair while whining his name right beside his ear. He will hold off his own high in order to make you both cum together instead. After you both cum chan likes to stay inside u for a bit longer enjoying the feeling of your soft walls wrapped around him. He nuzzles his face in your neck and kisses your neck while praising you even more, while his hands roam around your body massaging your trembling thighs while enjoying the way your hand plays with his hair.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 ::

Minho prefers rough sex but on some days where he just feels so overwhelmed by your love for him or if dance practice was exhausting and you want to make him feel good. For example he gets home exhausted and you already prepared a warm bubble bath for him just because you could hear the exhaustion in his voice when he called you. So when you both sit in the bathtub (you’re on his lap) and you’re running your hands over his sore muscles making him throw his head back enjoying your touch. You tease him by moving your hips against him. Minho lets you take control and just holds your hip or thighs. you sink down on him all at once and just stay still, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours and the way his dick feels inside you. Enjoys it when you ride him because he gets an amazing view of your breasts and the way you throw your head back in pleasure while moaning his name. He praises you and moans out your name the sounds getting louder the faster you move or the tighter you clench around him. Makes sure you come first and the feeling of your cunt clenching around him brings him over the edge, filling you up with his high. Minho will hold you tight against him and rub your back while thanking you. He will cuddle you in bed after while playing with your hair and watching a movie.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 ::

I think he will choose soft love making mostly after dates for example a dinner date or a movie date. Will eat your cunt like a five star meal until you’re unable to say anything besides your name. He enjoys feeling your thighs tremble beside his head or in his hands. Enjoys it when you pull him closer to your cunt with your hand in his hair. When Changbin fucks your cunt his movement is slow only speeding up a bit when you ask him to go faster. He enjoys deep but softer trusts. Tells you to moan as loud as you want because he wants to know that he is making you feel good. Changbin likes the way your eyes roll back and his name is the only thing you can say. He will make you cum as often as you want although if you’re to exhausted he tells you it’s okay if he didn’t get to cum but you suck him off anyways cuz who would say no to the opportunity to suck this man off?

𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 ::

This man looooooves soft sex and probably only fucks you rough if you beg for it or if you’ve been a brat. This man will first stuff you full of his cum only to eat you out after. He enjoys the taste of your combined highs The first time you will get to cum is on his dick cuz he wants to feel you clench around him as he fills you up while praising you and leaving marks over your neck and chest. Plays with your boobs too and enjoys how sensitive you are. Will stay insider your warm cunt for a few minutes enjoying the feeling of your mixed cum slowly flowing out of you. Hyunjin is determined to get you to cum at least once or twice more with his fingers and his mouth. He calls you his beautiful muse and tells you how he wishes to paint you naked some time will bring you water and some snacks after cleaning you up and giving you a sweet kiss. POST SEX CUDDLES :)

𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 ::

This man will 100% fuck you in the studio if he has a writers block or a burn out. He will just ask you if he can eat you out to distract himself and who would say no to this man’s mouth and tongue on your body? Definitely not you…Jisung gets pretty whiny the longer he stays between your legs getting to taste your sweet cunt. He could cum in his pants from the way your thighs tremble around his head and your fingers grip his Hair. Lets you ride him and touch him all you want. You can control the pace and where you want his hands to be. Jisung enjoys the way you clench around him every time he praises you. Jisung will only help you move if you ask for it or if you’re too tired. Likes to either cum inside you or on your chest. Tired Jisung is all in all pretty sweet and lets you do whatever you want. If he came inside you he will stay inside you for some time while cuddling you under the blanked because he enjoys feeling your body close to his.

𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 ::

This man could make you cum from just his thighs and his voice if he wanted to. Felix is mostly in the mood for slow sex if it’s his day off or the weekend. He likes it that you seem to enjoy praising him as much as he does enjoy praising you. Felix enjoys telling how pretty you look while sucking him off or while he slowly fucks you. He would let you leave tiny marks on him if he doesn’t like have to perform or show much skin. Felix would smile every time he sees the heart shaped hickey on his chest remembering the soft tone of your voice asking him if you can leave a small mark there. Felix enjoys soft sex in the bedroom, the way he slowly moves his hips against yours making sure he hits your sweet spot every time. Your hands around his neck holding him close to you as he brings you to a high yet again. If your hands aren’t on his neck he will hold them on your sides intertwined together while kissing you passionately. He will draw the sex out for as long as he can to make sure you feel as good as he is. When you both cum it’s always together while moaning each other’s names. Felix takes a bath with you and rubs your back and playing with your hair. After a quick change of the sheets he will cuddle with you under the soft blanket while watching a show or a movie on low volume.

EXCUSE ME @ddyskz HOW DARE YOU TO DO THIS TO ME. AS IF I’M NOT ALREADY DELULU FOR THIS MAN 🫠🫠🫠 brb screaming in my pillow for the next hours…

Apologies if this sounds aggressive but,

PLEASE can I request big dick!Chan with a MASSIVE breeding and bulge kink. I cannot and will not live.

I got way too into this prompt🫠🫠thank you for this holy fuck warnings:18+mdni, lots of "tiny cunt talk", chan is borderline aggressive, primal talk, breeding, talk of pregnancy belly, he loves her womb etc, hairpulling, unprotected sex and creampie obv

wc: 1.8k

Smut below the cut!!

You notice him biting his nails and fidgeting, hard. His black jeans are strained against his frame, his black t shirt threatening to rip at the biceps from how he's contracting and flexing.

"Channie? What's wrong?" you say, letting your eyes lock onto his. He's staring into space, his knee bouncing a little faster with each breathe he lets out of his curled mouth.

He stands abruptly, like the seat has suddenly gotten hot and he's gathered that energy to stride over to you. As he's now vertical, his zipper has already come undone one third of the way down from his cock fighting to get out.

You gulp thinking of his thick veins pulsing behind those jeans, his tip angry and red. It's not an odd occurrence for his lust to conflate with his primal need to own you.

You watch him intently as he targets you with his narrowed eyes. He's huffing out air, his ears blood red - he's looking like he's going to explode.

"I need to breed you. Now." It comes out in a growl as his hands tuck into little fists; not like he's mad, but like he's so close to letting go any self-control he has.

"Channie we're just about to leave," you say, keeping your position on the couch but curling your fingers into your thighs at the sight of him essentially foaming at the mouth. You knew you wouldn't win this tug of war, and there wasn't anything you wanted more right now than to lose.

"Not in that dress before I pump you full of cum." His words shouoldn't catch you off guard but they do. You grip the cushions behind you leaning back as he looms tall over you.

He sinks one hand onto the plush couch right by your hip. You can smell the mix of cologne and pheromones toxifying your bloodstream. "Don't you want me to make you a mommy? Huh? Full of me until you grow another me?"

He chuckles at your reaction as your thighs clamp together.

"Not gonna stop until it sticks baby, you know that right? When I get you in there, if it doesn't take now, tonight your cunt is going to be sore because we're going until it sticks. Even if it takes all...night." He's leaned to your ear now, your chest heaving with anticipation.

He straightens once more, his pants straining like they're going to bust open from his cock. That zipper has traveled further down now, the stretch from his cock not only visible as protruding outwards but is also reaching sideways for both of his thighs. He reaches out his large hand for you to take as he pulls you up, guiding you towards the hallway.

"Babygirl my seed is gonna explode out of me any second now, it needs to fill your fertile little cunt," he growls, guiding your hips toward the bedroom.

You stumble aside, your legs feeling like jelly as his words finally catch up to you, alerting the primal need in you - that need to be filled, to be claimed.

He tugs at the delicate strap of your dress as he's pinned you to the wall now, the drywall cold against your exposed skin over your back.

"Channie you'll make me a mess, everyone will know," you say, leaning into his face, exchanging breaths as his hands roam your body.

"Everyone should know baby, that you're mine to breed, mine to fill up more and more every night until you're begging me to stop because you're slipping in my seed dripping out of you."

Your hand flies to your lower tummy, igniting something inside him that has his body press into yours. There's no separation between you two, only the keyhole of space separating your lips. Your fingers curl around the loops of his jeans

His lips crash onto yours in a hungry spell, his fingers trailing from up from your neck before sliding to tilt your chin towards him.

"Look at me baby."

"Channie, please."

He doesn't reply, simply pushes your dress off your shoulders, letting the soft fabric fall to the floor. He sinks to his knees, massaging, kissing, and licking your bare stomach. The feeling of his soft lips transforms your smooth skin to a pattern of bumpy chills.

"Fuck baby, I love your belly so much, I can't wait to see it swollen."

You feel your knees nearly give out once again at his words. You catch the wall behind you with your hand before he gets back to his feet.

"Babygirl let me see your tiny cunt try to take my cock, hm? Just let me pump you full before we leave."

Your fingers play with his zipper, but he doesn't flinch at your eagerness.

"Are you gonna ask baby? Say please?"

His hands wrap your waist, squeezing the skin covering your womb. He's cradling the area like it's the most fragile place in the world. "This," he says before marking the skin over your womb in a deep burgundy bruise. "This is magic." His eyes close as he gets lost in his own thoughts. "And it's mine to make full, isn't it?"

"Fuck Chan please breed me."

He exhales, shivering as the words escape your mouth.

Before you can catch your breath, he's whisked you into the near bedroom, tossing you onto the shared bed. You're propped on your elbows, tits bouncing as the bed springs shake your weight. A deep growl emanates from his throat as he stalks to the edge of the bed, fingers lingering at his zipper.

"Open up babygirl."

But you keep your legs pressed together, your cunt throbbing, desperate for constant relief.

Chan's long fingers finally unzip his pants, the sound making your mouth water.

He pushes his jeans down his thighs, discarding them along with his boxers, fast.

"It's big," you whisper, swallowing hard.

"Oh baby we're gonna do this again? You're nervous baby until I slide it in and then you never want me to pull it out hm?"

He climbs over you, his cock ghosting your cunt.

"These panties are soaked angel. Let's get them off."

Your panties are gone in an instant, your legs spread as far as they can go.

"Deep, please," you say.

"You want me deep baby? Want to see me in your little cunt? See my cock bulging out of you. Fuck." He's possessed by his own desire now, not wasting any more time, searching your body with his strong hands.

His thick tip looks menacing, your heart beating with excitement and the tiniest ounce of fear.

Chan's cock is red, his veins swollen just like you anticipated.

As you're lost in your own thoughts, he nudges the first inch of his tip in.

A pained excitement leaves your lips as his thickness threatens to swallow you whole.

"S-s-slow Channie s-slow!"

Another growl erupts from his chest. "Babygirl take a breath for me yeah? Just like every time."

You take a big inhale, exhaling just as deep as he sheathes in more of his cock. It never gets easier to take him and he can't seem to get enough of your face contorting as your back arches from the pleasured pain.

"That's it baby."

Your hands fly to his chest, scratching like you're digging to get out of a deep hole. A chuckle erupts from him.

"Look at that little cunt baby, look at me in your tummy."

You muster enough strength as he's pressing you hard into the mattress, to look down at your stomach, a bulge of his cock looking like it's going to erupt from your stomach. He pulls out, the mound disappearing with his cock, reappearing tenfold as he thrusts with more power this time.

"So fucking tiny for me, like I'm just gonna split you in two huh? Look at that bulge baby, that's where my cum is about to be."

He pulls out of your cunt again, triggering your body to undulate from the removal.

"So empty huh baby? Need cock?"

"N-need cock," you echo, as his tip connects to your opening like a magnet.

"Chan b-baby breed me." And with that, he bullies his cock back inside you, not paying any mind to your consecutive yelps. His eyes are reflecting dark fires into yours as he suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back, your neck craning to look at him over you.

"Baby I've been saving up my seed all fucking day for this. This little cunt is gonna be flooded with me."

Chan rolls his hips deeper into yours, his heavy cock slamming into.

His face falls into your glistening neck as he huffs out, "you're gonna be fucking glowing with your belly swollen."

Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, your cunt pulsing around him as you try to keep your orgasm away just a little bit longer.

"It's okay babygirl, cum on my cock like a good girl, don't you worry I'm not pulling out."

His words finally make you snap, your cunt seizing around his thickness, the tightness making him groan as if it's almost a painful squeeze.

"S-seed," is all you can say as your body is going through wave after wave of euphoria.

He watches your tummy inflate and conflate with his bulge as he speeds up his thrusts.

"Tiny, tiny breedable cunt, all fucking mine, all mine to make a mess of. M'gonna flood you babygirl."

His fingers grasp your nipple, squeezing and rolling it between his warm fingers.

"Relax that cunt baby so I can get my cum to stick, hm? You want it to stick, don't you?"

"Y-yes!" you scream, feeling your body buzz from the pleasure that's threatening to paralyze you. "Breed me n-now." You start to shake as your eye releases a tear. "Please Channie g-give me your seed, let it grow inside me."

"Fuck, babygirl m'cumming." He moans long and hard as he gives you deep thrusts of his cum spilling out into you. It feels like a flood of viscous liquid has just filled you to the brim, like it's going to leak out in bucketsful.

"Oh no, no, babygirl it's trying to escape," he says in feigned worry, kneeling at your spent cunt. His forehead is shining with his afterglow as his fingers trace your cunt. Your body jerks at the sensitivity of your puffy cunt, but your body is too tired to carry you anywhere.

His fingers begin scooping up the overflow of his seed, plunging it back into you. Your walls are plush and forgiving from the intense stretch it just endured.

"Keep it in there baby don't let it out. I'll know that at the party, you're carrying me inside you."

Yea same 🫠🫠 I hope you liked it tho💕

𖥻 Concept Pictures

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Lee Minho

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: your boyfriend took new pictures and you really seem to like them…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), sub!minho, dom!reader, teasing, minho calls you kitten, minhos thighs are a warning themselves, open ending

Your boyfriend’s group is having a comeback so of course you knew that there would be concept photos like always but what you didn’t expect for your boyfriend to look this good…don’t get me wrong you knew Minho was insanely handsome and charming but something about the outfit and the way he was teasingly biting this stupid Apple drives you insane. Maybe it’s the way he stares at the camera or the way the black pants he was wearing have zippers on them, that sit right where his pretty thighs are. They made you think about all the times Minho let you sit on his lap and let you ride him or his pretty thighs.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you heard the door open, the sweet voice of your boyfriend calling out for you “Kitten im back” you hear him tossing the keys in the bowl by the entrance of the door and dropping his bag on the floor “Kitten?” Minho Your boyfriend’s group is having a comeback so of course you knew that there would be concept photos like always but what you didn’t expect for your boyfriend to look this good…don’t get me wrong you knew Minho was insanely handsome and charming but something about the outfit and the way he was teasingly biting this stupid Apple drives you insane. Maybe it’s the way he stares at the camera or the way the black pants he was wearing have zippers on them, that sit right where his pretty thighs are. They made you think about all the times Minho let you sit on his lap and let you ride him or his pretty thighs. out for you again “I’m in the Bedroom” you answer him hearing how his steps got louder the closer he came to your shared room. You shake your head trying to get rid of the imagine of your boyfriend in this pretty outfit. But when you look up and saw Minho walking over to your bed wearing the exact same outfit you were thinking about just a few seconds ago you couldn’t contain the tiny gasp that left you.

Minho sat down beside you on the bed pulling you on his lap but you resisted to focused on his delicious thighs “what’s wrong baby?” Minho was confused why you weren’t talking to him or letting him cuddle you like you usually do when he comes home. You on the other hand where to focused on the zipper that sat on his right pant leg right over his thigh, you slowly move your hand to the zipper pulling it down to expose his soft skin to your hungry eyes.

You let your fingers travel over the now exposed skin and Minho lets you, because he enjoys your touch and the cute look on your face when you admire him, it makes him blush that you seem to enjoy his outfit so much to him it was nothing special but the cute look on your face made him smile “are you enjoying yourself kitten?” He asks in a teasing tone but you only nod before moving your eyes from his thighs to his face “you look pretty Lino” you said in a soft tone your eyes locked on his soft lips now. Minho can’t help himself and presses his lips against yours. He enjoyed the way you move your lips against his and the way your smaller hands grip his thighs, Minho doesn’t hold back and moves to sit you on his lap one hand holding the back of your neck while the other one squeezes your hip.

Minho notices that your hand is still gripping his thigh when your nails dig in the soft skin of his thigh. He couldn’t hold back the moan that leaves his mouths when your nails scratch his thigh. You smile against his lips and turn around so your back was against his chest giving you full access to his thighs. Minho feel’s you open the other zipper too and suddenly you move off his lap and sat between his thighs leaning down to press kisses on his thigh while his hands move to your hair pulling it in a makeshift ponytail. Minhos eyes close in bliss at the feeling of your lips on his thigh, the way you’re moving ever so slowly teasing him he was lost in the pleasure that he doesn’t notice when your kisses move closer to his dick only to move back down again and suddenly biting his thigh. You smile hearing Minho moan so loudly and the way his grip on your hair tightened “kitten please no teasing” Minho whines and you smirk at his whiny tone “but you look so pretty when you whine and beg for me Lino”. Minhos cheeks redden “so I take it that you like the picture kitten” he asked smiling “let me show you how much I liked them baby” you whispered before opening his pants.

Minho can’t think straight anymore the way your mouth wraps around his dick sends him to heaven. Your mouth feels so warm and every time he hits the back of your throat he swears he sees stars. The pants he was wearing now long forgotten on the floor exposing the marks your nails left on him. Minho feels his high approaching, his moans getting higher and his grip on the blanket tightening. You feel the way he was twitching in your mouth knowing he was close by the way his moans were now louder and by the way he wasn’t holding back now.

It’s now up to you to decide if you let your pretty boy cum or if you keep teasing him…

@ddyskz @kaciidubs got a bit inspired by them so thank you 💐

𖥻 Concept Pictures

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Lee Minho

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: your boyfriend took new pictures and you really seem to like them…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), sub!minho, dom!reader, teasing, minho calls you kitten, minhos thighs are a warning themselves, open ending

Your boyfriend’s group is having a comeback so of course you knew that there would be concept photos like always but what you didn’t expect for your boyfriend to look this good…don’t get me wrong you knew Minho was insanely handsome and charming but something about the outfit and the way he was teasingly biting this stupid Apple drives you insane. Maybe it’s the way he stares at the camera or the way the black pants he was wearing have zippers on them, that sit right where his pretty thighs are. They made you think about all the times Minho let you sit on his lap and let you ride him or his pretty thighs.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you heard the door open, the sweet voice of your boyfriend calling out for you “Kitten im back” you hear him tossing the keys in the bowl by the entrance of the door and dropping his bag on the floor “Kitten?” Minho Your boyfriend’s group is having a comeback so of course you knew that there would be concept photos like always but what you didn’t expect for your boyfriend to look this good…don’t get me wrong you knew Minho was insanely handsome and charming but something about the outfit and the way he was teasingly biting this stupid Apple drives you insane. Maybe it’s the way he stares at the camera or the way the black pants he was wearing have zippers on them, that sit right where his pretty thighs are. They made you think about all the times Minho let you sit on his lap and let you ride him or his pretty thighs. out for you again “I’m in the Bedroom” you answer him hearing how his steps got louder the closer he came to your shared room. You shake your head trying to get rid of the imagine of your boyfriend in this pretty outfit. But when you look up and saw Minho walking over to your bed wearing the exact same outfit you were thinking about just a few seconds ago you couldn’t contain the tiny gasp that left you.

Minho sat down beside you on the bed pulling you on his lap but you resisted to focused on his delicious thighs “what’s wrong baby?” Minho was confused why you weren’t talking to him or letting him cuddle you like you usually do when he comes home. You on the other hand where to focused on the zipper that sat on his right pant leg right over his thigh, you slowly move your hand to the zipper pulling it down to expose his soft skin to your hungry eyes.

You let your fingers travel over the now exposed skin and Minho lets you, because he enjoys your touch and the cute look on your face when you admire him, it makes him blush that you seem to enjoy his outfit so much to him it was nothing special but the cute look on your face made him smile “are you enjoying yourself kitten?” He asks in a teasing tone but you only nod before moving your eyes from his thighs to his face “you look pretty Lino” you said in a soft tone your eyes locked on his soft lips now. Minho can’t help himself and presses his lips against yours. He enjoyed the way you move your lips against his and the way your smaller hands grip his thighs, Minho doesn’t hold back and moves to sit you on his lap one hand holding the back of your neck while the other one squeezes your hip.

Minho notices that your hand is still gripping his thigh when your nails dig in the soft skin of his thigh. He couldn’t hold back the moan that leaves his mouths when your nails scratch his thigh. You smile against his lips and turn around so your back was against his chest giving you full access to his thighs. Minho feel’s you open the other zipper too and suddenly you move off his lap and sat between his thighs leaning down to press kisses on his thigh while his hands move to your hair pulling it in a makeshift ponytail. Minhos eyes close in bliss at the feeling of your lips on his thigh, the way you’re moving ever so slowly teasing him he was lost in the pleasure that he doesn’t notice when your kisses move closer to his dick only to move back down again and suddenly biting his thigh. You smile hearing Minho moan so loudly and the way his grip on your hair tightened “kitten please no teasing” Minho whines and you smirk at his whiny tone “but you look so pretty when you whine and beg for me Lino”. Minhos cheeks redden “so I take it that you like the picture kitten” he asked smiling “let me show you how much I liked them baby” you whispered before opening his pants.

Minho can’t think straight anymore the way your mouth wraps around his dick sends him to heaven. Your mouth feels so warm and every time he hits the back of your throat he swears he sees stars. The pants he was wearing now long forgotten on the floor exposing the marks your nails left on him. Minho feels his high approaching, his moans getting higher and his grip on the blanket tightening. You feel the way he was twitching in your mouth knowing he was close by the way his moans were now louder and by the way he wasn’t holding back now.

It’s now up to you to decide if you let your pretty boy cum or if you keep teasing him…

@ddyskz @kaciidubs got a bit inspired by them so thank you 💐

Wrote a Drabble of his lips kinda at the point where chan just cums in his pants…should I post it?

Since you decided to end my brain with that chan thought I shall give you another one…

Just had a thought about how chan would eat his own cum out of you only to look at you and ask you if he can fill you up again… like imagine he just fucked you stupid and then he suddenly starts pressing kisses all over you only to ask for your permission to eat you out and who would say no to him… as soon as he hears your tiny yes (still out of breath) chan wouldn’t waist another second to eat you out, enjoying the taste of you both combined… imagine him making you cum again and looking up at you asking you if he can fill you out again cuz you just taste amazing….😮‍💨

So like this idea wrecked me??? and somehow my stream of consciousness writing fell into breeding?? so yes here we are

"Babygirl 'm gonna cum inside you, can't wait another second," Chan says, rocking his hips into yours. With a loud groan he lets out rope after rope of warm cum into your fluttering walls.

Without a word, he pulls out, sliding down your body dampened with sweat, landing in front of your cunt.

"Need to taste me inside you," he says. A chill runs down your spine as his nose nestles into your clit, tongue lapping up a mix of your gooey arousal and his bright white seed.

And here you are, body struggling to get out another orgasm as Chan's fingers and mouth keep working on your cunt.

"Ch-Chan m's-sensitive," you whine. But his eyes are glued shut, his bare cock working rhythmically on the bed, in sync with his sucks on your clit and licks and digs into your cunt.

"Channie you're taking a-all the cum, 'wan it in me."

Chan looks at you through his lusty haze. "Don't you worry babygirl, m'gonna pump you full again." He speeds up his movements on the bed and on your lips. His cock rock hard again, the taste of you seeping into his veins, awakening that primal urge to fill up your cunt, just one more time.

He can't help it that he needs to breed you over and over again.

"Always gonna be full of me babygirl."